#fire gaining enough awareness to understand shit is so fucked but still be down bad anyways

[creatively-cosmic]

this can also work as the inverse btw

[dienamights]

A Reverberate Lullaby | K.Bakugou

✎ The echoing howls stalk you, a ghost hunched on your shoulders, wailing like a child calling for rescue, who cries with no tears. Chanting for a hero that is willing to pick up the pieces of its soul and being, yet it is only left to wither. For the ghost has lost faith that such others exist and can only be cured by finding them, for you are the ghost of your world and love is the only true exorcist.

✎ Protagonists: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader.

✎ Word count: 4.1K

✎ Category: hurt/comfort, Implied Mature Content MDNI, Prohero!au, Established relationship!au

✎ Caution(!): Implied Mature Content MDNI, mention of depressive state, toxic family, toxic coping mechanism, mention of reader’s weight gain and thoughts about self worth. Please keep in mind while every person’s reaction to depression is different, don’t belittle anyone’s battle when you don’t understand it.

✎ Author’s notes: Hello! Hope everyone’s taking care! Still on hiatus BUT I’m here to post my contribution to the Mental Health Awareness collab by @doinmybesthere​ ! This has been in the works for a while because I kept scarping ideas for triggering me lmao. This piece is very personal to me and I’m glad I am able to share my experience with you all, I hope that it might help anyone out there in reaching out and asking for help because I know how difficult and scary it might be! Please check out everyone’s contribution that they worked so hard for! kisses kisses take care!

OOH ALSO! Thank you so much for 900 followers aaaaaah! You’re all so amazing and if anyone has suggestions for an event to hold in June lemme know! I’ll also think of some ideas

» Masterlist | Requests | Taglist

The morning sun barely rises and peaks through your blinds, sunshine starting to kiss at your cheeks as you squint at the light, the room welcoming the warmth that is being brought into it after the evening’s chill that made you curl tighter in on yourself, clasping whatever heat you could muster than to turn around and find it in the heating pad of a body that lays next to you. 

An alarm only just rings before quickly being shut off, followed by the creaking of the bed when the person behind you shifts, shifts again, another time, before getting up and stalking to the bathroom, after letting an elongated sigh when they sit at the edge of the bed, not acknowledging your presence accompanying theirs. The door clicking closed before the trickling of water fills the quiet room.

Your clock reads 5 am when you squint at it, and you blink at the time before you go on with your routine, setting up breakfast while your boyfriend gets ready to go to work. 

Oddly enough, you don’t really quite remember when you started working on the food, all that you could see in front of you is nothing but a scene that looks like it’s out of a broken TV - there’s just so much static. The voices are distorted, as if they’re coming from a defective radio.

“Listen, this ain’t about me, this is about you and how you-”

“What about me? Huh? That you see me as nothing but a burden? No, you can say it-”

“You wanna hear me fuckin’ say it then fine! This is about you sitting on yer ass all day obsessing over her while she wouldn’ give you the time of day y/n. When will you fuckin’ realize that?”

The scene blurs and sways, and you feel your mind run at a speed you didn’t know it could muster, and you’re unable to keep up with it. The knife in your hand shakes vigorously and barely misses your fingers when you bring it down to cut the vegetables.

The sound of the bedroom door shutting closed alerts you, straightening your back when you hear the drop of your boyfriend’s gauntlet by his chair at the dining table. Katsuki approaches you with careful steps, his still ungloved hand circles your waist before pressing his lips to your temple, a gruff greeting of a whisper laced in between.

“G’morning.”

The familiar scent of caramel mixed in with his aftershave welcomes you, wraps around you and cradles you, promising everlasting safety and happiness. Yet, your heart wrenching sobs and muffled crash of your laptop against your floor that rings in your ears tell a different story, shrieking at you, roaring about your failures, mocking your entire existence.

“Made gohan, should be ready in a minute.” you mumble back, posture stiff at the close proximity of Katsuki and you feel the curl of his lips in displeasure pressing into your temple from both not reciprocating his greeting and your choice of meal for the morning. “You don’ eat gohan,” 

“s’why I’m making it.” The quick retreat from your figure is like a slap to your face, and you barely stop yourself from reaching out and forcing his arms back around you. Because it's the bite in his voice that halts your movement. 

“You’re still going?” you finally turn to take a look at him, the garnets in his eyes shifting, bleeding from hurt, betrayal, confusion, you really weren’t sure. And by God you had no energy left to try and figure out. “Yes I’m still going Katsuki, they’re my-”

“Yer really listenin’ to the bullshit spillin’ outta ya? This isn’t about em being your family y/n, we’ve been through with it already.” the space between you two feels like endless miles, pieces of the broken bridge you both worked so hard to build the only evidence of it ever being there, the rest crumbling into the valley in between your bodies.

“No, you’ve been through with it, I just wanna make things right, m-maybe I can fix it”

“It ain’t yours to fix y/n, when will you realize that?”

“No!” there you go again, sobbing pathetically. “W-why can’t I have a family, huh? Why- why can’t I, fuck, have a family that just loves and supports me a-and just doesn’t- ” your voice croaks, not failing to notice how Katsuki stepped away from the wreck in front of him. Probably having had enough of you, had enough of how troubling and bothersome you are, probably wondering how he got roped with all your shit and got dragged into your mess of a life.

His hands feel like scolding fire when they’re placed on your shoulders, halting their shaking as you cry into the palm of your hand to muffle the sobs, a habit Katsuki has been working so hard on to help you overcome, saddened to see you try and hide your vulnerability from him.

“Because they never made an effort, so why should you?” The tugging at your heart burns, the swallowed sobs feel like needles prickling at your lungs, making breathing feel like an impossible chore. You can’t help but feel restrained whenever you’re presented with the truth, especially unfiltered and unsugarcoated like right now, you know he’s right, you’ve known he was right a long time ago, but admitting it out loud just felt borderline impossible. 

So you do what you do best, push him away, all the strength you can muster barely budges his figure, the meal forgotten on the counter as you run and lock the bedroom door on yourself.

Your footsteps feel heavy, dreading the topics and scenes you’re bound to relive. The grip on the strap of your shoulder bag tightening as you push the glass door open. A sigh escapes past your lips again as you enter the restaurant, half-heartedly smiling at the hostess before making your way inside to look for them.

It’s always the same scenery, the kind that always makes you want to run away to the other direction instead of being dragged down into whatever hell this is. And you pause to question yourself, again, why you actually agreed to put yourself out there.

There they are, seated in the four person table, with two empty seats, one for yourself and the other for the sibling your mother always hoped to have instead of you.

Your mother’s pursed lip could be seen from where you stand at the entrance, the clicking of her tapping foot sounding as bad as grinding metals in your ear, you hate it, despise it

It’s the same clicking you learned to memorize, to anticipate, to fear, when she passed by your room, the clicking that made you smother your face in your pillows and swallow your sobs, because the sound of you crying brought her more distress and annoyance than concern for her daughter.

With another tug at the hem of the shirt you’re wearing, you approach the table, hugging your father when he stands up and nodding to your mom when she eyes your figure.

“Good morning mother. It’s good to see you.”

“What’s wrong with your hair?”

Here we go, you breathe out before tugging at a strand of hair, spitting out your words “nothing’s wrong with it.”

“Then why does it look awful like that?”

There are times like these where you are left to question your reasoning for accepting whatever invitation you received from your parents to have brunch with them after all those months, a moment of weakness deceiving you into believing it was better than to spend it in your empty apartment, with the silence that ate away at your sanity every second. The only evidence of life in it other than yours was the recently cleaned dishes and the note thanking you for the meal, the promise of cuddles and movies tonight making you gain just a little more patience, barely.

You refrain from answering, your response is to lower your head, drag the dining chair before plopping on it, a dreary sigh escaping your lips as you scoot your chair closer to the table. Your mother never changes, it’s been a while since you were able to move out of her home, and while your father tries to tell you that these brunches are a way to reconnect with them, you yourself know that it’s merely a chance for your mother to nitpick at everything you ever did or are doing since you left.

“How have you been y/n.” your father smiles at you, both of you ignoring the sound of your mother kissing her teeth when her attempted jab at you is ignored. “Uh, I uh I’ve been good, I just wrapped up with my exams and so far things have been-” 

“How is your hero boyfriend?” 

For a second, you contemplate whether to ignore her question and keep conversing with your dad, dreading the questions that are to be pushed your way regarding Katsuki, of which will be used as bragging material for when she meets whatever group of friends she associates herself with, but you know better than to ignore her with the way she gets when she isn’t fed with attention. 

“He’s uh, good.”

“Why isn’t he here today? What, too good to meet us?” your mother nags, and for the love of God, would that fucking clicking ever stop?

“No, he’s doing his job of, you know, being a hero.”

“Is he now? Well, what about you, hm?” She cocks her head as her nails tap the table. ”Did you think your father and I wouldn’t figure out you got fired?”

“How-” the gritting of your teeth is deafening at this point, your jaw clenching so tightly as you and your mother stare each other down. “Your dad pulled some strings, it isn’t that hard. So tell me, you like leeching off of him after you were done with us?”

“This isn’t, I just- I was- I, I had a lot of university work piling up a-and I couldn’t make time for my shifts and I just, it was just so hard for me to get out of bed these days and I.” why are you doing this? Why are you explaining yourself to people that don’t deserve it? Why are you feeding off of their acceptance, knowing damn well you never got it, and that thing was never gonna change. 

“Oh, I don’t wanna hear about you not getting out of bed, you’re here now aren’t you? This is all in your head y/n. You need to stop talking nonsense, what’re people gonna say about you, about me, when they hear you?” 

It feels just like yesterday, your figure standing and facing your full length mirror, your reflection eyeing you with identical vacant eyes. Fingers running through your bed head, a wince escaping you at the movement. Bringing your hand up and catching a glimpse of a slight swollen purple bruise along your wrist and the dried blood on your knuckles, the skin stretching upon rotating your wrist and causing notable pain.

Alas, that pain paled in comparison to when your mom barged into your room, blaming you for the way you were acting and belittling your reasoning. Beckoning your father over to replace your broken vanity and for your house maid to disinfect the space, the place sparkling clean and void of any evidence of what had transpired the day prior. 

The shattered glass was picked up and thrown out, the splatters of blood were wiped clean, and whenever you brought up, what your mom refers to as ‘the temper tantrum’, you’re ignored by both your parents as they continued about their day, fearing the shame it would bring upon their name if the event was to catch others’ attention. 

“Good morning! I’ll be your server for the day. What can I get you?” the foreign voice sounds more comforting than your own mother’s, and you almost laugh at the irony of it, but you only return her smile and take a look at the menu. Lighting up a smidge at the name of one of the dishes, while your parents place their order.

“Can I please get the soufflé pancake?” you look up to catch the horrified look on your mother’s face, followed by her clicking her tongue and shaking her head as if your choice of food was shameful. 

“Certainly-”

“Uh, no she won’t be having that. Get her the Honzen Ryori,” your mother eyed your figure -whatever was visible to her from across the table- before turning to face the server again “maybe cut down on the rice, God knows she doesn’t need the extra calories.” and waves her off, disregarding your protests and tapping her nail against the table top, her annoying method in demanding your silence, which you subconsciously react to, snapping your mouth shut when the sound reaches your ears.

“What was that for? You know I like having sweet breakfasts,” was fuming even close to what you are feeling? Probably not. “Yes I can clearly see that, you’ve let yourself go as well. Do you think that boyfriend of yours will stick around when you start putting on even more weight?”

At a loss for words, you turn to your father, who has been quiet this whole time, for any sense of support when it comes to his wife. But the way he presses his lips together tells you all you need to know, how just because he isn’t bad as her, doesn’t make him that great of a parent. That standing by while you have been bullied your entire childhood and well into your adulthood is just as bad as being the cause of it. 

“God forbid he realizes how much of a train wreck you really are and throws you on the side of the street, because you know damn well we won’t be here to pick you up.”

It began as a whispering in the air. The day had been beautiful -well, as beautiful as it can be with the kind of day you’re having- and the sky was like a dome of plasma-blue. The clouds had looked like airy anvils drifting under the gleaming disc of sun. People quickened their pace as the clouds began to gather in the sky. The postcard-perfect sky started changing. The beautiful cocktail-blue shade merged in with the flaming orange and mesmerizing purple as the sun sunk deep into the horizon, before beginning to darken into gravel-grey. Large pillows of cloud start to form, blocking out the old-gold color of the sun.

The first splatter of rain hits you when you’re halfway across the street, dismissing the need to take shelter under the roof of the buildings like some passersby are doing, hoping to see out the shower. Droplets of moisture begin to drip onto your head, sprinkling onto you like a gardener’s hose. It was well after your meal with your parents, and you had spent the last few hours walking aimlessly through the streets, making sure to avoid those covered by your boyfriend during his patrol. Hoping, praying, that something will clear your head, will help your poor jumbled mess of a mind forget about this entire nightmare of a day.

Should’ve listened to him 

The rainfall intensifies, the drops drumming against the hood of the cars that you pass by, there is so much rain that the sound blurs into one long, whirring noise, reminding you of the blades of the fan that you stuck your finger in, that one time when you were left alone in your house when you were only five years of age. Eventually, they fade into a musical chime as you push your drenched hair away from your face and feel the vibration from your phone as it rings the ninth, maybe tenth time. 

He told me so. 

Tall apartment complex building; you couldn’t see its end from where you stand. You shiver as you approach it, the doorman - bless his heart - running and placing his umbrella to futilely shield you from the rain, and you just laugh and tell him that you’re already drenched and just waiting to go back home.

God forbid he realizes how much of train wreck I am

Not wanting to dampen the people at the elevator and make them uncomfortable, you take the stairs up to your shared apartment, you usually don't mind the exercise but with how heavy you feel after the rain and day spent up on your sore feet, all you think about is locking yourself in your room and discover what kind of new façade could you try and fool Katsuki with when he reaches home.

Just how I trick him into thinking I’m not with him to leech off of him

Eventually and with a struggle, you make it to the door, dreading the sight you might come to face, almost hoping for a black hole to emerge and swallow you whole.

What would people say about me? Do people think I’m crazy?

With a forced exhale out of your lungs, you fetch the key from your bag to unlock the door, but it’s wrenched open before you have a chance to insert your key.

“Where the hell have you been?” 

Your eyes meet the beautiful rubies of Katsuki, and despite his anger that always overcompensates his worry, you smile and throw yourself on him. The shivering ceasing when he wraps his warm arms around you and that loving caramel scent engulfs you, in spite of how your hair is drenching his shirt and how you sniff against his neck.

“You need a shower, you’re shivering.”

“Take one with me?” you look up at him through your lashes, and he blinks at your uncharacterized boldness but agrees nonetheless, helping you out of your clothes and turning on the hot water before stepping in with you.

It is a struggle to help you clean up when all you do is grab at him, whether they’re your hands on his shoulders to lower him to kiss you, wrapping your arms around him and pressing your breasts against him, or palming his hardening cock as the poor man tries to shampoo your hair.

“Would ya knock it off? I’m tryna help you here shitty woman” you frown and squint your eyes when the shampoo gets close to them. “I wanna have sex.” 

“Yea I can fuckin tell, just lemme-” you bring his arms down and press his palms to your boobs, letting go of his wrist when he starts squeezing at them. “Do you not want to?” he gulps, his dick twitching at the feeling of your soft mounds in his hands, your nipples covered up by the suds from the shampoo, as your finger traces the underside of his cock. “Yeah, I uh, fuck, I do, just- you need to wash up so you don’t get sick, alright?”

“Do you not think I’m pretty anymore?” you pout childishly, tears threatening to escape your eyes, and they burn as you close them when he washes the product out of your hair, a deep frown on his lips when you open your eyes back again. “The fuck you on about? That rain really fucked with ya?”

“Are you gonna get rid of me when you realize how much of a mess I am?” you whisper, your voice muffled under the sound of the shower above you, and you keep quiet as he helps you scrub your body, but your boyfriend is observant, he isn’t fucking dense.

“What do you want, right now?” he lowers himself to your level when he’s done, his hands stroking your cheeks as he eyes the way the water droplets cling to your lashes, but still not missing the red rimming around your eyes.

“I just wanna for- I uh, I wanna have sex.” you mumble, a plea hidden underneath your words, a plea to help you forget, to help you bury this day behind you and pretend it never happened.

What you don’t expect is the way that Katsuki pulls your naked wet body out of the bathroom and drops you on the bed, feeling your bodies dampening the bed as he hovers over you, no words are spoken between you as he kisses and nips at your skin. Marking it up and down as he all but worships your body, strands of his hair tangle between your fingers when you run your hands through it, arching your back at the feeling of his tongue tasting your slick.

He doesn’t let up until you cry out, and not in pleasure, your sobs far beyond those he loves to hear when he’s denying you an orgasm. No, they’re sobs that wreck your whole body, kicking away at his shoulders as you curl in on yourself and wail into the sheets. Sitting on his haunches on the floor, Katsuki’s eye soften at your figure, the way your shoulders are shaking and how -yet again- you’re trying to muffle your cries with the sheets this time, pressing your face against the mattress in an attempt to lower your noise, as your mother would call it.

“Hey, look at me” you feel his lips grazing your ear as he kisses it, pressing his lips against your temple, fingers unwrapping your fist against the sheet and digging into your hands and pressing kisses against the nail marks in the palm of your hands. “There she is, there’s my girl.” you hear when you lift your head from the bed, sight blurry from your shed tears but still easy to distinguish Katsuki even between billions of people.

You sniff when he kisses at your lids, groan when he chuckles and calls you ‘snot the naught’ when you wipe your nose with the back of your hand, beaming when he hears you let out one weak chuckle at the way he teases you. Still pressing his lips against any surface of skin he can reach.

“You don’t have to talk about it you know, to me at least” he mumbles to you when you’re both dressed in your sleepwear and are cuddling on the dry side of the bed, opting to change the sheet the next day. “Maybe, maybe we can get someone who can help you, you know.” you press your face deeper between his neck and shoulder, shuddering when his warm palms rub your back from under your shirt. 

“I can make some calls, get in contact with someone.” you lift your head. “But I can’t afford-” he tuts and frowns at you “None of that.” 

“Remember what I said when we agreed to move in?” you do, you just love the sound of his voice when he says it, feels like he’s making all these promises all over again. “Tell me.”

“Told ya I’d be whoever you want me to be, whoever you need me to be. I’ll be yer mom, even better than that bitch, I’ll support and love you unconditionally.” you sniff and tighten your hold against him as he presses his lips against your cheek. 

“I’d be better than yer pussy dad, you can rely on me any time and I’ll live up to all your expectations. And callin me daddy is always a plus” he tangles his legs with your own when you wiggle away from him, laughing and giving you no chance of escape, not that you are even thinking of it. 

“I’d even be yer genius fuckin nanny that taught you to tell yer mom to go fuck herself when you were four,” your suppressed giggles lights him up and he can’t help but chuckle as well. “I’ll be anything and everything you’ll ever need, baby. I’ll be your goddamn hero.”

The sun comes out again, casting slanted beams of light across the buildings. Steam rises slowly from the greenery. It rises up eerily and drifts mist-like towards the molten-gold sun, right before it escapes into the abyss. The image is so vivid that it stays with you for as long as you remember. Because on this exact day, the shrieking that follows you everywhere you go, haunting you and mocking you, suddenly is nowhere to be found. And all you can hear is the comforting sound of Katsuki as he hums you a lullaby to sleep.

aaaah I hope you like it!

[mxgilray]

Loki Season 1 Thoughts

Overall, I really liked this series. It has some issues without question, but I sincerely don't think it's the dumpster fire so many viewers on this site treat it as. Did it go how I expected? Not at all? Did I enjoy the heck out of it and look forward to it every Wednesday? Hell yeah!

Loki's Good Guy Personality

A big complaint many have had with it is how much Loki's demeanor has changed and how his emotional growth feels rushed or his personality is ooc. Truth is, he saw his entire future, saw what his angry, power hungry, I-work-alone persona would get him in the end, and it snapped him back to reality. He has always been shown to be quite emotional and craving attention and lacking in self assurance, it's just in the past movies he's masked it with violence and fake narcissism, and he's always been a secondary character so his perspective is rarely shown. But if you really pay attention it's obvious he isn't truly villainous; we all know that, it's largely why he has such a huge fan base.

Right after meeting Mobius, Loki got an infodump of his future, saw his parents both die, found out that free will means jack shit, and learned he's absolutely powerless in this realm. On top of that, this is 2012 Loki, fresh off of being under Thanos' control, suddenly being shown that the guy who controlled him is going to end up killing him. Frankly,, I think it all broke Loki. He was too shook up by it all and by the sheer helplessness he found himself in at the TVA that he let all his barriers down momentarily. Just long enough for him to open up to Mobius about his motivation and his lack of self confidence. And you know what I bet? Loki felt relieved after talking to Mobius. A weight was lifted, because he bore his heart to someone and wasn't rejected or laughed at or treated like a psycho. And after letting his walls down fully, Loki didn't feel the need to put all of them back up. He stayed guarded around other people, but he didn't need to pretend around Mobius. Mobius has seen under the mask, so Loki doesn't feel pressure to perform as an all knowing, all powerful God around Mobius. That freedom is life changing.

People who gravitate towards broken, pseudo-villain characters do so because we relate to their internal conflict, their mental illness, their need to fake it around everyone close to them. Their turmoil and depression and self destructive behavior are familiar and we see ourselves reflected in their actions. Now, when a person really truly let's their guard down, drops all their layers of facade, and embraces themself, they tend to change demeanor and even personality pretty drastically. It's jarring in real life, so of course when it happens to a fictional character who you usually relate to it is going to be jarring, maybe even more so because it feels like a change you yourself would never go through. I know this sounds bad and people might get at me for it, but...

I believe the issue here is that a large part of Loki's fan base doesn't want him to get better. They don't want him to move past his mental illness, to learn how to cope with anger and disappointment in healthier ways, to be happy. They like his damaged persona, they like the internal conflict. Maybe it's because they're still at that low place themself and feel like a relatable character is getting taken away from them, maybe it's because they don't understand how much being at peace with yourself can alter a person and to them it feels like he's been changed too much. To those of us mostly on the up and up from battling depression and mental illness, it's comforting to see Loki getting a chance to be genuinely happy and accepting of himself.

Sylki and Lokius

First things first, I'm not anti anything. Ship what you want, idc. Personally, I do not see the Sylki dynamic as romantic, but I get why people read it that way. I thought the series did a good job of showing unrequited love, namely Loki falling for Sylvie and Sylvie feeling zero romance towards him. This was aware of his attraction and in the end used it as a distraction so she could get the upper hand. The show played up the potential romance because we are viewing things from Loki's perspective and he's become smitten as a kitten. I do think in the long run they'll have a more sibling-like dynamic, one Loki realizes that you can feel extreme love and care for a person without it being romantic. I enjoyed how the show explored their relationship, though I do wish they hadn't had every character under the sun mention their moment on Lamentis-1 like it was some big deal to bond with someone you're about to die with.

I'm bitter towards the development of Lokius. It had a strong start in the beginning, and in ep 5 had some potential reignited, but then they had Mobius not know who Loki is at the end. I'm still hoping they're playing the long game with this ship and that it'll come to fruition partway through season 2. The chemistry is there, and Mobius knows Loki very intimately and isn't put off by his past. Loki also feels much more at ease around Mobius than he does around Sylvie. It's the comfort of a deep loving bond with Mobius verses the nervousness of a new crush that he feels for Sylvie.

I don't think Loki is quite aware of his feelings for Mobius, simply because it's based in friendship and mutual respect and isn't a hot and heavy lust. Plus, as soon as he was away from Mobius he was thrown into a near death experience with Sylvie and developed a surface crush during their heart to heart. Since Loki's still figuring out what genuine feelings are beyond anger and sadness, he sees the simplistic crush he has on Sylvie as love and the intimate bond he's been forming with Mobius as friendship. He doesn't understand his own feelings yet, but I think he'll figure it out next season. I mean, he was probably already rethinking his feelings for her after she kissed and betrayed him, mentally kicking himself for expecting her to not pull a Loki betrayal like he would've in the past.

The Time Variance Authority

I really like the concept of the TVA, the structure of it, the methods they use, the deeply fucked way they recruit employees, the cult like motto, shady Miss Minutes who is definitely playing her own long game, and the blind acceptance TVA agents have of the Time Keepers' will. It's all very well done... until your dig into the core, aka He Who Remains. They built up the idea that the Time Keepers created the TVA to prevent a multiverse war and that they created agents to enforce their will. Then the creating agents turned out to be fake, the Time Keepers were fake, I expected the reason for the TVA's existence to be fake to. It felt too simple to have it genuinely exist just to keep the multiverse in check. Why the anonymity, unless it's to keep from having agents target and prune versions of himself which.. songs like a decent solution. HWR made it sound as though the multiverse war was just a bunch of versions of himself screwing shit up, so why isn't the TVA's focus on eradicating every other variant of this guy? Sounds a lot easier and nicer than fucking with the free will of every other living being. So either Marvel made a bad call when choosing what HWR's motive was for creating the TVA, or he was lying about it all to cover up something sinister.

Overall Storyline

I'm fairly happy with the plot as a whole. There were some pacing issues and I think a few missed chances for deeper conversations between various characters. While I enjoyed the Loki variants, I honestly would've been happier seeing Tom playing most the variants (except Kid Loki and Classic Loki since they are clearly different age ranges). If there is supposed to be one sacred timeline, it seems off to me that Lokis would be allowed to vary so extremely without it causing a nexus event(an alligator, whose nexus wasn't that he's an animal who obviously can't do any magic much less command Thanos' army, but that he ate someone's cat) and not just in appearance but in life path (ie boastful Loki collected all the infinity stones but it wasn't till he had 6 that he caused a nexus event even though him gaining control of the Soul, Power, and Time stones should've each caused nexus events since on the sacred timeline he never interacts with those 3 and taking any one of them would've fucked up a lot of other timeline parts)

I love the display of Lokis raw power, and 2012 Loki coming to the realization that he's way more powerful than he ever thought. And it wasn't just Classic Loki who spent thousands of years alone honing his skills, 2012 Loki reversed time on a goddamn falling building! I also liked the small magic, the fireworks, the tablecloth blanket, Loki yanking Sylvie away from HWR with just magic.

As someone who is both bisexual and genderfluid, I would've really loved more concrete representation. The comment about there never being another female Loki hit me in the gut; it undermined the Easter egg "Sex: Fluid" on Loki's TVA file. With how big a deal Sylvie being female was made out to be throughout the season, I expected her gender to play a key role in taking down the head of the TVA, like it was foretold that only a female Loki could end it all or some shit.

I don't mind the idea of Loki finding love in a straight passing relationship. I don't even mind the selfcest all that much. It just feels so obvious to me that Sylvie is written as not having any romantic inclination towards Loki, while Mobius is clearly written as falling in love with someone he shouldn't and trying to maintain an heir of professionalism to keep from wrecking his bond with Loki. I really really hope they come through on season 2 and give Lokius the canon relationship and proper representation they deserve.

Mmkay I thinks that's all the thoughts I've got right now. If you've been feeling cheated or clowned by how things went this season, maybe my perspective of things can help ease your pain.

[sunnysidekit]

Summary: The road to loving Frankie Morales is tough, but you’d do it all again if you had to. And again, and again, and again…

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x F!Reader (no y/n)

Warnings: Language, major character death but not the permanent kind, (this is literally just a series of au’s in which the reader becomes kind of self-aware), nondescriptive smut (minors, please skip this one!).

Word count: 2.6k

A/N at the end

My masterlist

“Hey,” Frankie shouts, his voice only just carrying over the heavy rain. “Hey, wait up!”

You glance back at him over your shoulder, but you don’t stop running. You can’t stop running. Not after what just happened. Why did you decide to tell him how you felt about him, again? Worst decision of your life.

“Hey!” Frankie shouts again, even louder this time. He’s quickly gaining on you; blame that on his Delta training. You keep running, looking left and right for a spot between the old buildings to shelter from the rain. Something just big enough for one person to hide from their best friend would be great, but you doubt you’ll find a spot like that.

Just when you spot an alcove the size of a small closet you step into a puddle that’s way deeper than it looks, and you smack against the pavement.

You hear Frankie curse from behind you, the splashing of his boots in the puddles getting louder and louder until he stops right next to you and crouches down to help you up. You let out a painful groan when he lifts you off the ground, your arms flailing around unwittingly until you manage to grasp onto his soaked flannel.

“Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not, Frankie,” you say with a sniffle. “Look, I know that just because I feel a certain way, you don’t have to… Why are you laughing?”

“I’m sorry,” Frankie grins. “But you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear those words! I’d given up all hope you’d ever say them, so,” he shifts to hold you closer to his chest, “I was a bit shocked, is all.”

You blink up at him dumbfounded as lightning flashes behind him, bathing the two of you in a heavenly light for just a moment. Before you realize what you’re doing, you grab his face and crash your lips into his with a passion you never knew you were capable of. He hums against your lips and you smile; this kiss is better than whatever you imagined it could be.

The rain washes over you and makes goosebumps pop up all over your skin, though that could also be from the intensity with which Frankie kisses you. His nose bumps against yours as he deepens it and something starts to blossom up in your belly, a tingling spreading from your sides all the way to your fingertips. After what feels like an eternity, he lets you go, the both of you breathing hard and haggard.

“Holy shit,” Frankie chuckles. “We’re both incredibly stupid, aren’t we?”

“Speak for yourself. I’d do it all again if this is what I get for it.”

Frankie laughs breathlessly and you can’t help but join him. All the anxiety in your body has transformed into exhilaration; you throw your head back and let the raindrops splatter onto your face freely when suddenly another flash of lightning strikes, this time so close you can almost feel it burn your skin. Hey, wait… why doesn’t it stop?

The burning sensation digs deeper into your skin and you snap your head back to look at Frankie, but he’s still laughing. You try to reach out and grab his shoulder, but something’s wrong with your hand. It’s- it’s shredding, your fingers flaking off and burning up in the air as you yell out, horrified at the sight.

Frankie doesn’t notice it when you feel yourself losing weight and floating upward, memories flurrying around you in the ash you’re slowly becoming. He doesn’t notice it when you get sucked higher and higher into the air, screaming his name and pleading him to help you. He doesn’t even notice it when you gasp in one last breath before the stinging headache you’ve developed in the last few seconds overwhelms you completely and you feel your consciousness slipping away.

You jerk awake. Holy stars, that wasn’t a normal nightmare. Where in Newton’s name did that even come from? Rain? It never rains here on the SS Endeavour, you’re in space. All the rain you’ve ever seen has all been via holovids. It did feel oddly realistic, though. Kind of like déjà vu. You stretch out your arms above your head and yawn; maybe you did drink a bit too much last night.

But that kiss… why would you ever kiss officer Morales? Sure, you’re friends. You’re his copilot, for Newton’s sake. But he’s far too mission oriented to even consider romantic relationships. At least, that’s what he says. You’d agree with him, if only he wasn’t obviously lying.

“Stars, would you hurry up already?”

You jump out of your bunk at the sound of Ava’s voice and start changing into your overalls, but it’s no use-- she’s already seen you.

“I don’t want to have to skip breakfast again because you can’t be bothered to get up when the alarm goes off.”

“Oh, stop worrying about your breakfast. I’m sure you still have some extra bread rolls in your secret hiding spot.”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that claim,” Ava says, but she’s got a twinkle in her eye. She’s such a bad lair. You step into your shoes, the soft hiss of the self-tying mechanism a nice reassurance of the fact that you’re not dreaming anymore.

“When commander Penn finds out you’ve been using his second wall safe to hide food, you’re getting an instant demotion,” you say. “You do know that, right?”

“It’s so sweet you still think that’s where I hide my stuff. Anyway, I really hope you’ve already picked up your new badge.”

You look up at her from where you’re sitting on the bottom bunk. “…Oh, shit.”

“Really? What kind of gas giant-”

“Don’t start calling me names you’ll regret, Ava,” you grumble as you scramble up and run out of the sleeping pod. This day really is off to an amazing start.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Fish greets you when you climb into the cockpit of your jet with a scowl. “We’ve got zone E today.”

You fasten your seatbelt and heave a sigh. “Yay for us.”

“I thought you liked the asteroid belt.”

“I do, I just…” You chew on your lip as you busy yourself with the control panel. “I had a weird dream, is all. Let’s get going, Fish.”

Because nothing kills a conversation quicker than telling someone about the strange dream you had last night. Now that you think about it, there was something else wrong with it: the stars. They were all in different places, made different constellations…

Usually something like that doesn’t dance around in your head for very long after you wake up, but this somehow keeps popping up whenever you try to navigate manually. It’s like your memories have been copied, but the copy has a whole lot of mistakes. Like there’s been a very, very bad data overhaul.

And then there’s Fish. Despite his casual, relaxed attitude he’s tapping his fingertips against the controls at a rapid pace. It’s a small detail, one you’ve noticed a hundred times before, but it’s taking on a different meaning in your head. You remember him doing it in the dream, too, right after you told him you loved him. Could that maybe-

“Hey!” Fish snaps his fingers in front of you, and everything around you comes back into focus. You’re floating in zone E, engine off, and there’s a bright red jet peeking out from behind a particularly large asteroid.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath. “What’re they doing here? This isn’t Galactican territory.”

“Ambush, maybe?”

“I doubt it. If they were planning an ambush, they wouldn’t pick a fucking asteroid belt. Lord knows those new engines of theirs are about as stable as a peach in a blender.”

“Whatever they’re doing here, I don’t trust it,” Fish says with a frown. You sigh.

“Maybe they haven’t seen us yet. D’you think we can we get out of here in time?”

He shakes his head. “Can’t risk leading them right back to the Endeavour.”

“You… you haven’t radioed this in yet, right?”

“No.”

You lean forward to get a better look of your surroundings - seems you’ve been daydreaming for quite some time - only to see a whole lot of asteroids. “Well, it is just one of them, and it doesn’t look like the engine’s on.”

“It’s not broken,” Fish mutters. “At least, I don’t think.”

“Then what do you suggest we do? If we radio this in and someone’s in there, they can easily trace any signals the Endeavour sends out. If we open fire, we’ll have started a war-- and we really don’t need another one of those.”

“It’s taking too long.”

“Excuse me?”

“Not you,” he says absentmindedly, pointing at the blue spacecraft. “That. It’s moving too slow. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the brakes are on.”

You grab the lens from the wall beside you and take another look. Fish’s right: if the engine’s off, it should be floating around freely, not hanging still. As you stare at it, though, it does seem to move a little bit. No, it glitches. Your breath hitches in your throat. “Holy fuck.”

“Hm?” Fish hums, turning to you. You push the lens in front of his face, and he looks through it as well. No five seconds later, he’s grabbed the controls and started the engine. “We need to get out of here, right now.”

You grab the radio, but Fish snatches it from your hands and throws it across the cockpit. “We’re not gonna radio this in.”

“Are you insane?”

“What do you think base is going to do when they hear tell of a glitching Galactica spacecraft in the last productive tantalum mining fields?”

“Are you seriously suggesting not letting millions of people prepare for-” You’re cut off by the sudden appearance of a dozen more spacecraft, all of their noses pointed in your direction as you and Fish zoom past way faster than you should. “No, no, no!”

“Sunshine, listen to me,” Fish says as he puts his hand over yours. It grounds you, and you’re grateful for it, even if you don’t understand what he’s doing. “If they know we’ve been patrolling the fields, I’m guessing their main plan is to follow us back to the Endeavour.”

“…Which means they don’t know where it’s anchored,” you add, your anxious expression slowly turning into a smirk.

“Now you’re getting it,” he chuckles. “Let’s go take some advantage of that, hm?”

You nod and grab the controls in front of you to start plotting a route that’s just erratic enough not to draw suspicion to the fact that you’re leading the following spacecraft away from the Endeavour. Fish navigates the jet precisely along your route, narrowly avoiding the asteroids while turning a few degrees to the left every few seconds until you’re coasting out of the mining fields and into empty space. It works; behind you, the stream of spacecraft grows steadily, and with it, so does the size of the individual ships.

“They’re still following us,” Fish says after a while. He sounds a lot less sure of his case than he did ten minutes ago. “Hey, we have enough power left for a jump?”

“Depends on where you want to go,” you say, checking the fuel systems. “I reckon we can jump a total of about a thousand light years.”

“The center of the galaxy’s a little less than eight hundred light years away, correct?”

“Yes, but what…” you trail off as realization hits you like a nuclear bomb. “No, don’t even think about it.”

“They’re not backing off, Sunshine.” Fish turns to look you in the eyes, a small, watery smile on his lips. “I don’t think we have a-”

“Of course we have a choice,” you say with as much severity as you can muster, which, to be frank, isn’t a lot right now. “There’s always a choice.”

“Would you rather wipe out their fleet or our own?”

“I don’t-”

“Do it, Sunshine,” he says sternly. “Make the jump.”

You hesitate, your hand hovering over the lever. “Is… is there really no one on the Endeavour you’d turn back for?”

Fish’s smile grows a bit; you can see it’s genuine. “…I’m here with you, aren’t I? That’s enough for me.”

It catches you off guard, the way he says it. Deep down, you already knew what his answer would be. You dreamt about it, after all. Without another word, you push the lever forward, and the jet glides across space-time until it slows down again, finally coming to a halt near the event horizon of the massive black hole at the center of the galaxy.

“Did it work? Are they coming?” Fish almost jumps out of his chair to look outside, while you decide to look at the little radar on the control board. One by one the tiny, blinking dots come streaming in; your evidence of a job well done.

“Fish?” you ask, your voice wavering. There’s something more important than saving the universe on your mind right now. “Am I really enough for you?”

“Oh, stars,” he says, his own happy mood turning into something else as well. He sinks to his knees in front of your chair and looks up at you. “You are more than enough. You’re all I ever think about, you’re the only one that-”

Before he can finish his sentence, you’ve already grabbed his face and crashed your lips into his. You’re about to be swallowed up by a black hole, explanations can wait. The kiss grows more and more fervent as Fish’s hands travel up your thighs to hold your waist, a tingling feeling taking up refuge in your belly. After Newton knows how long, the two of you reluctantly break away from each other to breathe.

Stars, Fish, you whisper, but he shakes his head. Call me Frankie, he says. Please, call me Frankie. You tilt your head and press your lips against his scruff. Frankie, you whisper, please don’t stop. And he doesn’t. He closes his eyes and kisses you, over and over and over until your lips are swollen and all thoughts have left your head.

He zips open your overalls slowly, kissing every inch of newly uncovered skin he can find. His kisses burn lower and lower across your skin, past your clavicles, your chest, your belly, and before you, thousands of stars slowly implode. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt like this before; it’s all so incredibly bittersweet. You get to spend the longest night of your life with the man you love, but it’ll also be the last night you’ll ever experience.

One by one little pinpricks of light fade out in the darkness outside, while others explode in brightly colored clouds-- the same thing happens to your nerves whenever Frankie moves even the slightest bit. It’s a good thing sound doesn’t carry in space, or else you wouldn’t be able to hear the beautiful noises he makes when he closes his eyes in pleasure.

The two of you tumble around in what little space you have, the light of a billion dying stars illuminating every single part of your joint bodies as you splay your hands across his chest. The darkness is taking over more quickly now, enveloping your jet into nothingness, drawing you into the vast emptiness of its core.

We must have done something right, Frankie whispers as you lay, sweaty and tired, awaiting your bittersweet ending, to deserve such an incredible encore.

You close your eyes and curl up into his chest as you whisper back, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

You open your eyes again and smile when you look at Mr. Morales. He’s so gentle like this, with his fingers flying across the piano, not at all the stoic soldier he usually is. It’s nice, even if the others think it’s boring.

He finishes the piece with a shuddering creshendo, and you bite back a smile when he looks at you with those gorgeos eyes of his.

“Why’d you stop singing, my lady?”

“I apologize, sir,” you say as you flip over the music sheet on the little ledge of the piano. “But I simply can’t help it; you play so wonderfully, and I never truly learnt to sing very well. It seems a shame to pollute such beautiful tones with my own.”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Morales says with a kind smile. “Your voice only ever makes me want to play better.”

Your cheeks heat up at that, but the moment is quickly disrupted.

“Encore, encore!” a voice behind you yells; it’s Mr. Garcia, who’s been sitting in his usual post on the third floor. “We’re gonna need more than just the one piece if we’re to have any luck in catching more than a score of those bastards tonight.”

“Why don’t you come down and try singing for a bit, it might help,” Mr. Morales chuckles beside you. When he notices you staring at him, he leans in a little closer and adds, “Are you all right, miss? You seem distracted.”

“I’m perfectly good, sir.” You swallow hard and let out a weary breath. “Your music always seems to carry me away further than I expect.”

And for a moment there, you think to yourself, I thought I saw the stars up close.

A/N: I really threw all my knowledge of space and science out the window for this one and replaced it with nonsense and movie-science. Also, I’ve watched Interstellar, Free Guy, and Groundhog Day way too much for my own good.

The title of this chapter comes from an instrumental by the Grandbrothers which I listened to while writing, so if you want the full experience you can look that up.

If I'm missing any content warnings, do let me know! I'd hate to hurt someone with my writing, but I don't really know how to work those out yet.

PS: If you've got a favorite AU and/or dynamic, I'd love to hear about it! This series is going to explore a bunch of different ones, but I think my own imagination will only get me so far :)

As always, feedback is appreciated and my inbox is open! Have a great day!

[himbodjarin]

LUNAR; CH8

18+ ONLY Series Content: Graphic descriptions of gore and smut. Din Djarin/Third Person POV.  Chapter Word Count: 8263 (im sorry) Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use “y/n”

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER EIGHT: BLUE MILK PANCAKES

Mando still can’t grasp it actually happened—that he’d been so fortunate to experience such a jaw-dropping night with the Girl, with no ulterior motives no less. Back in his youth, when he was naive and desperate, it wasn’t exactly infrequent for a fling to take advantage of him; spend a quick few minutes so that one may eliminate him in his distraction or gain intel on private matters. The Girl didn’t try that—didn’t want that. She sought to provide him with sweet relief and nothing more, not even her own relief.

He felt so fucking worshipped.

Mando is the first of them to wake in the early rise of the sun. He sits there for a moment, savouring the gleaming rays shining through the viewport to warm his beskar and, consequently, his rigid body underneath. The Crest is coated in a layer of ice, corroding the durasteel beneath and, accompanied by the packed snow resting atop, it’s refrigerating the inside of the spacecraft. Mando slips on the discarded glove from overnight—a warmth surfacing his cheeks upon the reminder of last night’s events—and supplies friction to either hand in the prospect it’ll produce warmth. It’s wishful thinking. 

Granting him the opportunity to adjust to his surroundings, Mando stretches in his chair and virtually moans at the pulsations ranging through his limbs. It starts at his shoulders and travels through his core, nudging against the wound on his back and easing the tension out of his muscles, and reaches to the bottom of his toes which practically curl with delight. 

Mando considers removing the helmet to rub his eyes—the crust in the corners a botheration—lift it a tad in the least, but he doesn’t get the chance. The Child coos beside him, his little arms reaching up for assistance.

 “How did you get up here?” he asks, placing him on his knees. The Child doesn’t answer—why would he—and concentrates on balancing across the joints to tinker with deactivated buttons of the nav controls. “Where to, kid?” Mando scans the system’s database for a paragon planet to hunker down for a few days; spend some time with the kid—and the Girl, of course—before being ripped away from the semi-domestic life and continue on his unwritten path of planet-hopping.

There’s a planet not too far; small population, plenty of wilderness for the kid to explore, and there’s not much traffic that passes through. It’s good, perfect almost, and Mando is hesitant to accept the temptation. The Child’s head rotates to look at his guardian, his large green ears twitching curiously. He sighs and sets the coordinates for the planet despite his better judgement. It’s too fortunate; the last ‘safe’ planet they visited ended up in him protecting an entire village and the kid almost being killed. Although, he’s made a trustworthy ally who’ll assist if something were to go down. He glances behind him at the Girl, raking his brown eyes across her contorted body in the seat.

“Hang on, kid.” Mando lifts himself out of the pilot chair, leaving behind a monitoring toddler in his place, and kneels beside the Girl in the passengers. She’s sleeping peacefully and he doesn’t disturb her, despite the positioning she’s managed to get herself into. It’s unpleasant on his eyes and it couldn’t be comfortable. With a tremble in his back muscles, he reaches behind his neck and peels the cloak from his armour to drape it across her figure, relying on it to provide at least a small portion of warmth to her. She clasps the garment slightly and a smile surfaces his lips, his leathers coming up to brush a stroke across her cheek faintly—only lasting a second or two before detaching from her like an uncooperative magnet. Once she’s finally soothed back into position, Mando retrieves the safety belt from beside her and secures it across her waist before grudgingly tearing away from the Girl. “Looks like you’re with me.”

The Child squeals with enjoyment as the Mandalorian returns to his seat.

“Shh,” he instructs, glancing back to see the Girl motionless. He sighs with relief.

Mando joins the buckle’s latches together and wraps an arm around the Child to secure him against himself. The thrusters wake with a roar and quake the craft’s hull, the ion accelerator chamber thawing the thrusters nozzles of their icy barricade—shit, the ice. It’ll pose a threat, a handicap at the minimum if it doesn’t defrost soon enough. He cringes as the Crest whines against the glacier's dominance on his landing gear, but with the newly-maintenance thrusters, it’s no match against the craft. It rips from the ice and retracts to the hull’s underbelly, allowing Mando to manipulate the ship through the sky and out of the atmosphere; slabs of ice and snow descend to the ground beneath them. 

The feeble bumpiness fades into a smooth flight and Mando activates the autopilot controls. “Not so bad, huh?” He disconnects the buckle from his belt and slips out of the chair, letting the Child sit in the warm leather. “Don’t go touching things—and don’t wake her up,” he quickly adds, noting the Child’s inquisitive staring as though he hadn’t genuinely noticed her earlier. 

Mando sighs and hopes he’ll listen to his request just this once.

The Crest’s hold had been cleaned, just as the Girl promised to do, hardly even a speck of dust surfaced the floor. She’d been busy—and he had just been preoccupied with himself. Mando sighs to himself and browses through his reserved clothing. It mostly consists of bunking apparel—a couple of loose shirts and favourable pants—that he hadn’t had the opportunity to put to use since he fostered the Child. He’s expected—required to remain on the defensive at all times with the Guild breathing down his neck. 

He sorts through the articles and grabs the spare flight suit, his only other. It would be ideal to purchase another, especially now with this one having been ripped, but it wasn’t a necessity presently. The fabric in his hands smells of dirt and grime, residue from the lake he attempted to clean it in all those weeks ago, but it’s better than his current—tattered, bloody, sweaty, and cum-stained. What a combination.

Perhaps he should invest in a refresher for his Crest. That way he wouldn’t be hunched over in the dark corners of the hold, stripping the beskar steel from his body for anybody to stumble across. It didn’t provide much assurance being within eyeshot of the cockpit ladder and with the lack of places to conceal himself, his hurried movements advanced. Then again the sheer thought of the Girl seeing him like this—and joining him—isn’t unpleasant; it would make the situation a whole lot less embarrassing. 

He peels the last of his beskar from his body and stacks it against the wall, reorienting himself to slip out of his boots. It’s been a while since he last stood without any armour, excluding the helmet, and it feels refreshing in a way. But it doesn’t feel right.

Mando wasted no time in replacing the flight suit, smoothing the fabric out with his gloves and reapplying the ensemble of beskar; each patch of steel fitting snugly where it belongs. It’s slightly more bearable, not having to feel his own mess rubbing against him on the inside of the fabric, and he shoves the dirty flight suit in replace of the clean. He’ll get around to washing it when he has the time—or burn it by virtue of the rip across the arm. 

Speaking of arms, the bacta patch on his bicep had aided the wound significantly and within the next day or two, it should be healed. The lesion on his back was a different story. It’s still sore, somewhat better with a night’s rest, but it’ll be a while before he’s out there firing blasters with that same authority. It could cause jeopardy if he’s not cautious.

The Razor Crest abruptly rumbles and falls into a fit of tremors, hurling the Mandalorian against the stationary carbonite pods with fury. “Shit,” he growls and grips his bicep, pleading he won’t bleed through the fresh clothes so soon. It pulses again and the engines’ whining travels through the ventilation, discharging a high-pitched shriek followed by a low hum of a whistle.

“Man-fuck, Mando!” the Girl beckons from upstairs. Mando is quick on his feet up the ladder, clinging desperately to the rungs upon another spasm. “I was sleeping a-and the kid…” She doesn’t need to finish for him to understand, for the Child is sitting underneath the nav panel with colourful cords in his hands; wire coverings peeled away to expose the electricity hazards sparking in his fists.

“Kid, no!” Mando scolds and snatches the cables from his stubborn claws. He babbles a complaint to his guardian as he’s being relocated far away from the electricity. He’s completely dismantled it—Mando will need to implement an entirely new wiring system for the navigation controls alone; a job he’s not suited for. He turns to the Girl for support.

“Don’t look at me,” she raises her hands defensively, “I only know bits and pieces.”

Innocently burbling besides the Mandalorian, the Child watches as leather gloves track across the navigation controls urgently. He’s unbothered by the predicament they’re in—just glad that his guardian had returned to the cockpit’s cabin, it appears. Mando groans in annoyance, fumbling with the nav and fighting against it’s constant glitching. “We’re in luck. There’s a planet on the way. Tatooine. Someone can help us there.” 

“Yeah. Heard of it,” she mutters, regrettably, and he wonders what that is all about but it can wait. It wasn’t the time to sweat over the small details. “We’re not going to crash, are we?”

He contemplates, glancing over the system’s diagnosis and dismisses the electrical yammering it erupts. “Shouldn't—there’ll just be a lot of turbulence.”

That there is—turbulence and a great deal of it. There’s too much to maintain an uncoiled stomach throughout the remainder of the short flight and they’re both surprised when they’re successful in their landing, especially without the contents of their stomach having been dumped over themselves. Peli Motto—an innovative mechanic but a bit too communicatory for the Mandalorian’s preference—stands in her hangar with two greasy hands on her hips, eyes squinting through the viewport to gaze up at Mando. Better have my credits ready to go this time, he can already hear her say and he sighs. Credits he did have, but they weren’t exactly his, and there wasn’t much to spare.

“I’ll see to her,” Mando announces and retrieves the Child, “would you care to join?”

The Girl seems hesitant and peers out the viewport curiously. “Do you trust her?”

Mando takes another glance outside. Peli’s droids are nearing his ship to begin operations but with one stern look from the woman, they back away from the craft. “I do.”

The Girl sighs and peels herself from her seat, fiddling with the cloak that had been laid across her body earlier. “This, uh-”

“Clip it on for me,” he instructs and turns, waiting for familiar hands to run across his shoulders. It takes a moment and he considers retrieving it himself, but he’s patient and it pays off—her fingers playing with the neck covering to manipulate the cloak into place, her digits stroking against the back of his neck underneath all the thick fabric. It’s therapeutic somehow or other. He doesn’t quite understand it himself, but feeling the Girl’s pressure against him relaxes him; eases his eyes closed until all he wants to do is sleep, in her arms preferably and with his head on her chest—his head, not his helmet. Mando wants to press his ear against her flesh and listen to her heartbeat, her breathing, but most of all he just wants to be touched and to touch another.

The Girl smoothes her hands out across the cloak, running her palm down his back and ending just before it reaches the curve at the bottom. “There you go.” She smiles. Fuck, her smile. It makes him want to say something stupid, something embarrassing just to get the same reaction out of her; he wants to be the cause of that smile on her face. She adds, “Thank you.”

Mando twists to face her again, his head tilting. “What for?”

“Buckling me up and, uh, giving me the cloak,” she confesses, a timid hue of pink on her cheeks—she was blushing. “You could have given it to the kid or just kept it yourself, but… you didn’t. So, thank you.”

He swallows and reaches his hand up—for what, he doesn’t know. It’s not until his digits touch the soft padding of her cheek that he notices he’s making a move, his strokes transforming into uncertain shakes. The Girl’s blush deepens at the contact and she places her hand atop his, giving a quick squeeze of reassurance.

With that, his head is back to sorting through indecent thoughts and actions—but none are related to those they had been previously; they’re not obscene nor lustful. It’s his Creed that they’re unethical towards. He imagines the Girl reaching for his helmet, her slender fingers brushing against his chin as she does so, and lifts the steel to unmask the face that’s been sealed away for a long, long time. If she tried to do it right here, right now, he’s not positive whether he would stop her.

“We shouldn’t keep her waiting, it’ll be rude.”

She can wait, is what he wants to say, instead, he murmurs a simple, “Right.”

The Child appears satisfied in Peli’s arms, a large smile on his face as he glares up at the Mandalorian ahead of him. He’s receiving every ounce of attention he can muster out of the woman. “You telling me this little one did all that? Maybe if you gave him a little more attention he wouldn’t be tearing out your cables!”

“What do you mean?” Mando ponders. She runs a finger across the kid’s batwing ears and gestures behind him in the distance where the Girl preoccupies herself tending to their blasters. “What are you getting at?”

“Oh, come on! Do I have to spell it out for you? Are you that oblivious?” She sighs and soothes the Child, “You’ve found yourself another lifeform to harbour—probably spending an awful lot of time with her, aren’t ya?”

He’s not oblivious, not in the slightest; he’s just trying to avoid coming to terms with the thoughts in his head. However, he hadn’t noticed his lack of bonding with the Child and he mentally scolds himself. Of course, the kid wants attention, all kids do, and he’s probably becoming rather frustrated at the inadvertent neglect as a by-product of Mando’s fantasies. 

“I ain’t saying ya shouldn’t indulge a little,” Peli chuckles and wags her hairless eyebrows at the visor, “I don’t blame ya for that. It must be hard adapting to having a girl like that on board your ship.”

Mando quietly sighs under his helmet but a blush lines his cheeks nonetheless. He’s relieved she can’t see it. He grumbles, “Get to the point.”

“Point is, you can’t ignore a child like that,” she explains, “he’s an impish little critter—smart, too. It wouldn’t surprise me if he did that on purpose to get your attention.”

“He’s costing me a lot of credits for attention.” Black-brown eyes observe the looming figure of beskar and Mando softens slightly. Peli watches with interest and returns the toddler to his arms. “The Girl-”

“She’ll be fine,” she assures, “if she wants to help, I’ll be sure to give her a real workout—don’t worry she won’t be too drained.”

The Mandalorian commits a final leer at the mechanic, enough to cause her to pull her lips tight into a smirk, and he returns to the Girl’s side to exchange his goodbyes, “I’m going to head into town and see if there are any jobs available.” 

The Girl raises an eyebrow in question and pauses polishing the blasters, “I’m not coming with you?”

Does she want to come with him? The vocoder emits a hum of thought but ultimately he knows she should stay behind this time, “Peli reckons I should spend time with the kid. Shouldn’t take too long—I’ll just head in and grab the kid a meal, look around for intel… I’ll be back before it’s dark.”

She nods, understanding. “I’ll—just wait here then.”

Mando reciprocates her nod and hesitantly steps back, but the Girl’s fingers loop through his belt and draws him in close to her once again. He steadies himself with a hand on the dip of her waist, digits unconsciously poking into the flesh deeper, and he angles the helmet to her eye level in disarray. 

The familiar weight of his blaster slips into position against his thigh but he doesn’t tear his eyes away to look, he doesn’t want to move at all. “Might need it,” she explains, her tone hushed, “it’s good to go.” She lightly taps the blaster with her free hand and he stiffens when her palm comes to rest atop it, the tips of her fingers brushing against the outside of his thigh.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” Her lips curl into a cunning grin and she tries to hide it by lifting herself onto her toes and breathing through the fabric surrounding his neck. Mando’s muscles flex involuntarily and the hand on her hip slinks a path to the curve of her back, where he fists a bundle of poncho fabric in his leathers. She whispers, “How’s your back feeling?”

“It’s - it’s better.”

She exhales softly and he swears he can feel it through the cloth, warming his jugular with her gleaming words, “So, you won’t be needing my help tonight?” Mando groans as she weakly pats the lesion deep underneath his cloak—it doesn’t hurt, more or less stings like a Droch crawling through his skin and draining his energy, but that was the Girl’s disposition more so than the wound’s sensitivity. 

“Well,” Mando clears his throat and steps closer—if that’s even possible—so his lower-half is pressing against her waist, evoking a hitch of his own breath from the contact. She’s so soft against him. “I might need a hand…”

She chuckles into his neck, sending the vibrations from her throat into his and it makes a beeline to his heart. It vortexes around the organ, a current so strong it’d be fatal to terminate the stream. Not that he wanted to stop it. It’s such a pleasant feeling, the phantoms of sunshine-esque tendrils applying a pacifying pressure that feels like that of an embrace; warm hands clasping his heart and delivering delicate kisses across the muscle. He can almost sense the cushioning of lips against the pulsing organ.

“Ya know, I’ve got more than just hands.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, practically drooling at the mere suggestion—he’d be so sluggish to drag it out as long as possible, every single touch of his deliberate to commit all her curves, bumps, even bruises, to memory. Store it away for a gloomy day, like a breach in the clouds; sunbeams breaking through the overcast and introducing a warmth like none other. 

Mando cranes his neck to the side slightly and she takes the invite to burrow deeper. The blood in his neck is hot and the air in his helmet sultry. He wants to do nothing but drag her back to the ship and lock themselves away for the remainder of the day, but the irritated child on his hip is starting to get antsy. Mando gasps, “Need to - to take the kid out.”

She hums her sympathy against his neck, “Take your time. I’ll be here.”

Well, time was indeed taken, or however the saying goes.

The Mandalorian had been forced into conversations all day courtesy of the Child; he just couldn’t seem to stop touching things or feeding on display products of each stall they’d pass. Mando’s entire vocabulary had been decreased to continuous sorry’s and kid, no! It doesn’t just end there. The Child was inquisitive of all his surroundings, particularly places Mando couldn’t fit himself—it made for some awkward dialogue between him and the kiosk attendants when he’d be on his hands and knees rummaging around for a loose alien baby.

“I’m not stealing!” He’d reassure but it’d have the opposite effect and turn heads, people eyeing him with curiosity; a Mandalorian, like that in folklore, frantically chasing a little green toddler with something half-alive dangling from its mouth. He’s made a fool out of himself enough for a day. The Child, on the other hand, is still persistent—giving him somewhat of the silent treatment until Mando bargains a promise of food. 

The Child attentively watches his food in the arms of the server, streaks of steam and a tender fragrance wafting in his direction as it settles onto the table ahead. “Thank you,” Mando nods and leans back in his seat, unequipping a small bag of leftover credits he could spare for the day and sliding it across the wooden surface, “do you know of any employment opportunities?”

“Regrettably not, sir,” the waiter replies and exchanges final pleasantries before returning behind the buffet to assist an unruly patron.

Mando sighs and returns his guard to the Child—who grabs a spoonful of scalding liquid and squeals in delight—and chews on the inside of his lip in thought. Tatooine is just as detestable as the last time he was here—the hustle and bustle never-ending. One would think that the Mandalorian could blend in with such an immense and diverse population, but his outright existence drew attention to himself; it’s becoming a ritual each time he steps foot inside a cantina. People’s discussions quickly cease as they scrutinise the warrior upon his entrance, contemplating whether they could neutralize him and pry the beskar steel from his body to sell in the black market. Some have tried and failed, of course. In his youth, Mando thrived off the sensation. It was empowering to have others tremble in their skin at the sheer sight of a Mandalorian, but he’s matured and those days are long since dead. He’s travel-worn, too exhausted to concern himself with people’s thoughts regarding him, so long as they weren’t orchestrating his downfall. 

“I ain’t never seen a thing like this before,” a disembodied voice mutters from behind the Mandalorian, the shoddy cantina lighting casting a shadow across their table. Mando doesn’t tear his attention from the Child but reaches for his blaster nonetheless, the leathers fiddling with the hilt in preparation. “Where’d you get it?”

When he doesn’t reply, the figure shifts to come between him and the Child—a trandoshan with wide-set eyes and sharp pointed teeth, sneering at the man underneath the beskar. She’s got yellow-brown scaly skin and dons a protective piece underneath an unbuttoned shirt, with a hunting rifle across her back and a carbine strapped to her belt. She steals a chair from the closest table and swings it around to join the pair, placing her elbows on the table and looking back-and-forth between Mando and the Child.

“We’re looking to raise a youngling like this, maybe something a lil’ bit more competent than this one.” The Child’s green ears perk up at the stranger but just as quickly dismisses her, plunging the spoon into the womp rat stew for seconds or thirds—Mando wasn’t keeping track. She glances behind Mando and waves a hand and calls, “Bookoo, what d’ya think?”

Bookoo—a Wookiee decked with nothing more than a dual bandolier across his chest and a small satchel at his hip—appears into view, soaring over the accumulated individuals and extends a welcoming smile at Mando underneath the shaggy rug of his face. “Muawa, ur oh.”

“No? What, you think we’re gonna get anything better?”

Mando interrupts, tired of the banter, “He’s not going with you.”

“We have credits,” she taps the satchel on Bookoo’s hip, they clash against one another inside the leather.

“He’s not for sale.” Mando tears himself from his seat and shepherds the Child into his arms, ignoring the burbles and whines he emits as he tries to grab hold of the bowl. Mando turns for the exit, intently listening to the whispers of the pair behind him, but stops when called for.

“Uh-sir... Mandalorian, sir?” He turns on his heels and eyes the waiter who places two small packages stacked together atop the counter. “Your dessert, sir.”

The Trandoshan eyes the Mandalorian as he awkwardly balances the boxes in one arm and the Child in the other. She steps forwards once his hands are far from his blaster to make her claim, “I promised my group I’d bring back an apprentice, ya see? With a lil’ bit of training, that thing should be good to go. Ain’t that right, Bookoo?”

Bookoo steps back defensively, “Mu waa waa.”

“Stupid Wookiee,” she mutters and rises from her stool, her bare feet tapping against the cantina’s duracrete flooring. She places a claw on the counter in an attempt of intimidation, but she only sustains a pathetic reaction from the waiter. “What’s a Mandalorian need a child for anyways? You raising that thing to become one?”

“We’re done talking.”

“Aw, come on. We’re just having a small chat. No need to run for the dunes.”

The Mandalorian denies her the satisfaction of retaliation and continues outside. The familiar crunch of grit a welcoming sound through his filters—he never thought he’d be comforted by such a sound. The Trandoshan yells one last remark before he steers a corner, “If you change your mind, we’ll be here!”

He’s suspicious of their intentions—and uncertain whether they were tailing him—so he weaves through the night crowd, bumping and pushing the drunkards to and fro. Once he’s scampered plenty, and positive they hadn’t been stalking his footsteps, he returns to Peli’s hangar with a drowsy Child and now-cold dessert. Optimally, the kid will be tuckered out for the rest of the night but it was never a certainty—he just hopes he’ll give him some privacy for at least a few hours.

Peli wipes grease on a rag hanging from a belt hoop of her coveralls and offers Mando a smile, “I assume you got yourself a job?”

Mando shakes his head in defeat and delivers one of the takeaway boxes in her hands.

“What’s this?” She opens the box and her eyes practically light up with joy but it’s short-lived as she eyes him suspiciously, “Is this a bribe?”

“Just a nice gesture. I thought.”

“Hmm,” Peli hums and closes the box, nodding her head slightly. “Well, ‘bout that ship of yours… It’ll be two thousand.”

Two thousand. It’ll bleed their funds dry, but the Crest needs repairs. Without them, they’d be stranded here on Tatooine for the unforeseeable future—something Mando really couldn’t accommodate. There’s too much sand. Too many people. His calloused hands aren’t for sitting on; they’re created to work, and he won’t allow himself to leisure around a planet without performing some act. 

The Girl won’t be pleased to hear he’s gone and spent a large sum of her earnings—not to mention how she’ll react when she ultimately comprehends she will be required to stay a little longer than expected. Mando feels his lips curling and he tries to smother it with reasoning; tries to tell himself he can’t keep her detained alongside him forever, but he’s obstinate and doesn’t take heed of his own advice. There’s a leap in his heart and a twisting in his stomach at the thought she’ll remain beside him for a little while longer—at least until he has the credits.

Perhaps the Child was onto something when he went and ripped all those wires out.

“That’s with a discount,” Peli adds.

“I should buy more of those.”

Peli scoffs at his jesting comment and tosses the takeaway parcel atop a flat surface. “The Girl. She’s good with her hands.”

If only she knew.

Something within the mechanic suggests that she does, in fact, know judging by the speculation written across her face; her squinted eyes waltzing his figure and her teeth chomping on the inside of her cheek to avoid voicing a sarcastic comment. The shield of beskar may disrupt his facial expressions—concealing them to only his cognisance—but his mannerisms are increasingly heightened to others and he’s gradually realising he’s not as proficient in masking them as he originally thought. 

Mando swallows a thick lump in his throat and shifts his weight to one foot, his hip cocking out vaguely. “Is the maintenance finished?” he asks, shifting the topic to something he can reduce the awkwardness with.

Peli clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, “Oh, you mean the replacement of the entire navigational controls? Yeah, did it all by myself in a matter of a few hours. No help from my droids. No, it’s not done! Do you know anything about spacecraft restoration?”

“I typically leave that in the hands of...professionals.” Mando chooses carefully. “When will it be ready?”

“Me and your Girl are done for the night.”

His Girl?

Mando’s cheeks flush mildly, a faint tint of pink lining across his nose accompanied by a heat tackling the inside of his visor. Those two little words sound exceptional as the settle surrounding him, fogging his head with the seven letters—seven letters that he couldn’t relate to. They don’t belong to him; wouldn’t belong to him.

But he lets himself fantasise they could—they are.

His Girl. 

Mando’s lips ghost underneath the beskar, mouthing the words to himself as though to test the waters; dipping his toes in the substance and sampling the texture before sinking into it, letting it engulf him. He thinks of His Girl’s lips and how soft, how gentle, they looked. Her lips are the sandy borders of a beach—sand he wouldn’t mind if it were to wedge its way through his flight suit to abuse his body— and her tongue, her saliva, are the waters; refreshing but salty, leaving him thirsty for more.

Peli drags him out of his daydreaming without realising it, “But it should be up and running before the suns’ at its peaks. So you better have my credits ready! I’m not free labour, ya know.”

“Don’t worry,” he groans, “you’ll get the payment.”

She crosses her arms taut over her chest and squints at him suspiciously, probably wondering how he’s going to manage to pay her, but her determination fades into moderate compassion with a deep exhale. “All right, gimme the kid.”

“What? Why?”

Her earthy eyes flick up to the cockpit’s viewport and Mando twists his body to observe. The top of the Girl’s head can be seen from his perspective, her arms raised high above her in a stretch and then just as quickly disappears out of sight. Peli teasingly shoves Mando’s shoulder and laughs, “Go on, I’ll take the kid for the night. I’ll even do it for free; reimbursement for the dessert.”

She’s a blessing in disguise—who’s he to decline such a persuasive offer? 

“Just-” Peli stabilises the weight in her arms, the Child placidly dozing off in one, “I better not be hearing all that, okay? If you wake either me or the kid up-”

“Thank you.”

She watches him, stunned, and then shakes her head and mutters something under her breath. Mando doesn’t even feel tempted to know what she’s whispering to herself, he only has one thought on his mind: His Girl.

The Mandalorian reunites with the Girl in the cockpit’s cabin. She’s sitting on the floor tinkering with loose cabling with a craned neck to accommodate for the low-rise control board. Mando’s unsure whether he’s delighted to see her down there or disappointed; something within him expecting her to be somewhere less uncomfortable, awaiting his return—it’s a selfish thought and a very hormonal one at that. He sighs to himself and sits in the passenger’s seat, his elbows leaning on his knees to peer over her shoulder. “I thought Peli said you were finished?” Mando queries.

“She’s finished. I’m not.”

Mando breathes her name, introducing it to the cramped cockpit and it’s stale air, and she pauses a moment to turn her head and look into the magnetising visor. Now he’s the one pausing. It’s comical how he’s so easily conquered by a single glance. She doesn’t look at him like that in holoplays—where her eyes gleam in the low light hanging above and her mouth twitches when she’s restraining a smile—so why does his heart flutter and his blood surge through his veins? Rather, her eyebrows are crinkled with discouragement on account of uncooperative cords and there’s a streak of oil across her forehead—she looks just as gorgeous as ever. 

Mando’s voice softens as he talks to her, “Take a break. It can wait until morning.”

She dismisses his recommendation, “It’s fine, I can keep going.”

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”

“Quoting me to myself now, are we?” 

He shrugs his shoulders. “You’re persuasive.” She chuckles some and he delves into the rumbles, enveloping himself in the bubbliness of it. “I brought food. You can have some if you stop working.”

She quirks an eyebrow and eyes the package in his leathers. “What is it?”

“Come here and look.”

“Are you having some?”

Mando contemplates, but he already knows his answer. “I’m not hungry,” he lies.

“Neither am I.” She deceitfully smiles and returns to her labours—it’s arduous, her fingers firmly twining the wires together and unravelling others apart to reconnect to a bundle loosely hanging underneath the panel.

The Mandalorian had completely forgotten how stubborn she can be, especially with his thoughts distorted by the events of last night; she had been so adaptable and willing to aid him. It’s ridiculous to think they’re the same person. Jaw clenching with defeat, Mando sighs heavily and fiddles with the takeaway box. It’s lid lifts from its fastenings to expose a small stack of fluffy cobalt-coloured pancakes. They’re slightly soggy from the absorbed condiments and stone-cold, having been outside for far too long, but they’re a Tatooine delicacy he had yet to try before. 

Mando glances at the Girl and rips the pancake into sections, simultaneously watching her exhaust herself. She groans dramatically and readjusts her position, practically laying on her stomach with her torso hoisted by her elbows. It allows for her to maneuver underneath the control panels—and allows Mando to drag his eyes lower. 

His leathers slide underneath the bottom of his helm and dislodge it from position, the beskar expelling a sharp hiss of air. He freezes at the reminder but the Girl doesn’t seem interested in the newly discovered noise; he continues, elevating the hindrance just above his mouth to slot in a slice of torn pancake.

They’re soft like her hands and he lets himself imagine they are—pretends the sweetness of the syrup is actually his cum on her fingers or, better yet, her own slick. He’s reluctant to even chew, not wanting to shred the impure fantasy he’s created upon himself, so he doesn’t. Mando sits there with the pancake in his mouth just holding it there, letting his tongue flatten underneath it and suck the syrup out to relish in the bittersweetness. 

It’s only once he’s drained it of its flavour that he finally devours the cake in hunger. It’d been a while since he last ate, but he repeats the process with the other sections he had torn apart—struggling to contain his self-control as he savours the sweetness and imagery of the Girl writhing underneath him. 

Mando plops the tips of his leathers in his mouth and absorbs the residual syrup before aligning his helmet in place yet again, his hunger reasonably quenched—his thirst for the Girl, not so much. It doesn’t help matters when she reaches for a cord and her poncho rides up, unmasking the curves of her backside and revealing a splinters-worth of skin above the hem of her pants. He indulges at the sight of taunting skin and licks a drop of syrup from his lips, imagining his head between her thighs lapping at something sweeter—tangier. Mando feels so fucking undignified around her like his honour has been squeezed out of an over-absorbed rag; dripping through the gaps in his fingers and there’s nothing he can do to catch it before it vaporises before his eyes hardly leaving a trace in its wake.

It’s wholly improper how his eyes attack her unclothed skin, obsessing over it like a glass of water in the outskirts of Tatooine. Now that he thinks about it, his mouth is significantly parched and he’s forced to bite his lip to avoid reaching out for the temptation. Still, he hungers to run his fingers across the bare flesh and explore her bumps and curves with his tongue, dragging it over her neck and feel the rumbles of her moans as he sucked on a pulsing vein. Her moans—what a magnificent sound that must be.

The unspoken promise between them plays with the dark crevices of his imagination.

I’ve got more than hands.

Mando’s unsure if she meant it; she hadn’t indicated anything to him since his return. Is she expecting him to make the first move? If so, that’s torturous in itself.

Coffee-coloured eyes battle against the azure cakes and he confronts a moral dilemma. He has an inclination to satisfy the building arousal in his pants but it doesn’t align with his traitorous voice, “Eat.”

The Girl glances over her shoulder and Lord, he could get used to that view especially with him atop of her. She reverts her gaze to the opened box in his lap. “I’m not-”

“I’ve had one,” he confesses and tilts the box to show a stack of three remainders, “two each, but you can have my other.”

“When did you… Did you take off your helmet? In front of me?”

“Behind you,” he corrects.

She doesn’t find the humour in the situation, though, which surprises Mando. “What - what about your Creed? Fuck, Mando. You can’t…”

His expression softens underneath the visor and he sinks to his knees on the ground so he’s eye-level with the Girl, clasping one of her hands in his leathers. “Don’t concern yourself with that. I didn’t remove it entirely, just enough to eat. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal? Mando-”

Mando impolitely interrupts her by pushing a torn slab of blue through her parted lips—his digits lingering longer than necessary—and he chuckles at her shocked grimace. 

She swallows and slaps his pauldron, “Rude!”

“Sit down and eat.” 

The Girl conforms to his invitation and settles beside him, her back firmly planted against the durasteel wall of the cockpit. Mando awkwardly lowers to sit as well, the beskar clanking against the wall behind them but he doesn’t take any notice of it. It’d be like herding a group of Nexu—utterly impossible—if he tried to concentrate on anything but her thigh against his or her hand digging through the box on his lap. 

She munches on a blue cake beside him and it takes everything in him to give her privacy and not drool over the sticky syrup running down her fingers. It’s like she can read him though, her unsoiled hand hooking two fingers on the underside of the helmet and dragging it to look at her. “What about you?”

“I’ve...had one.” 

“One. I don’t want you passing out on me. Here, I’ll look away.” 

Mando eyes the divided dessert between her fingers and the drop of golden syrup slowly making way to her third knuckle. She’s not looking at him and can’t identify whether he’s accepting her offer or not, but she doesn’t dare retract her hand; it just hovers in the air waiting for his leathers to grasp the food from her—they don’t. Something so much softer does, though.

Mando licks a long stripe along the underside of her fingers, tearing the pancake from her clutch with his tongue and reserving it in the cheek of his mouth for later—too preoccupied with the sugary concentrate coating her fingers. She tenses at the sensations. It’s overwhelming, consuming her thoughts and spitting them out in a pile of goo. It’s almost irresistible to not look at him, to not watch as he sucks on her fingers so fucking desperately, but she’s respectful of his Creed even if it kills her.

“Mando,” she whispers because it’s too quiet, too real. 

His tongue is persistent, parting her fingers from each other and lapping at the syrup in the crevices of her knuckles. It’s so sweet and he moans around her fingers at the taste on the back of his tongue. Mando doesn’t concern himself with the potential of humiliation—he ought to look downright laughable right now—because she’s so sweet and soft in his mouth, far superior to the pancake he relished earlier. There’s a puny attempt to pull away on her behalf but with a firm grip on her wrist, she holds her position inside his mouth, especially when his teeth lock her digits in place, while her other hand finds the plate of thigh armour and hooks the fingers underneath.

“Shit,” she breathes and leans into him.

The Girl’s palm flattens against his chin and he stiffens his jaw, his movements slacking behind now that he’s focused on the warmth on his face. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him so tenderly, no - he could but he didn’t want to; didn’t want to ruin the moment with the imagery of blaster fire and his mother’s last loving touch.

Her reassuring strokes against his cheeks with her free fingers urge him on and he sucked the final of the syrup from her digits before freeing them from his lips, placing a peck on the tips. Once the helmet is resealed, he finishes the neglected pancake in his mouth.

“You’re not as reserved as you act,” she chuckles, “where was that last night?”

Mando smiles. “Come here and let me show you.”

Where was all this confidence coming from?

He doesn’t care—he’s making a fucking move while he can.

The Girl contemplates him with a raised brow and a small smirk toying at her lips. It makes him want to know what she’s thinking—formulating—in that head of hers, but he’s not left in suspense for long. She braces a leg over his lap and straddles him, constricting her inner thighs against the outside of his and tilting his helmet back to look up at her. 

Mando nearly stops breathing, his organs refusing to cooperate in unison with such an unknown weight atop of him. All that confidence from earlier completely obliterates with just one roll of her hips—maybe it wasn’t confidence but arrogance, he thinks. She’s devious, he can see the pleasure in her eyes at his unfolding below her.

“Are you looking at me?” she asks, a hand on either side of his helmet to steady his head.

He nods because he doesn’t trust himself not to whine if he opens his mouth.

She looks back at him and for a moment, just a second, he feels as though she can see him, and then she grinds down and sketches the outline of his stiffening cock below her heat—and fuck if it isn’t one of the friskiest things he’s ever beared witness to. There’s just something so unique about the eye contact when she’s unravelling him like a ball of yarn; he wants to gaze into her eyes without the guard ahead of him and break her apart. “F-fuck, you’re,”-she rolls her hips again, faster-“ah, you’re too - too good to me.”

“I know,” she quips.

Daunting. It’s so fucking daunting being so paralysed with arousal underneath the Girl, stripped down to an accumulated pile of whimpers and twitches as she takes her sweet time tormenting him—and he fucking enjoys every second of it. He’s fatigued from years of bounty hunting, years of being shot, stabbed, beaten, and it’s stimulating having somebody touch him so languidly and voluntarily care for him in such a way.

“Tell me what you want, Mando.”

He swallows.

It’s so fucking ironic. He’s never had more than a few thousand credits to his name at a time and yet, pinned below the Girl with her being so provocative, he feels like the richest man alive—because it couldn’t be luck; he’d never been so fortunate to as receiving a simple bounty commission, a beautiful girl extracting every drop of arousal out of him no less.

He moans her name and inches his fingers under her poncho, “Want - fuck, I need-”

Mando’s pleas are interrupted by a suspiciously familiar disembodied voice shouting, “Come on out and nobody gets hurt!” It’s a gruff, hoarse sound that oils the cogs in his mind. The Trandoshan. She must’ve followed him here…but he took precautions…

He can’t find it within himself to tear his hands away from the Girl to survey the threat outside, so she takes it upon herself to clamber off his lap leaving him cold and hard in his pants. Molten lava rises in his chest as he raises to his feet, staring out the viewport with such vengeance it almost surprises him. The Trandoshan firmly stands with Peli Motto beside her, the barrel of her carbine pressed against her temple, and the Child squirming in her adjacent limb.

“Shit!” he growls and slams a pair of closed fists against the nav controls. It whines upon impact and blips a malfunctioning screen at his outburst.

“Hey, calm down,” she soothes, a hand slipping into his.

“They have Peli! ...The kid.”

The Trandoshan leers at him through the viewport. “Leave that blaster of yours on the ship and get down ‘ere. No funny business either! I’ll fire a hole through her head otherwise. Then the Kid’s.” She accentuates her point by thrusting the barrel against Peli’s temple harder.

The Girl fishes his blaster out of his holster. “They haven’t seen me,” she explains. “I’ll wait until you get close enough to them but don’t try anything without me.”

It could work. It could fail. He didn’t have an alternative plan.

“Okay,” he agrees, understanding the moment between them is long gone.

With one final gawp outside, Mando pries himself away from the nav controls and heads downstairs, bare. It’s not as though he’s completely defenceless; the flamethrower in his vambraces had enough fuel to get him out of a pinch, the whipcord could serve a purpose if essential, and he still possessed his vibro-knife in his boot. None of that can compare to the comfort of a blaster in his hand though.

The Child and Peli Motto’s safety is his priority, so he’ll comply with the Girl’s strategy and get as close to the Trandoshan as possible. He’ll use brute force if necessary.

They’ve relocated to an open region in the hangar where it’ll be near impossible to shield everybody if a blaster fight ensues. Preferably, it won’t come to that. The Trandoshan flexes her finger against the trigger when Peli fidgets with her hands beside her. Mando vaguely shakes his head in her direction and examines the Child’s wellbeing in the yellow-brown scaly arms.

“I’m here.” He raises his hands to demonstrate his compliance, “Let them go and we’ll talk.”

She sneers at him, laughs. “No.” The blaster reels back and whips Peli over the head, knocking her unconscious in a piled heap on the ground. Mando moves forwards, his fists tightening with each step. “Hold it right there.” The Child whines against the cold barrel pressing into his wrinkled forehead. Mando stops hastily, his eyebrows twitching with rage.

“What do you want?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“What do you need a child for?”

She smiles hauntingly, her sharp teeth locking together through her open-mouthed grin. “We don’t need one, but this one’s got a pricey bounty on its head,”—she aims for the flesh above his heart plate—“as do you.”

Guild members. Just his luck they’d be situated on Tatooine at the same time as he is.

The Mandalorian’s visor tilts to the Child in her arms, his eyes narrowing on the outstretched green claw. The kid’s eyes shut and his forehead wrinkles as he desperately tries to concentrate on something, and then it clicks in Mando’s head. His powers. The Child hadn’t used them since they took down the Mudhorn and Mando was beginning to think they had vanished, but they mustn’t have—he’s too focused on the air ahead of him.

The Trandoshan hasn’t noticed his fidgeting and Mando takes it upon himself to keep the barrel focused on him by stepping forwards, providing the Child time to figure out his abilities. “You won’t leave here alive,” he taunts.

She seems unfazed by his remarks, too confident in her plans. “Ah, what do we have here?” The Trandoshan asks curiously, peering over the Mandalorian’s figure and he whips his head to follow. The Girl is subdued in the arms of the acquainted Bookoo, who must’ve been anticipating resistance and remained obscured from their sight. 

The Girl fights against his grip but he’s far too strong for her to overpower and she limps in defeat, glancing up behind her at the Wookiee; eyes enlarging and her mouth falling agape underneath the face-covering she donned for the occasion.

Then—the last thing the Mandalorian expects to hear—the Trandoshan exclaims her name in a greeting, “It’s been a while!”

_______________________________

“Muawa, ur oh” - no, thank you “Mu waa waa” - please leave me alone

A/N: Good lord I am so sorry for an 8k chapter, I really didn’t want to split it into two. However, with this one being so long the next might not be out until the middle of next week (if I can manage to actually concentrate for long enough to write). Let me know how you enjoyed it and if you want to be added to the taglist! PS I’m running of gifs...please help...what do yall search for such hd gifs?

taglist: @ohhersheybars​​, @greatcircle79​​

[hearthandhomemagick]

Cottage Witch Journal Entry - Self Love, Sex and Other Things That Just Feel....Naughty

It wraps around your senses like silk. That fire in your tummy that you simmer down so often with bland love making and insecurity. 

It flickers and licks at your edges, hoping to rub your skin raw with the passion you know you want to let out.

It’s in the music. RnB slowed down, on reverb, echoing through the rooms walls. The bass is pulsing through you as your fingertips seem to just caress your limbs. 

No one has ever touched you more intimately than you could in this moment. No one knows the dips of your curves, or the scars across your skin. No one can love all of you as deeply as you could right. now. 

Don’t swallow that flame. 

Let it rise out from your pelvic, allowing it to crawl through the depths of your soul and out from between those rose petal lips. Let your body move like a serpent, weaving through the smoke filled air and inhaling the thick, hot atmosphere. 

You are sexy, my love.

You are the sultry song whispering in their ear. You are the wine that drips from their collarbone, a drunken need, unsatisfied with anything less than every part of you. 

Baby, I feel it to.

I am a Queen in my body. A God born into the world, no one can resist the confident aroma that wafts from my neck and wrists. I am the drug that brings ecstasy, the dessert that fills your plate, and the water the flows through your veins. 

I have lived my entire life hoping and praying a man could one day love me in my entirety.

How could I have been such a fool. To blatantly ignore the one person I’m stuck with the rest of my life.

Me.

A man cannot complete the parts of me taken by others. For a man did not create me. I did. 

Read that again, if you must, before we move on. Make it your mantra and own your Queen energy before continuing forward. Now, this is my journey to self acceptance through sexual passion and searching for the confidence and courage to enjoy it all again. To enjoy myself. 

If you resonate, feel free to openly communicate your thoughts, or even offer encouragement to yourself, to others and so on. Self-Love is a process and we don’t have to go through it alone.

I will start this with less-than-sexy, ugly and raw truth I’m sure everyone can relate to.

I have struggled with body and mental insecurities all my life. 

Last week alone I had an episode where comparing myself to someone else lead my body to emptying it’s contents on command. 

I get in these ruts where I simply hate myself, as if my own worst enemy was the brain I had to live with every day. I have days where I see myself and am purely disgusted with the weight that hangs from my bones. Over time, days turn into weeks, weeks to months...and this causes build up of dishes, laundry and trash. A nasty, and depressed home.

To hate yourself is one of the hardest things a person can go through in life. To abhor the very skin you live in. To say something, only to immediately regret it and overthink it for hours to come. To feel like the intrusive thoughts are constantly winning, and you are failing. I feel that, and I fucking hate it, man.

Even now, I feel weak. I feel extremely...wrong. And every action I try to take simply overloads my brain even further.

An analogy so I may describe the way my personal turmoil feels. 

Imagine swimming naked in a river. The cool flow of water against your skin seems to add a youthful energy to your blood. You did this often, just swimming in the clear river around you. 

Overtime, you decide to rest somewhere near the bank, choosing on standing in ankle-deep water. The water is beautiful, clear and has a lot of fish in it. And the current just feels good against your toes while the Sun licks the water from your skin.

You decide to stay here for a moment, it’s muddy but lovely. You don’t even fully notice that the water is rising. You brush it off as nothing because of how slow it is rising, and how beautiful the surface of the water looks. But, soon enough it hits your knees. This doesn’t bother you so much, but it has made you a bit perturbed, so you try to move. You then have the horrifying realization that your ankles are now trapped in the mud from standing there so long. The water starts rising, gaining momentum and soon enough it has reached your lower spine and your knees are now sinking deep beneath the mud. 

That’s when you realize the water hasn’t just been rising, you have also been sinking. You have slowly started becoming consumed by the dark, now murky water. Heart racing, you try to wiggle your feet out, but every time you lift one foot, the other drifts further down under your weight.

The water hits your neck and you stop. You know if you move then you’ll go further down. So you stay still. You stay and you wait quietly. The pressure of mud colluding your body is overbearing, and yet you try to stay positive because at least your head is above water, right?

But, you’re suffocating. And no one is checking on you, because you have never needed to be checked on before. You’ve never had to ask for help before, either. But you. are. suffocating. And you can’t stop the slow progression of water and mud. You’re cold, but it’s hard to feel anything at this point. You want to cry, but moving sinks you further so you hold it in. 

You’re stuck. And alone to boot.

Suffocating under things that could have been noticed prior to the damage. Suffocating under the weight and burden that seems to snake around your limbs. I’m tired, cold and too scared to ask for help.

In this moment, I hurt. In this moment, I’m not myself and can’t seem to get out of this nasty place with myself.

But, Carly, my love. You are putting in the effort. You are trying and you are more than enough. Take a deep breath and take in this silent moment. Cry, if you must. Loosen your muscles and let yourself be vulnerable. 

This next part is for me. Feel free to skip out or not, quite frankly I don’t care. I need this for me more than anything. If you want to skip, move past the italicized love letter to myself. We will get right back to the raunchy here in a minute.

Carly, it’s time to heal.

You are wonderful. I know you feel gross right now, and that’s understandable. But you have to keep eating. You can’t stop yourself from eating, it will create side affects before it creates the body you are so badly attached to wanting. Your brain is full of thoughts and ideas and intrusive images. 

You feel as though you’ve lost yourself in some way or another. You feel like you’re being left behind, forgotten or disregarded.

When is the last time you did something for you? Not to please others, but simply to make your heart happy? When is the last time you meditated? When is the last time you expressed your feelings healthily? When is the last time you simply took a moment to fucking breathe, dude?

That’s right. You can’t remember. So stop the negative shit right this second. Stop manifesting the things you don’t want to happen and start manifesting what YOU WANT TO HAPPEN. 

I feel a deep rooted connection with the river right now, and I want to bathe naked there. I want to get lost in the woods somewhere and sit with my thoughts so I can organize them without people putting their thoughts and ideas into my life. I want to be away from everyone and simply...be.

You are enough. You work out almost every day now, and if you don’t work out you definitely try to be active to some degree. Be excited for where you are going, along with appreciating where you are and have been. And you also are hyper aware of your eating habits. Maybe, just maybe, you should give yourself some space to grow and heal, the same way you tell everyone else to.

Carly, I love your curves. Every inch of your skin has a story to be read and I can’t wait to analyze it with my fingertips. Your eyes sparkle with delight and a fiery passion, when you speak you have something to say. You are graceful, you accept everyone as they are and love so deeply and thoroughly. You want so badly to let everyone know they are appreciated, that you care, and that you are strong enough to carry both of you. But you need to reassure yourself that you can carry you. 

It’s hard, I know. But those negative thoughts are temporary. Keep your head above water, and choose to float to the surface rather than drown. Surrender to the current pulling you out of the mud, appreciate where you are and trust that you will accomplish whatever you need to when the time comes.

The art of not trying so hard. 

Lao Tzu wrote literature of many, discussing flow and the art of not trying. It’s a mental game that, if overthought, can and will lead to the opposite of your efforts. Just let it go and stop fighting everything, if you need help then say it only to the people you want help from. Don’t cut yourself short, everything in your life is 100% done for you not against you. So stop trying, and just live.

Now, that suffocating feeling. 

Fuck. That. Shit.

If you don’t choke me, I’ll devour your breath. I will make sure you feel every single centimeter of my passion and fire. 

To feel goosebumps under my lips, and know I’m leaving marks every time my nails rake the entirety of your back. I want him to smell sex seeped into the sheets, to wallow in the energy that is my pussy. 

As I go down on him, I want his head between my thighs. His mouth consuming my soul. 

I want to walk, and his hand to meet my ass with a sudden greeting. I want his hands to go up my thighs in public places. I want him to take me somewhere hidden and take advantage of my body. I want him to crave me as much as I crave his attention. 

I want to not think so low of myself, because I deserve better. I deserve more and should want more for myself.

I’ve been trying too hard.

I look back at my past self and wish only to ask, “Who hurt you this bad?”

Maturity. 

Maturity comes with a knowing of ones self and having a sense of self control while recognizing you cannot control others. It is confidence in standing alone. Maturity is what you should aim for. 

You need to know who you are, and be absolutely positive of it. Stand confidently in your skin. Stop letting that shy shit get to you, it only holds you back from greatness.

Find your balance in maturity. You deserve that peace of mind. Appreciate where you are going, where you are, and where you have been. You’ve done so much already.

[the-cult-of-russo]

Push and Pull (Part 15)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x OC

Warnings: cursing, smut

---------

It was bright and early when Daphne woke up the next morning. She had things to do and no time to waste. The sun was shining through her window, the weather finally starting to get warmer. She put on some leggings with a tank top and then her zip up hoodie over it. She groaned at her hair in the mirror as she dragged her brush through the unruly locks. So many times she considered cutting it so it wasn't so much work, but she knew she'd regret it. Instead, she settled on tossing it up into a high pony and ignoring it. Her trusty backpack was slung around her shoulder and she hopped around as she put her vans on before leaving the apartment. 

She squinted slightly at the light once she got out of the building but it didn't deter her. First stop. Coffee. One large latte to go later, she was on her way to see Brett to find out what news he might have. She tossed her now empty cup in the trash can beside the station before she jogged up the steps and inside. She never checked in with the desk, she was a ghost when she was here. That's how it worked. It wasn't such a secret anymore than she was on Brett's payroll which left her to come and go as she pleased, but officially, she was never there. When she walked into the office area, Brett was sitting at his desk just like the day before. He looked like he hadn't even gone home.

"You look like shit," she mused teasingly, putting down the other coffee she'd gotten for him. His eyes lit up at the sight of it and he gave her a tired smile. 

"You're an angel," he muttered with a long pull from his drink as she sat down. The coffee at the precinct was the worst and never really did its job. 

"Any news yet?" She tried to hide the impatience in her voice but she wasn't sure she succeeded.

"Actually, we do have something. Not quite sure the full details yet though," he murmured. She looked at him expectantly.

"The people we rescued, their fingertips were burnt right off just like the last time. We can't identify most of 'em until they're fully coherent. But they're doing alright. I just can't believe the Chinese were at it again right under our goddamn noses," he fumed, taking another slurp of his coffee.

"I'm not surprised. They probably picked it back up when the heat turned off them again," she sighed. She hoped that once the victims were in a better state they'd be able to get names from them. Some of them might have family that were looking for them.

"Anything from the device?" She asked hopefully

"Yeah, actually. The Chinese requested the meet. They were pretty vague about a lot of shit but they kept saying something about the Italians having a weapon and they wanted to use it. Seemed to be brokering a deal about it. I got no idea what the hell this weapon is, but the Chinese really fucking want it and the Italians already have it. And that makes me nervous as shit," he frowned. 

It made her nervous too. What did the Italians have that the Chinese couldn't get for themselves? And why did they want it? 

"Well that's unsettling," she huffed with a shake of her head.

"Tell me about it. Good news though, that device you planted must be well hidden. It’s still live and active," he flashed her a grin and she smiled herself as she gave herself a mental pat on the back.

"Do you think it'll be useful?" She inquired.

"No telling yet. I mean mostly it'll be the kitchen staff but it might pick up something. Any other meets we might not be aware of or anyone saying something. Even something small can lead to something big, right?" He smirked, practically quoting her. It made her chuckle. 

"At least that's something. If we can figure out what weapon the Italians have we can figure out how bad this all is," she said softly. It made her nervous and she had a feeling things would get messy soon in Hell's Kitchen. 

"Here's hoping. There ain't much for you to do with the case right now but I'll let you know when we get any more information. It's just a waiting game now," he replied.

"Ah, my favourite," she smirked sarcastically, causing him to snort. She wasn't known for having patience. She liked answers and she liked them immediately. But in this case, playing the long game would be the only option to getting to the bottom of it all.

She bid her goodbyes to him not long after that before making her way back out into the sunshine. Now it was her next pit stop. A short cab ride later and she was at a very fancy luxurious home. It was more like a mansion and was three stories high. It looked like it was right out of a movie with one of those grand entrances and a water feature out front. She was well out of place as dressed down as she was but she knocked on the door anyway. She wasn't even surprised when a butler answered the door.

"Can I help you, miss?" The older man asked softly. His black and white uniform was crisp and clean and it put her own rumpled clothes to shame.

"I'm here to see Mrs Grimes. I'm Daphne Weaver," she replied awkwardly. 

"One moment please," he shut the door and she quirked her brow at how formal all this was. This better pay well. Suddenly the door opened again and he smiled at her.

"This way please. She's been hoping you'd come," he seemed a little friendlier now. Maybe it was because his boss wanted her here so he wasn't all suspicious of what she wanted. Either way, she followed him inside. He led her up the huge ass staircase, the kind that split off at the middle. Everything looked like it cost a million dollars, from the art to all the rare looking things in cabinets. She didn't even feel worthy enough to touch the banister so she kept her hands in her hoodie pocket. 

The carpet was lush and a deep purple colour and she found her eyes wandering the hallway they walked down. How many rooms does someone need? No wonder she had staff, upkeep on this place would be a ball ache. They reached a room far down the left and he knocked on the heavy looking mahogany door.

"Enter," a female voice rang out. It was slightly accented but she couldn't place it. Jeeves opened the door and gestured for her to go inside. She glanced around the room curiously as she walked in. It was a living area with a grand fire. Heavy bookcases lined the walls of the room and were filled with what looked to be antique books that Daphne found herself wanting to look at. There was a giant fur rug in front of the fireplace with velvet looking sofas set in front of it. 

That's where Mrs Grimes was sitting, looking perfectly in place for where she was. She was wearing a long black dress, heels bigger than anything Daphne could ever walk in. Her greying blonde hair was neatly coiffed and pinned up and she was dripping in diamonds. Jesus. 

"Pleasure to meet you Ms Weaver, please sit," she smiled warmly at her, gesturing to the other sofa. Daphne was half worried her vans would dirty the goddamn carpet as she padded over and plonked down. Despite it being completely over the top and not really her taste, she did appreciate however how clean and neat everything was kept. A place like this could easily fall into being cluttered and dusty but it was pristine. She supposed the staff were to thank for that. Mrs Grimes' nails were so long she doubted she could do much cleaning herself. Daphne wasn't sure how she didn't accidentally gauge her own eyes out.

"Would you like something to drink?" She asked politely. Jeeves was still hovering near the door no doubt waiting for his command. She was tempted to say yes to see what kind of beverages the other side drank, but she didn't want to stay long.

"Uh… no thank you. I'm fine," she replied with an awkward smile.

"Very well. Hammond, leave us," she dismissed the man at the door. He gave a dramatic nod before he left and shut the door behind him. She idly wondered if he ever wanted to punch his bosses when they commanded him to do things like that. She'd never be able to hold a job like that down.

"I'm glad you came, I was worried you wouldn't," the older woman started, elegantly crossing one leg over the other.

"A job's a job," Daphne snorted lightly, her hands still stuffed in her pockets lest she touch something and ruin it. Mrs Grimes gave her a tense smile, looking like it was difficult to be polite. Maybe she wasn't used to the lower class being in her home. 

"Indeed it is. Will you take the case?" She asked hopefully. 

"Yeah, I'll be able to do it. As I tell all my clients, I don't give out time frames. I never know how long it'll take me to find what I need or what roadblocks might come up. I don't appreciate impatience and it doesn't make me work any faster," she said firmly. Establishing boundaries was the first thing she liked to do. It was important. Especially with the wealthy ones as in her experience they tended to be the impatient ones with their self importance.

"Very well. I accept your terms. And please, whatever you find, do tell me," she implored. Daphne nodded, she always did no matter how shitty the information she'd gained was. Mrs Grimes stood, walking somehow with grace and ease in those monster heels as she walked over to a cupboard near the wall. She opened a drawer and came back with some paper.

"Me and my husband used to be very much in love. And I'm afraid now that I'm older he's decided to find other companions. Call me paranoid but I'm sure you understand when to look into a gut feeling," she mused as she walked back over and sat down. Daphne nodded again. Her gut was rarely wrong and it was telling her that Mrs Grimes was right.

"I want confirmation. I want to know who with and how deep it runs. If it's just physical or something more. I want to prepare myself should he try to divorce me and take what I have. I need proof," she stated seriously. Daphne's eyes subconsciously swept across the room and all the fancy things in it.

"I know what you're thinking. And I was the one with money, not him. He makes a decent amount with his job but I was born with money. This house was passed through my family for generations. Everything in it I bought. But over the years I've had my eyes opened to how greedy my husband can be. I cannot trust if we separate that he won't try to take everything from me," she sounded bitter and Daphne wasn't surprised. They definitely sounded like they had issues and once trust was gone in a relationship, everything else had no foundation to stand on. It wouldn't last. She commended the woman for thinking ahead to make sure she was protected if it came down to it. This kind of bullshit was why relationships were too much work.

"I'll find out what I can. I'll be honest, some of my methods aren't quite… legal. But it gets the job done," Daphne muttered. Things like breaking and entering were definitely illegal and then there was hacking if she ever needed to do it, which in this case might prove useful.

"Good," Mrs Grimes smirked at her. She found herself smirking back at her. The rich typically didn't care too much about how she got the information, just that she got it. Mrs Grimes reached down to her Gucci purse, setting it on her lap and she grabbed something out of it. It was her wallet and Daphne was curious what her offer would be. She hadn't spoken to her about price points yet and when it came to her wealthier clients she made a point of waiting to see what their offer would be first. Usually she’d haggle a little just because she could. They'd have the money and they wanted the information. 

She watched with a keen eye as Mrs Grimes took a chunk of money out and handed it to her. A quick count told her it was $1000 and it took effort for her eyes to not bulge out as she kept a cool calm facade.

"That's the deposit. You'll get the rest when the work is complete. Another $1000. I may give you more depending on just how much you find out," she drawled. So she wouldn't need to haggle then, this price was insane and way more than what the job would entail, but like fuck she would tell her that. She also appreciated the incentive. She liked a challenge, something to work towards. The more she found out then the more she'd get paid. 

"Sounds good to me. I'll get started in the next few days," she replied, keeping her calm demeanour and not acting like she was thinking of what she would spend her money on once she got it all. She carefully stuffed it in her backpack before zipping it back up. She almost jumped when the older woman dinged a bell beside the table and it took all of her willpower not to roll her eyes as the butler walked in.

"Yes, Mrs Grimes?" He enquired politely. 

"Please see Ms Weaver out. Have one of our drivers drop her off to wherever she needs to go," she commanded softly. Part of her wanted to protest but the other wanted to pretend she lived the fancy life, even if just for a moment. 

They both stood and Mrs Grimes took her hand in one of those fancy people hand shakes that were flimsy and light. 

"It was a pleasure, Ms Weaver. I hope to hear from you soon," she smiled. 

"Likewise," she replied, not really knowing what to say. No matter how many well off clients she saw she always felt weird and out of place interacting with them.  She followed Jeeves out the hall and down the large stairs case. He stopped when he got by the front door and picked up a phone that was attached to the wall. She stood there looking around as the man spoke in hushed tones down the receiver before hanging up and then opening the grand front door. 

"Have a lovely day, Ms Weaver," he bowed politely.

"Uh… you too," she murmured as she stepped outside. 

The door shut with a clang behind her and she was suddenly on her own outside. It didn't last long though as a large black car pulled up right at the entryway.

"Ms Weaver?" A man called out after rolling the window down. She nodded and walked over. She was getting sick of being called that name. The man hopped out, jogging over to the back of the car and opening the door for her. This really was fancy service. She gave him an uncomfortable smile, not used to this level of service from anyone. It felt wrong almost. But she slipped inside and settled in the ridiculously comfy car seats. 

"Where to, Miss?" The man asked once he was situated behind the wheel again. 

"Um… Fogwell's gym please," she murmured in response. He punched in something on the phone he was using with the GPS and then he took off. There was a reason she was dressed the way she was after all. She didn't want to think of Matt being a weird asshole the day before. As much as part of her considered not going, she really needed to train and she knew he would be there. She was too stubborn to let Matt's weird PMSing get in the way of her learning to defend herself properly. 

The drive was uncomfortably silent and she clutched her backpack on her knees. She wondered what it was like to live this life full time. She was a bitch but she didn't feel right with commanding people to do shit, even if she was paying them. It just felt off to her. Before long, the car pulled up in front of the gym. She almost felt like she should pay him or something, totally not used to this kind of exchange. As she unbuckled her seat belt, the man got out and ran around to her door. He opened it and she slipped out, swinging her bag over her shoulder. She noticed the apprehensive look on his face as he looked at the rundown gym.

"Are you sure, Miss?" He asked quietly, like he was asking her to blink twice if she needed help. She almost snorted but gave him a polite smile. She guessed his boss wasn't used to being around places like this. She appreciated his sentiments all the same though.

"I'm sure," she said softly. He nodded, still looking unhappy about it but there was nothing he could do. With a nod, he was back in the car and taking off by the time she walked through the door.

She was quiet and heard loud grunting and the hits of a punching bag. As she came into view, she saw Matt beating the holy hell out of the bag. His fists were flying, grunts and pants leaving his lips with the flurry of punches. The graceful savagery was what always intrigued her about him. But then typically he'd open his mouth and ruin it. He hadn't seemed to notice her yet once again which honestly was perturbing since anyone could come in here and sneak up on him like that. She walked over to the bench, setting her backpack down with a thud. The grunts and punches stopped instantly and the only sound that echoed in the gym was Matts heavy breathing.

"Didn't think you'd show," he said carelessly. 

"I wasn't sure either honestly. But I need to train, even if I do have to put up with your bitch ass," she muttered as she started wrapping her hands. He scoffed as he came over, grabbing his water bottle and drinking a large pull from it. He tossed the bottle down again as he made his way to the ring.

"Alright, come on then," he demanded. 

"What? I don't get to warm up first?" She asked skeptically with a raised brow. He snorted coldly and shook his head.

"You wanna know how to defend yourself for real, there is no warming up. When you're out there in a situation like this, you don't get that luxury," he retorted. She rolled her eyes but honestly couldn't argue with sound logic.

Instead, she bit her tongue as she put on the gloves and climbed inside of the ring. Matt cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders as they squared off with one another. 

"Let's go," he smirked devilishly. He lunged at her but she moved just in time, twirling around as they practically traded places. They started trading blows, although his were very clearly intended not to hurt her, and she was pleased she got some good jabs in. She didn't slow down or stop this time when he deflected or managed a light shot to her side. She just came back twice as hard. She was proud of herself. Her heart was thumping away from the adrenaline and the exertion of the sparring after a while and she leaned against the ropes as they both caught their breath.

"You did good. You're getting better," he sounded reluctant to give her the praise and she rolled her eyes a little at him.

"I want you to teach me how to get out of the hold from last time," she said firmly. His head turned to her then, his hazel eyes not quite landing directly at her as he narrowed them.

"Daphne, I don't think-" he started, only to be promptly cut off.

"It's fine. I need to learn and I'll get over it. I think I'll be fine this time," she urged. She meant it too. She still had lingering effects of her attack but she was feeling a little better recently. And after her and Matt's partially regrettable night together, she hadn't had a nightmare for the first night since it happened. She knew the sex had helped. Whenever she needed to feel better and clear her head, she would have sex. It's why her sister was so worried it would become a crux for her. Her sex with Matt had done wonders for her stress and anxiety over the whole thing so she felt like now was the perfect time to try to learn it. 

He was quiet for a moment before heaving a heavy sigh. He yanked his gloves off and tossed them out of the ring and she followed suit before he changed his mind. Climbing to the floor, she lay on her back and bent her knees just like the last time. As he knelt down between her legs, it was hard not to think of the night they shared together and how similar it was. 

"Ready?" He asked reluctantly. She gave him a firm nod he couldn't see but could sense and he brought his hands to her throat. Once again, he applied very little pressure but she lay perfectly still. Her heart wasn't hammering like crazy, she wasn't seeing Keiran hovering over her. She was fine. Matt stayed still as he did his head tilt thing and it took her a moment to realise he was listening to her heartbeat to check if she was okay or not. It was kind of creepy but she let it go. 

He talked her through the steps of how to get out of that kind of hold. One at a time he'd tell her what to do and correct her if she got it wrong as they did a slow mo version one part at a time to ensure she knew each step. It was more complicated than the last one but after a few step by step tries she thought she had a good idea on what to do. Now it was time to get out of it for real. 

"3, 2 ,1," he counted, preparing her somewhat so she didn't lose her shit like last time. This time he applied some pressure around her throat but it was still practically nothing. She felt his weight bearing down on her and she grabbed his right forearm with her left and then used her right hand to grip his left shoulder in a cross grip. Using her left foot, she pushed off his hip, pivoting her pelvis to the right so he was no longer directly above her. She hooked her right leg high up on his back, right under his armpit and she kept a firm grip on him as her left leg moved to wrap around his shoulder too, locking it onto her other. She grabbed his wrist, the one that was in her grip that was now at her mercy on her chest. She knew if she thrust her pelvis upwards sharply she would break his arm at his elbow. 

It had happened so fast but she caught herself before completing the maneuver and felt pleased with herself. She let go of his arm and rolled them over so he was now under her. They were both panting and she laughed lightly, feeling good she actually did it. She was a little sweaty and she looked down at where he lay under her. His brow had a slight sheen to his and his hair was doing that thing where it went every which way. His eyes were wandering as he caught his breath with a grin. She wasn't the only one enjoying their session it seemed. 

She felt his hands glide up her thighs that were around him and she'd be a liar if she said it didn't make her tingle. His unseeing eyes were burning into her, pupils blown wide. She went to move off him but he held her in place, only now she was hovering right in front of his face. One of his hands rested on the base of her neck and he pulled her down a little. She stayed still though and resisted as her lips were a breath away from his.

"We're not on the same page, remember?" She teased him, enjoying seeing him this worked up. She squeaked when her back hit the mat when he rolled them over quickly. She hadn't expected it. 

"I'm over it," he smirked devilishly at her before his lips collided with hers. 

She should have really stopped to think about it. To assess the validity of his words. But sex with Matt was something else and it made her feel amazing. All her stress and worries melted away last time. And although she knew going down that rabbit hole wasn't good with her past of sometimes becoming dependant on sex for her own mental well being, she couldn't really help herself. She blamed Matt for being insufferable and ridiculously attractive. The kiss was rough and demanding and she gave into him, moaning as he pushed himself against her through the thin fabric of their pants. He knelt up, tugging at his vest and lifting it over his head. Something dawned on her then.

"We're gonna do this here? What if someone walks in?" She snorted amused. She wasn’t one to shy away from sex in weird places but she didn't want some old dude walking in and getting a free show. He tossed his vest on the floor as he chuckled, jumping to his feet and climbing out the ring. She sat up, watching him curiously as he went and locked the door from the inside. She couldn't take her eyes off him as he prowled back to her though. The predatory grace he held, the way his sculpted body moved. In her needy and horny haze she found herself impatient for him to return and she felt like he was taking his time to tease her if his smirk was anything to go by. She pulled her shirt off and then her bra, tossing them in a heap beside them as Matt toed off his shoes. 

He knelt back down then, his hands curling her ankles and yanking them lightly. Her back hit the mat with a light thud and she looked up at him shocked before laughing. With a wicked grin, he pulled her leggings and panties off together but painfully slow and her desire was increasing with every second he made her wait for it. She wouldn't beg though. She sat back up, tugging at his shorts and he bent down, kissing her roughly as she yanked them down with his boxers. She fisted him tightly and he moaned into her mouth, causing her to smirk into the kiss. Letting go, she pulled the shorts and boxers all the way off him before pushing him onto his back. 

It was his turn to look mildly shocked and she climbed on top of him, her slick heat trapping his cock against his belly. His eyes were darting around her face and she leant forward, catching his lower lip with her teeth. He let out a long groan, arching up at her as she tugged it before letting it go with a pop. She sat up, pushing up on her knees before she gripped him and lined herself up. Without a word she sank down onto him and the pair moaned in relief. It was instant for her, that feeling of him filling her up like that. Knowing her release would come soon. She rested her hands on his firm chest for leverage as she started moving her hips. His hands felt like they were all over her body at once. Not soft or sweet, but firm and demanding and he took in every detail of her body. 

The gym was filled with moans and gasps as she rode him hard, her anger at his behaviour and the thrill of fighting with him fuelling her pleasure. She almost found it ironic that they were fucking in a boxing ring with how often they fought. He pulled her down roughly, lips smashing against hers as he ravaged her mouth. She felt that euphoric feeling getting closer, her whole body tingling in anticipation. She got faster and harder, chasing the release she was after like her life depended on it. 

"Don't stop," Matt groaned against her lips, one hand gripping the back of her neck while the other was on her ass, fingers digging into her flesh. She had no plan on stopping though. Not when she was this close. She kept up the pace and then she moaned loudly, her body tensing lightly as she clamped down around him. 

He let out the hottest fucking noise she’d ever heard a human make and it only heightened her own pleasure as she rode the waves of her orgasm. He was clinging onto her tightly, rutting up into her as he panted and then groaned, spilling himself inside of her. He relaxed instantly. Hands falling to his sides. She sat there on top of him as she tried to catch her breath. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair had started falling out of her ponytail. She was thoroughly fucked and in the best way. That beautiful feeling was coursing through her veins as she let the hormones and endorphins flow though her. 

She climbed off him carefully before standing up and stretching.

"I'm gonna hit the shower," she hummed sounding blissful as she scooped up her clothes. She walked completely naked to the showers and got herself cleaned up and presentable. She didn't regret it, it was amazing and she felt good now. And from the sounds he made, he enjoyed himself too. She just hoped he meant it when he said they were on the same page. 

--------------

Matt stood in his own shower in the men’s changing rooms as he let the cold water pelt him. His brain was a fried mess and he leaned against the cool tiles as he tried to just think clearly. He wasn't sure why he'd done it again, not after last time. He couldn’t really say what had bothered him about the fact she left last time. He'd gotten out of the shower and went to his room and she was just gone. No words, no note, nothing. He knew it had been purely physical, they could barely tolerate each other. He wasn't stupid enough to think too deeply into it. Yet it left him feeling strangely hollow when she’d just left him like that.

And then when he had turned up to work, Foggy had been acting weird. After some pressure he'd told Matt about his conversation with Daphne. Matt was pretty sure he hadn't gotten the whole story from him but the gist of her saying it was just sex was clear. And he'd told Foggy she was right. It was a one time thing because of all their pent up anger and the adrenaline from the night they'd had. He told his best friend to stop thinking about it. Yet he hadn't been able to do the same. He'd ended up texting her using Foggy's phone to see if she would be home and then he went to see her. No rhyme or reason or idea why he was going there. All he knew was that it bothered him.

It wasn't like he’d never had casual sex before, although he couldn't say it happened much the last few years. And his inability to understand why he was feeling the way he was led to them fighting again. Because she was right. But he hadn't been able to let it go. So when he left, he told himself it wouldn't happen again. She was trouble and being around her wore him out. It wasn't worth it. So how did he end up here again? Oh that's right, apparently he'd turned into a horny teenager again. A bit of sparring, feeling her body against his and sensing how happy she was in the ring really fucked his hormones over. And now here he was again. Only this time it was his own fault. She’d actually turned him down and he'd been the one to push. He couldn't say he regretted it either. It was the best damn sex he’d ever had and it left him feeling more chilled out than he felt in a long time. He'd keep his mouth shut this time and not act like a teenage girl about it. He dug himself into this hole and now he had to climb his own way out. 

-----------------------

Daphne towel dried her hair as much as she could and it left it wavy. She scooped it up in a messy bun on top of her head, a few stands framing her face. The euphoric feeling she got after sex was easing but she still felt calm and settled. It was nice, she didn't get to experience it that much anymore. She really didn't want to have to face Matt, not knowing if he'd throw a tantrum like last time. She didn't want him to read into it again or act all weird about it. It really killed the vibe and ruined her good mood. She'd tried to stop it from happening, not wanting to deal with that again, but she hadn't been able to help herself when he'd wanted her so clearly. There was something addictive about it. But now she felt dread settle into her bones as she thought about how he would react. 

She took her sweet time getting dried and dressed simply to buy herself some time. But eventually she was done and she had to leave the changing room. As she walked out into the main part of the gym, Matt was sitting on the bench tying his laces. 

"Ready?" He asked softly. No awkward questions, no anger in his voice. Maybe he was on the same page now after all. She felt relief sweep through her, allowing her to enjoy the calmness that she'd been left with after their time together. 

"Yeah," she replied, grabbing her backpack and putting it over her shoulder. 

Matt grabbed his cane where it was leaning against the wall. He was now wearing a hoodie too and he grabbed his glasses out of the pocket as he slid them onto his face. She wondered if he ever got sick of having to act blind. He was blind but not like the average blind person. He didn't really need the stick and she'd seen him 'bumping' into things like he hadn't known they were there before. When they stepped out into the sunshine, she winced and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Jesus christ! I think I've joined the blind club," she grumbled, rubbing her poor eyes. The sun just burnt the shit out of her retinas. He let out a surprised laugh, the door shutting behind them.

"Here," he grinned. She cracked a wary eye open, seeing him holding out his glasses to her, but she didn't take them.

"It's not like I need them,” he teased. It helped. She felt a little better. She slid them onto her face and her eyeballs thanked her immediately. They started walking down the street together and she glanced into a window as they walked by, looking at her reflection. She snorted at herself. Her hair, despite being recently washed and put up, was a wavy mess. Her cheeks were still rosy pink and the glasses looked weird on her face.

"They suit you," he mused playfully. She shoved him lightly, causing him to laugh when an older woman gasped at her actions.

"Assaulting a blind man in public? It's like you want to get arrested," he smirked.

"Yeah well, Foggy will be my lawyer so I'll be good," she quipped back with a grin. Now they were on the same page they seemed to be amicable after venting their frustration on each other. 

"You really think my best friend would take your side over mine?" He asked, faking being hurt as he held his hand over his heart. She stopped walking and he did the same as she looked at him.

"I hate to say it but I think he prefers me now. Not that I can blame him. You are a bit of an asshole," she grinned mischievously. He gaped at her before his hand darted out and went to grab the glasses. She squeaked, holding them in place as he tried to steal them from her face.

"You don't deserve my glasses," he snorted.

"Come on! I need my eyes, I'm not like you!" She whined pitifully. 

"And what's this?! My two favourite people, getting along nicely? Is the world ending?" A dramatic voice sounded from next to them. Both she and Matt stilled completely in a comical way before they took a step away from each other. Both of them looked caught out as they looked at a very smug Foggy.

"This is great! Better than great! I love this," he beamed like a kid on Christmas. Daphne groaned and glared at him from the glasses still perched on her face.

"Foggy, I swear! You want us to not kill each other when we're in the same room? Don't make a big deal about it when it happens," she huffed. 

"It is a big deal. You're both laughing and smiling together. This is huge. It's like a rare solar event or something," he defended. 

She resisted the urge to throttle him as Matt rubbed his temples. 

"Foggy," Matt warned lightly.

"Okay! I get it, I'm making it weird. This whole thing is new to you both and I'm just making it awkward," he soothed, holding his hands up in surrender.

"There is no 'thing'. We can't just actually have a moment where we get on with each other before you start trying to marry us off again?" She whined. 

"Marry us off? What?" Matt asked quickly, his head whipping to his friend. She snorted as Foggy's cheeks went a little pink and he shot her a glare 

"Oh, he didn't tell you he's the captain of ship Maphne?" She laughed loudly. She didn't care if Matt knew. It was ridiculous to her and she was getting payback on Foggy for being a little shit. 

"Maphne? Do I even wanna know?" Matt asked exasperated. Foggy shot her another look before standing up straighter.

"You know what, Daph, mock me all you want but this is the hill I'm choosing to die on," he pointed at her. Matt still stood there unsure of what they were even talking about. She opened her mouth for another retort that would no doubt embarrass Foggy further and also maybe make Matt uncomfortable which was a bonus, but Foggy beat her to it. 

"Anyway! I'm glad I caught you two, I have great news!" He beamed excitedly. She quirked her brows perplexed as he led them to a table outside of the cafe nearby. The three of them sat around it, Matt and Daphne watching their friend expectantly. 

"I finally asked Karen on a date!" He practically squealed. A splitting grin graced Daphne's face, unable not to be happy for him. During their many talks, he'd spoken about his feelings for the blonde and Daphne had always told him to go for it. 

"Aw, Foggy! You're growing up, I'm so proud!" She cooed, reaching over and pinching his cheek. He was so happy he just let her.

"That's awesome, man. I'm happy for you," Matt smiled sincerely.

"I know, it's great right? I just finally bit the bullet. I just decided I need to stop being such a baby about it," he explained. He had a weird look on his face though, the same one that usually told her something going on.

"What is it?" Both she and Matt asked at the same time, him clearly picking up on Foggy's weirdness in his own way.

Foggy raised a brow at them both being in sync and she made a point to not even look at Matt so Foggy wouldn't go off on his Maphne tirade again.

"Well… I just… I panicked, okay? I set it all up and she knew I wanted to ask her something. But then I'm like, what if she says no? I mean it's just gonna be me and Karen. Alone. On a date," he uttered looking like a deer in the headlights.

"That's kinda the point, Foggy," Matt teased.

"I know it is. And I couldn't back out because she was just watching me, waiting for what I wanted to ask. I honestly felt like I was about to have a heart attack and I may have asked her on a date but told her it was a double date with you guys," he blurted, barely taking a breath as he did. 

Daphne blinked at him for a moment as her brain tried to digest his words.

"You did what?" Matt asked incredulously. Foggy made a pitiful noise and she took Matt’s glasses off and set them in the middle of the table, giving Foggy a look.

"A double date? Implying that me and Matt are actually also going to be on a date. Do you see the flaw in that plan?" She asked slowly, like she was talking to a child about why playing with matches was bad. 

"I know! Like I said, I panicked and that's just the first thing that came out of my mouth!" Foggy defended with a sigh.

"And Karen actually bought that?" Matt scoffed, gesturing with his hand to him and then Daphne.

"You're kidding right? She's all aboard this ship, she was actually excited about it," Foggy smirked. She kicked him under the table and he groaned. Matt's jaw ticked as he glared in his best friend's direction. 

"This isn't a joke, Fogg. All the shit you give me for keeping my secret from her and you're just lying right to her face about this?" Matt frowned. 

"That's completely different. Your secret is dangerous. This one isn't. For all she knows it's your first date too and after that it just didn't work out. Besides, it's not like you're not getting it on with each other, would it really be that hard to just pretend to be on one date?" He pleaded, looking from her to Matt.

"Yes," they both answered again.

"Please? I really need this. If I tell her you're not going she might cancel too. You two are like a buffer, help set the scene and put her at ease. I really like her, guys. I don't want to mess things up," he begged. 

"Foggy-" Matt started sternly, only to be cut off by Daphne. 

"Fine. But you're paying for dinner," she relented. 

Foggy smiled the widest grin she'd ever seen on a human and Matt turned to glare at her.

"You've got to be kidding me," he scoffed incredulously.

"What? Didn't you hear him? He's our friend, Matt. Let's just do this for him. Besides, free dinner," she shrugged. Matt looked pissed and honestly it was a reward she hadn't expected. She'd almost forgotten how nice it felt to push his buttons. 

"This is ridiculous. You really think she's not gonna notice we can't stand each other once she's sat at a table with us for a while?" Matt glowered. He had a point but they could just try to be civil for Foggy's sake.

"You know what, Matt, I really hate to play this card but you left me no choice. You lied to me for the longest time and now I have to keep your secret. I already have to start a potential relationship with lies for you. Can't you just do this one thing for me? I never ask you for anything," Foggy muttered with a frown. 

A sly grin spread on her face at how underhand it was of Foggy. She almost felt like a proud parent as she watched a million emotions pass over Matt's face before defeat was all that was left.

"Fine. But don't say I didn't want you when this all blows up in your face. And you're paying for my dinner too," he huffed. Foggy looked more than pleased with himself. 

"Thank you! You guys are awesome. I'll even pay for your drinks if you actually try and act like you like each other and not make it awkward," he shot them both a toothy grin. 

"Hey, let me drink as much as I want and I'll make it really look like we're on a date," she smirked devilishly, a wiggle of her eyebrows and Foggy burst out laughing.

"Jesus christ," Matt muttered quietly with a shake of his head. 

"Deal," Foggy nodded firmly, "tonight at 8. It's the Mexican place near the firm," he instructed before he stood.

"Alright. I'm heading out, you coming with, Matt?" He asked, shooting his annoyed friend a look.

"Yeah. You go on, I'll catch up in a sec," he bit out. Foggy gave her a look and a smirk before he started walking away. 

"Really?" Matt glared at her, swiping his glasses from the table and shoving them onto his face. 

"What? Free food and as much booze as we want? Plus doing your best friend a solid? I know you're an asshole, Matt, but I thought you weren't that much of an asshole," she quipped dryly. He clamped his mouth shut, jaw tense as he pursed his lips.

"Fine," he stood up abruptly, gripping his cane before holding it in front of him. 

"You're doing this for Foggy. Don't fuck it up for him just because you've got a stick up your ass," she huffed as she stood up too. 

He shot her what she presumed was a dirty look behind his glasses before he started walking away, his cane swinging in front of him. His irritation about the situation only made her want to do it more. It was his own fault really for acting like such a bitch about the whole thing. He was asking for her to make it worse for him. She started walking home as a plan formed in her mind. She'd get nice food and decent booze and she'd get to piss Matt off in a setting he had to behave in. She was actually looking forward to it. 

As soon as she got home, she called their firm, knowing Karen would be the one to answer.

"Nelson and Murdock, Karen speaking," came the voice down the phone. Daphne trapped the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she tugged off her hoodie and tossed it in the laundry basket.

"Hey Karen, it's Daphne," she said casually. 

"Oh! Hi!" She sounded genuinely happy to speak to her and she wondered why she'd never bothered to speak to Karen more since she was so close to Foggy and Matt.

"I know this is weird, we haven't really spoken much. But I wanted to ask a favour since we're going on a double date," she said carefully, flopping onto her sofa.

"Sure, what is it?"

"Don't tell the guys, it's kind of weird for me. It's just… this is mine and Matt's first date too and it's been so long. I was wondering if you'd help me get ready for the date? I wanna look really good. I mean I know he can't really see, but he just somehow knows these things, right?" She grinned, cringing at how hard she was going at this. She felt a tiny bit bad at lying to her but she ignored it. 

"Of course! I'd… I'd really love that. I'm nervous too and it'd be good to just have some girl time," Karen said softly. 

"Thank you, I really appreciate this. We could go to the restaurant together when we're done," Daphne smiled pleased with herself. After exchanging cell numbers and goodbyes, Daphne sat back on the couch with a smirk. She wanted to turn heads. Not only just to irritate Matt, using her knowledge of him finding her physically attractive against him, but it had been a while since she went out. Usually she did so with a goal in mind, to have sex. And she would turn heads, a lot of them. Tonight was different but it didn't mean her ego wouldn't enjoy being looked at. It certainly would be interesting. 

[adamarks]

If one more person says simon snow should lose his wings i’m gonna lose my goddamn mind: a meta

Alright you guys, I’ve had ENOUGH. Simon cannot lose his wings unless you want him to break up with Baz, and this is why.

Let’s start with Baz.

This analysis is obviously Simon-based, and yes i’ll get there, but first we need to look at the biggest key we’ve been given to what Simon’s wings could possibly mean subtextually and metaphorically for the story at large. That key is: Baz’s vampirism. 

Baz being a vampire is constantly compared to/mentioned in tandem with his queerness in Carry On. In his first chapters, what are the three most important traits that we learn about him? 

he’s a drama queen

he’s a vampire

he’s hopelessly in love with simon snow

If you boil his character down until he’s basically just a stick figure, that’s what he is: an over dramatic vampire in love with Simon Snow.

We’ve all read the books, we all know this, and we all know he’s much more than that. What of it?

What’s important is that Baz’s vampirism is treated almost the exact same as his homosexuality. 

Hiding it from everyone, being ashamed of it, knowing what you are but being terrified of it. His dad being “definitely more disappointed in my queerness than my undeadness.” 

I mean, holy shit, let’s look at this bit in Carry on from Chapter 51:

“I think if I got married, to a girl from a good family, my father wouldn’t even care that I’m queer. “

This scene really hits, because how many times have you wondered “What if I was straight? Maybe this thing wouldn’t be as bad?” “What if i was just a straight poc?” “What if I was only gay and not trans?” “What if I was only disabled and not gay on top of it?” What if, what if, what if. Would my life be easier? you wonder. Would I get hurt less? Would people treat me better?

If Carry On is about self-realization, then Wayward Son is about the struggle of self-acceptance. 

Baz going to Las Vegas and meeting Lamb probably seemed familiar for some of you people that are LGBT+. It’s how you feel when you’re from a small town and you go to a big city like New York or Orlando or LA for the first time and you see gay people all around you. Flamboyantly gay! Gay people holding hands! Gay people kissing! Trans people that don’t fit the gender norms! Older trans ladies just walking down the street!

It’s exciting, it’s exhilarating. Your baby-gay brain is so confused because no one’s giving them dirty looks. They don’t look nervous or ashamed. Is this allowed?

The party in the penthouse is glamorous and beautiful and alluring and none of the humans there are scared or look like they’re in real danger. It’s because they aren’t. None of those vampires are there to kill people. 

This is where Baz’s fear of his own nature comes in. Let’s hear it for all you homosexuals in the crowd that are/have been terrified of being predatory. Of turning the gender you’ve been told all of your life you’re not supposed to want into pieces of meat. You feel ashamed for wanting physical intimacy. You feel wrong for wanting emotional intimacy. 

Lamb is the older gay that you meet/learn about/watch on youtube or whatever that makes you learn that no, you’re not inherently evil. Lamb is the queer history, the queer movies, the queer people that you discover that make you learn that “no, i’m not bad. I’m not broken. I’m beautiful. I’m beautiful.” 

Baz thinking the sight of Lamb drinking that guy’s blood being alluring and beautiful is crucial to his arc. Baz needs to see that all of him is beautiful. 

So homosexuality = Baz being a vampire? How in the flying fuck does this have anything to do with Simon?

Remember, Baz is our key. His struggles have been happening since book one. Simon just gained his “creature” status at the end of Carry On. He’s new to this. Which means we’re new to the subtext. Which means: let’s dive on into the next big point.

Our Big Bisexual Boy

Whatever label you choose to use for Simon is up to you. As long as we all agree he likes more than one gender then it’s whatevs. I’m going to be using the word bisexual for this meta, though. 

We’re all well aware that Simon is Struggling with his bisexuality in this book. 

“I still haven’t sorted out whether I’m still attracted to women or whether I ever was, or whether I’m some kind of Baz-only-sexual. But the cleavage at this place is abundant, and I’m not mad about it.”

(taken from chapter 21) 

Like....... y’know. We know. It’s... we get it. 

The important part of that quote is that it’s at the Ren Faire. The Ren Faire is the first time Simon’s had his wings out in public since god-knows-when, if ever. This is also the first time he really considers kissing Baz in the book. Kissing Baz in Public.

Any of you that have been to Pride probably got a little bit of the warm fuzzies during this scene. The faire brought back such deep memories of my first pride it was a little bit emotional. I talked to random people, people ran around in rainbow outfits. There was body paint! Stupid hats! Weird dye jobs! The classic pride-flag-as-a-cape look! I talked to so many people and 

“Everyone here is so friendly.”

(also taken from chapter 21)

Everyone was so nice to me.

Baz feels right at home; Simon is all smiles. The only one not having a blast is Penny and she’s (I’m sorry, Penny) the token straight friend in these books. 

I don’t know how Rainbow did it, but she made me relive my first pride through Simon, and I’ll never not be grateful for that. 

“Today I’m someone else entirely. Today I’m just a bloke with fake red wings.”

The Pride/Ren Faire parallels were pretty obvious, but I wanna get a little further into the whole “wings = being bisexual” thing. 

We’ve established with Baz that being a magical creature or whatnot is Gay, but while Baz is fully magical, Simon’s “half-normal.” Kind of. It’s a weird situation there but half-normal works for the argument. 

“’Smells like dragon... but also smells like iron. Another abomination!’” 

(chapter 35)

Now the word “abomination” is really fucking unfortunate in this context, but biphobia exists so idk man. I’m gonna start talking in gay/straight terms and I absolutely know bisexuality isn’t half-gay half-straight but we’re talking in metaphors and i’ll tie it together at the end so just stick with me, okay?

He’s part dragon, part Normal (kind of). Simon’s not like Baz where he’s absolutely, 100% a vampire. He has traits of dragons and humans. This is why it’s so bad that he hates his wings half the time. They are part of him. They may not be “normal” and he may have to hide them, but he can’t just cut off the gay part. Our queerness doesn’t define us, but it’s a defining feature. 

Penny says she wouldn’t be her if she wasn’t a mage. Simon wouldn’t be Simon if he wasn’t bi. 

The mistake Simon and almost everyone else makes during this book is that they think of his wings as these separate entities. There is no gay part and straight part of Simon Snow. All of him is Simon. From the tips of his toes to the tops of his wings, all of him is Simon. He might’ve discovered this part of himself during a tragic point in his life, but that doesn’t mean it has to be something bad. It doesn’t have to be something tainted. 

Sometimes you discover things about yourself during the hardest moments of your life. When you’re already down in the dirt, beaten and bruised, sometimes a mirror is put in front of you and you realize something. You realize you’re trans. You realize you’re gay. And sometimes you resent those realizations because they came to you at the worst possible time. “This is just one more thing on my plate,” you think. 

This series is about reclaiming the things that where taken from you by the ones that hurt you. 

Simon’s going to have to learn to love his wings, because even though they remind him of something that hurts-- hurts more than anything-- they’re part of him. They are him, as much as the rest of his body is. Simon’s going to have to forgive himself, and learn to love himself for all that he is. 

Because all that he is is beautiful. 

We all know it; it’s time for him to understand that.

All right, bitches. Let’s get to the bit we all REALLY care about. this is the one that really fucks me up my dudes. Because it’s Brutal. But anyways here we go.

His wings are the Big Baz Love 

What are the two things that Simon’s  considering cutting off in this book?

“That’s what I’m going to say when I break up with Baz.”

“Dr. Wellbelove said he could remove the wings. And the tail. Whenever I’m ready.”

(Chapter 2, Epilogue)

Yikes!

My guys..... Simon and Baz don’t kiss unless Simon’s wings are out.

I truly do not understand how some of you are out here saying Simon’s gonna lose his wings I really don’t. It’s stressful. I’m stressed. Ms. Rainbow Rowell, you have me stressed. 

His Wings! Are! His Love!

On Love’s Light Wings!

Goatman dances his nasty little fingers all over the bridge that is Baz’s ass? Wings out, uses his tail to help kill the guy. Lamb is hitting on Baz too much? 

“’Spell my wings off.’”

(Chapter 45)

In the airport, when a lady is giving them the “don’t be gay” stink eye he immediately checks to make sure his tail is hidden. 

Baz can’t spell his wings off, guys. 

Baz can’t spell his wings away.

“’Snow needs you to cast your angel spell on him. I hid his wings for breakfast, but they’re still there.’“

(Chapter 19)

In Chapter 41, the biggest kiss scene we get, Simon wraps his wings around Baz to hold him. He’s embracing him in his love guys. Guys. 

Have you people noticed how i’m suddenly less articulate? It’s because i’m in crisis. Set me on fire I wouldn’t notice. I’ve been living with this terrible knowledge.

The first scene we finally see them kiss is after the scene at the Ren Faire when Simon’s wings are finally out and he finally got to fly.

“Simon catches up with me and traps me against the car. He’s kissing me before I see it coming.” 

Simon is so dtf in this scene Penny throws a water bottle at them, and it hits him in the wing. 

“’So hot,’ Simon Says. ‘Got to see you fight without picking a fight with you myself.’

Bunce throws a plastic bottle over my shoulder, and it smacks Simon in the wing.”

(Chapter 22)

She had to smack him right in the love for him to calm down, my dudes, my guys. Do you realize how hard it was for me to annotate this goddamn book with this knowledge? Every. Single. Time. Simon stretches a wing or flaps them around it’s about Baz. It gets to the point where you have to put the book down or you’re gonna explode. 

Simon’s wings are always out around Lamb. He’s jealous as hell and he hates that motherfucker’s guts. The only real injuries Simon sustains in this book are to his wings and they’re almost always when Baz gets hurt too. 

When did Simon get his wings? Only a day after he first kissed Baz.

Simon’s love for Baz is so big and so obnoxious he can’t hide it. His wings and tail have spikes, because that’s all Simon knows. He’s rough around the edges, he’s been hurt, he’s been used.

He’s never been in love before.

His love is spiky; it’s loud. It’s hotrod red and you can’t miss it when it’s out. Baz can’t see it, because Simon’s tucked it away. He hasn’t flown with it. He hasn’t wrapped it around Baz in so long. He doesn’t know how to handle a love this big, where to put it, when to unfurl it. 

Simon gets jealous. He gets scared. He’s insecure. He wants so dearly to finally give to someone instead of feeling like he’s just giving in. Like he’s still just taking from Baz.

What do you do with wings? 

How do you find somewhere safe to fly?

The Resolution.

I said earlier that if Carry On is a story of self-discovery, Wayward Son is a story of self-acceptance.

Simon has to love himself, and learn that his love for Baz is a good thing. As he accepts himself (and his dragon powers evolve go read my dragon simon meta it’s good.) he’s going to start to shine. 

This is a story being told to us with nothing but love. This is a story about a boy that’s his own worst enemy-- as all of us often are. It’s so scary to accept our wings. It’s so scary to accept our fangs. Especially when they’ve come out of such a hideous occurrence. 

We need to accept these dark times and acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, we were made more beautiful because of them. Maybe the light we give after we’ve been in darkness is more vibrant, because we know how scary the dark is. The things that happened to us were horrible, and hideous, and terrifying, but we aren’t. We’re different from how we were before, but we’re still beautiful. 

Simon Snow is going to accept himself.

Simon Snow is going to accept his past.

Simon Snow is going to finally, finally tell Baz he loves him.

And for the first time, Simon Snow is going to see that he’s beautiful.

If you’ve liked this meta you should also check out this one where i explain how they’re finally gonna get their relationship together. Also the one about the scarf

Special thank you to @singerofsimplesongs for listening to me howl and screech about this damn thing. 

Tagging some people that might be interested!

@neck-mole @watfordwallflower @carrybits @theflyingpeach @fight-surrender @shitty-posty-times @wisest-girl @slaying-fictional-dragons @gucciglitzy

[zodiyack]

Gut-Feelings

Requested by anon: Hiya there ! Could you please do 19 and 39 from your 2nd prompt list with Tommy Shelby whenever you have the time? Thank you so muchasdfghjkl in advance! Xoxoxo

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, violence

Prompt: [19] “Go to hell.” “And leave you here all alone?” [39] He kissed her brow as the world around them burned. “See you in the next life, my love,” he whispered.

Words: 2003

Note: GUESS WHO’S BACK!!! Also I got really caught up in this lmao... hope you like it!

Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy​, @stydia-4-ever​, @matth1w​, @redspaceace​, @simonsbluee​, @jenepleurepasbaby​, @peakysputain​, @fandom-puff​, @darling-i-read-it​

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

He was fucked. And she made sure he knew. Tommy practically had everything a man could desire; a beautiful and loyal wife, a huge house with an equally as huge property, family and strong bonds with them, a fancy car, loads of money, and a child on the way. Not to mention, business was successful as ever, but it apparently just wasn’t enough for him.

Tommy almost wanted to blame Linda for Y/n’s accusation, but he knew she was only telling the truth. They fought, arguing about his choices, but hidden behind her reddened face and daggered words formed with anger, she was terrified. Beyond terrified.

“Thomas! You’re going to mess up, and I’m only telling you beforehand so you find a way to prevent it. And the way to prevent it is to take a b-”

“Take a break? Y/n, we have money, food, loyal allies, and so much more-”

“Yes! That’s exactly why you should stop! And when our child comes into this world, they’re likely to wish for the same thing!”

“And what may that be?”

“Your goddamn safety, Thomas!” He scoffed, walking to his desk and pouring himself a drink as he reclined into the chair. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Yep.”

“I’m worried sick, Tom! It’s not like you have to go through the horror-fueled thoughts of ‘will my husband even come home tonight?’ or ‘will my child be lucky enough to experience life with a father?’ So please, indulg-” He shot up, grabbing her arms and pushing her into his desk lightly. “Let go of me.”

“Not until you calm down.”

“Go to hell.”

“And leave you here all alone?” His smile was cocky, sure he would get her to stop fighting him. But she wouldn’t let him win. She couldn’t.

“You can sleep on the couch tonight. Or, you can indulge me in why you should continue putting yourself into danger.” She ripped her arms from his grip. “Make up your mind by dinner, Thomas.” she spat, giving him one last glare before she left.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Tommy dropped back into his seat with a heavy sigh. He knew she was right, but he couldn’t find it himself to admit such a thing. This work was too much. Far too important. But so was family, and everyone knew that family went first.

Even Thomas.

Tommy gave it his best. He avoided sporting, gambling, and most of the Peaky Business. He turned to working from home, giving him more time with his wife and their new baby boy. She was happy, to say the least, and quite relived.

She told him she didn’t care if he returned to the business, as long as he waited until their child was older and had known him for at least a year or two, and he actually came home to them. Slowly, he was getting back into the business, Guns and fire, however, were postponed.

At least, to Y/n’s knowledge.

“Tommy?”

He grunted from his seat, fag hanging out of his mouth as he carelessly scanned the paper; it’s words of no interest to him. “Yes, love?”

Y/n walked over, sitting on his lap and gaining his attention. His blue orbs dragged all over her form, so small- no- fragile, compared to him. Her hands adjusted his collar, then his cigarette, placing it between her pink lips before putting it back between his. His eyes watched her every movement, fixated on her like he was in a trance.

“I’m feeling a bit drowsy. Would you care to join me for bed?” Her suggestion was tempting, truly, but he had promised he’d meet Arthur at the Garrison. For the work he told her he’d stray from.

“Of course, Y/n.” Setting down the paper and putting out his cigarette, he stood up and rested his hands upon her waist. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

“You’ve made me well aware quite a number of times, Mr. Shelby. However, it’s time for bed. Proving it to me can wait until tomorrow.”

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Shelby.” He pulled her in by his grip on her sides, pressing a loving kiss to her lips. They could’ve stayed like that forever; Y/n wouldn’t mind, neither would Tommy, but he had work to get to.

Picking her up bridal-style, he carried her to their bedroom and set her down on the middle of the bed. He crawled over her, kissing her roughly, smiling goofily to the sound of her giggles. Y/n pushed her off of him, stripping him of his clothes and sliding under the warmth of the blankets.

“Goodnight Tommy. I love you.”

Guilt panged inside of him, knowing he would be breaking her trust, as well as her heart. “I love you too, Y/n. Sleep well, darling.” He allowed her to rest her head on his chest, drifting to sleep slowly as he stared up at the ceiling.

“She know you’re here?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Arthur.” He was in no mood to talk about Y/n’s knowledge of his activities, the guilt far too much to bare. “Now, what do we need to do?”

“Nothing. You don’t need to do anything, Thomas.” A familiar voice spoke from the doors. Y/n’s words dripped with anger, hurt, and sorrow. Tommy began to think of how she knew where he was.

Arthur was removed as a suspect, his immediate response once Y/n had entered fully was a simple mumble. “Shit...” Though Arthur told Linda everything, there was no way he told her of this.

“How’d-”

“How’d I found you? Well, you leaving in the middle of the night is kind of hard to miss, Thomas.”

“We’re just getting drinks, love.”

“Don’t lie to me. Either way, you’re not telling me something.” His brows furrowed with confusion, a mocking laugh to escape her lips in response. “You come and get a drink this late at night? There’s something wrong and you refuse to tell me. You’re lying to me and you’re actually doing something else? You’re still not telling me.”

“Y/n-”

“Don’t start.” Arthur cleared his throat, Y/n’s attention switching to him. “And you! You knew I didn’t want him involved for at least a little longer! How could you!” Her voice began to break and her eyes began to water.

“Isn’t this a surprise!” A new voice interrupted their confrontation. The three of their heads snapped to the entrance, Thomas and Arthur exchanging glances with wide eyes full of fear. “Too bad I hate surprises.”

The man, whom Y/n didn’t recognize, snapped his fingers. Two other men came out, grabbing Y/n and dragging her to him, ignoring her squirming.

“You leave her out of this!” Thomas lunged from his chair, only to be pushed back by another man.

“Oh? Is she important to you, Shelby?” The mystery man’s hand came to Y/n’s face, grabbing her cheeks harshly. “She’s a beauty, I can see why you like her.”

Another pair of men walked in, pouring gasoline all over The Garrison as the man toyed with a match in his free hand. The look in Y/n’s eyes as she continued squirming sent a wave of hurt to Tommy’s heart. Just as he was about to give in, offer the man what he’d been after, and idea sparked. And Y/n was the one to thank, as it was for her.

While he was distracted, poking fun at Y/n, Tommy whispered is plan to Arthur, who hesitated- but agreed to initiate it. They would need to time it perfectly.

“Before you set this place ablaze... Let me say my goodbyes to my wife.” His eyes sparkled with amusement, pushing Y/n towards Tommy as he cackled.

“Your wife? Damn, when did gypsy-trash like you get this lucky?” Nevertheless, he turned to speak with the men who were previously holding Y/n. “You have five minutes.”

Tommy nodded, pulling Y/n closer to him. “Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he explained his plan in a soft whisper, leaving out details he knew she would never agree to. “Do you understand?” He took her face into his hands.

“I understand...”

“Good. Now, hurry, kiss me, make it seem like it’s the la-” She pulled him forward by his collar, kissing him desperately, the act genuine.

“Time’s up, love birds!” Y/n was yanked backwards as the men finished pouring the rest of the gasoline. “Now, I hope you don’t mind, Thomas. I’d like to keep her as... well, a little prize. Souvenir perhaps?” He continued making comments, pointless ones at that, until Arthur snatched the match from his hand.

“Now Y/n!” She darted for the doors, but the man’s guards blocked it. The window was her next escape, and luckily, she made it on time. Tommy helped her out of The Garrison’s window. 

To her horror, he rejected her offer for escape. “I thought... I thought you said-”

“I only said it to get you to agree.” From behind Tommy, Y/n could see Arthur strike the match and drop it with a grin of success. Her attention flickered back to her husband. Her hands gripped his so hard her knuckles turned white, a newfound race to her breathing.

He kissed her brow as the world around them burned. “See you in the next life, my love,” he whispered. In a blur, Thomas let go of Y/n’s hands and nudged her back slightly before the window shut and locked, preventing Y/n from forcing Tommy to leave with her.

Y/n knocked on the glass as hard as she could, but as the fire spread, Tommy and Arthur disappeared into the smoke. A hand slamming against the window, relief entering her body once she realized it didn’t belong to either of the brother’s, was her cue to leave.

As she ran, her heart felt oddly relaxed. It freaked her out, but somehow, she knew it was right. Her gut-feeling was always right. It was right when it told her not to sleep, it was right when it told her to go to the Garrison, it was was right when it told her to go for the window, and now it had to be right.

The boys had to be alive.

Her gut was always right, and though they had their moments, the boys were smart.

A smile graced her lip, prompting her to run faster. The uneven ground had no effect on her as her bare feet hit the rough surface, shoes left behind at the now burning bar. She kicked them off unintentionally whilst she struggled to escape the men’s grips.

But she didn’t care.

She didn’t care how much the ground would’ve hurt had she walked upon it like this any other day. She didn’t care how cold the night air was, the chill nipping at her nose until it turned pink. She didn’t care about anything except for getting home, butterflies in her stomach as she raced past the folk of Small Heath. 

She didn’t care; because Thomas would be waiting for her, Arthur likely sitting next to him on the sofa, soot on the soft material from the two’s escape, a glass of whiskey in both of their hands. She could see it, she could see herself hugging him tightly, the black powder rubbing off onto her skin and nightgown, and her not car

The boys were always a tad bit faster than her, and they had a head start with her hesitation, so she was sure they’d be home first. Despite who would be home before the other, she was ever so determined.

It was like her legs had minds of their own, never stumbling over each other, never faltering, just as eager to get to her family as she was. The wind didn’t slow her either, the cold nips just encouragement to move faster.

Even if she stopped to take a break, which she didn’t, she wore her smile. She wore it without a second thought. She wore it with determination.

She wore it because her gut-feeling was never wrong.

[p4nkow]

Maybe someday

A few days ago I rewatched this movie I grew up with which is called “Life as we know it” (I highly recommend you to watch it if you haven’t) and it gave me the inspiration to write this one shot. 

Summary: as Lucy and Rami finally leave for their late honeymoon, they ask Y/N and Ben a huge favour — they have to watch over their daughter, Sophie, for one whole week as they’re away. The only problem is that Y/N and Ben can barely stand each other.

Let me know what you think, I’d love to read your comments!

Anxious. Organised. Schematic. Hater of surprises.

If you had to describe yourself with simple, concise words, those’d have been your choices. Everyone who knew you was well aware of the fact that you tended to plan everything. It wasn’t something you liked to do — plan your life in its very details. You just couldn’t help it. Moreover, it helped you to make your schedule clear as well as your mind.

So when Lucy and Rami told you they had to talk to you, the level that your anxiety had reached could’ve been easily imagined. Their party had been awesome — it had given you the chance to meet old friends and to have a little chitchat with those you hadn’t seen in forever.

It’d have been perfect if it wasn’t for Ben.

Oh man, saying that you didn’t get along was not enough. One of the most important things that’d influenced your relationship was the fact that he’d screwed up your first blind date. First and last date, of course. It didn’t take a genius to understand that he had no wish to be there.

Since that day you’d met him quite often — it was impossible not to when your best friends were married and with a one-year-old child. That’s right. Rami had finally summoned the courage to propose to Lucy and now, almost a year and a half later, they had the most beautiful child you’d ever seen.

Sophie Malek was a feast for the eyes and you loved her. Before her you never understood the endless love people showed towards babies, but damn. It was impossible not to love her.

Ben did love her, too. That’s one of the few things that you appreciated about him.

He was just perfect when around her — always caring and careful about her needs. He’d always play with her and the sight of a grown-up Ben playing with duckies and princesses was quite funny. Funny, yes, but cute. Those were the only times when you were in a cease fire. You just couldn’t bring the little Sophie in your war of jabs.

“What’d you guys need to tell me?”

Rami and Lucy exchanged a look and you didn’t like the little smiles painted in their faces. They were pulling a scam on something and Lucy’s words did nothing but increase your suspicions. “Just wait a bit longer.”

Now that the party was over, it was only you, Lucy, Rami and the little Sophie sprawled in the couches of their living room. “How old are you, Soph? Huh?” The little girl had just learned to show her age with her fingers, raising the index finger at her mom’s question.

Lucy was your best friend, your wingman, your partner in crime, the sister you never had. Your friendship had been going on since high school and now she was a mom. God knows you cried your eyes out the day she gave birth.

The unlocking of the door brought you back from your thoughts and you sighed deeply at the sight of Ben. Even though there was resentment between the two of you, you couldn’t deny that he was good-looking. Extremely good-looking. The leather jacket he was wearing on top of his black shirt made him look even more attractive and you hoped he didn’t catch you staring at his black trousers which fit him perfectly. But why the hell did he always wear black?

“I put the garbage out. I hope I guessed right your can.” He didn’t seem to notice your presence as he closed the door behind him, so you just ignored him.

Then he spotted you sitting on the couch right in front of the couple and gave you just a simple nod. Unfortunately there was no room for him on their couch, so he was forced to sit on yours. He made sure to sit as far from you as possible, though.

“You smell so much of feminine scent that I’m about to throw up.”

Ben gave you one of his smirks and you truly wished you could punch him in the face. “You’re just jealous that it isn’t yours.”

“I pity those girls”, replied in kind. Your words did nothing but amuse him and you rolled your eyes.

“Guys.” Thank God Rami saved the situation as Lucy tried to hide her giggles in Sophie’s neck.

“You wanted to talk to us?”

Rami nodded at Ben’s question, surrounding Lucy’s shoulder with his arm. “Yeah, uhm...”

“Do you remember how we never got to leave for our honeymoon, right?”, Lucy came in his help.

“I remember your complaints about it, yeah.”

Lucy’s smile grew even bigger at your words. “We’d organised this big trip to Europe but then...”

“Sophie happened”, Rami concluded.

You remember it clearly, but still you didn’t understand what was their point. When you turned towards Ben for a quick look, you were glad to see that he was just as confused as you. “And?”

Lucy and Rami exchanged another look as Sophie squeezed her duck. “We’d love to do that trip. As a gift for our first anniversary.” Oh no. Now you knew exactly where this was going.  

“’f course you understand that we can’t take such a trip with a one-year-old child.” Ben widened his eyes at Rami’s words. He was starting to understand too.

“So we wanna ask you”, Lucy started saying but she was interrupted by Rami. “We beg you.”

“Yeah”, Lucy nodded. “We beg you to take care of Sophie as we’re away. You guys are the only ones we trust.”

“Shit, man”, Ben murmured as he slipped his fingers through his hair. It was something he did when he was nervous. Right now he was extremely nervous and you just couldn’t believe what’d you just heard.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Lucy narrowed her brows in worry. “Y/N, please. You know we cant trust our parents.”

“And we can’t trust Joe”, Rami added. Sophie limited herself to follow your conversation with a curious look.

You, on the other hand, still had to process their request. So you turned towards Ben only to find himself staring at you, horrified. “I’m sorry”, he said by picking his tongue out, licking his lower lip. “I’d love to do that. Really, I’d love to. But with her?”

“Oh so you don’t believe I’d be able to take care of a child?”

“I highly doubt it, yes. Let’s face the truth, ‘kay? We can barely stand each other.��

“And so what? It’s Sophie we are talking about.” You forced yourself to keep your tone low not to scare the child.

Ben exhaled deeply and quietly murmured something, so you moved your gaze back to the couple. “I’ll do it.” Now it was personal — you had to show that prick that you could take care of a baby, differently than he thought. With or without him.

Lucy’s smile was still uncertain as she looked at Ben. He seemed conflicted as he rubbed his hands, looking at you first and then at Sophie. His shoulders rise and lower as he sighed deeply, starting to nod his head ‘yes’. “Yeah, I’ll do it, too.”

Rami let out a relief laugh and he placed a kiss on Sophie’s head. Trying to ignore Ben, you stood up from the couch and leaned towards the baby. “Come to auntie, Soph.”

The baby reached up to you and you gladly picked her up, meeting Lucy’s eyes while doing so. “I owe you one.”

She surely did.

“Auntie Y/N will take care of you as mommy and daddy are away”, you whispered as you smiled back at her.

Sophie’s attention was caught by something behind you, her eyes widening in excitement. You knew who she was looking at even before turning around. It was crystal clear that Sophie loved Ben almost as much as he did. He gently caressed her cheek with a sweet smile on his face. “Hi, love.”

“Don’t make me regret it.” Your words were nothing but a whisper as you talked to Ben.

His jaw clenched as he fixed his green eyes on yours. “Sophie’s our priority now.”

“Yeah, exactly”, you said quietly. “So work your shit out.”

“Hey, Soph. What a bad aunt is auntie Y/N, right? She even swears in front of you.”

You rolled your eyes at Ben’s words and, making sure that Sophie wasn’t looking at you, you mouthed “Fuck off.”

Day One - Monday

Part of the deal was to move at Lucy and Rami’s place for the entire duration of their trip. It was mostly because you didn’t want Sophie to feel completely disoriented as her parents were away.

You murmured a series of “Huh-huh”, “‘kay” and “Yeah” as Lucy showed you were to find the diapers, the baby bath tub, the meals and the toys. She even revealed you a tip on how to calm her down when she was nervous.

Turns out that Sophie loved the noise of the kitchen hood.

For the whole time Ben chatted with Rami in the dining room, giving a look at Sophie sleeping in the playpen every now and then, and you truly hoped that he’d have given you some help in this. Things presaged nothing good.

“I’ll FaceTime you every night”, Lucy promised.

“You already said that.”

“The emergency numbers are on the kitchen peninsula.”

“I know, Luce. You showed me.” Your words came muffled at her ears as you hugged her. “Do I have your permission to kick Ben in the balls if he misbehaves?”

“You behave.” Lucy wiggled her nose as she giggled and turned towards Rami, who was standing right next to her.

He leaned towards you to give you a hug and he whispered to your hear “You have my permission.”

His words made you giggle and you gained a glaring from Ben. “What?”

“You smell of baby puke.”

You held back a middle finger as you waved at Lucy and Rami who were now walking away.

As their car disappeared from your sight, you silently closed the front door, trying not to wake Sophie up, and then turned towards Ben. “What?”, he asked by raising a brow in a questioning look.

“We need a schedule.”

Ben slowly blinked, giving you a confused look. “’m sorry?”

“Come with me.”

Five minutes later you were both sitting at the stools of the peninsula, one facing the other, with a beer on one hand and the awareness that it was going to be a very long week.

Ben took a sip of his drink as you twirled a marker between your fingers, looking at the blank white board. “Hopefully we’re gonna make it before Sophie turns two”, he commented with a smirk.

Half an hour. You’d been in his presence for half an hour and you already wanted to punch him. Nevertheless you ignored his comment, starting to write on the board as you said without looking at him “I work three days a week: Monday, Wednesday and Friday from eight to twelve. This means that you’ll have to take care of Sophie all by yourself.”

When you looked up at him, his brows were narrowed. “What now?”, you asked in annoyance.

“I want free days, too.”

“I don’t have free days.”

“Yeah, but you go to work. Those ones count as free days.”

Sighing deeply helped you to keep calm. “Okay, then. What do you suggest?”

“Sunday night.”

“I’m not spending a Sunday night all by myself, Ben.”

His smirk was a hint on what his next comment was going to be. “I’m pretty sure that you spent lots of Saturday nights all by yourself, love. When was the last time you got laid?”

“Mind your own business”, you immediately replied.

Ben giggled at your reply and you tried not to stare at his lips as he took another sip of his beer. “And what if I don’t take any other free days? Only this Saturday night.”

His suggestion was reasonable — you bit your lower lip as you thought about it, narrowing your eyes. Why’d he do something like that?

That’s what you asked him. “Why?”

He limited himself to shrug at your question. Not that you were expecting an answer from him. “Fine, then. You got this Saturday night.”

A few moments of silence passed as you wrote on the board and the marker made a shrill sound at every word. “We didn’t think this through.”

Here we go again.

You couldn’t help but throw at him an annoyed glance, sighing deeply as you placed your elbows on the counter and leaned towards him. “Ben.”

“Share the place, both sleep-deprived? ’t sounds like a compelling psych experiment.”

“We cannot draw back now, ‘kay? We’re pretty deep in this.”

His green eyes stared at you for a few moments, still processing your words. It wasn’t a problem of yours if he had an issue with you. Both of you had agreed to do that — how could you say no to Rami and Lucy?

Ben exhaled deeply and leaned towards the back of the chair, moving his gaze away from you. You’d won the argument for now.

There were lots of other things to plan and to write down on the whiteboard and you were about to say it when a little squeak, followed by a little crying caught both yours and Ben’s attention. He gave you a disoriented look and you hurried to stand up, leaving the board still unfinished as you moved in the other room.

“Hi, honey. Hey.” Sophie was standing on the playpen, her beautiful eyes a bit teary.

Ben’d followed you to the room. “Hey, look at the sleepyhead.”

His expression had completely changed — he seemed another person when talking to Sophie and you could barely believe he was the same man who’d earlier told you you smelled like baby puke. Sophie reached up to him and he was about to walk towards her, but you placed a hand on his shoulder and said “Wait, don’t pick her up.”

His brows narrowed in confusion. “Why?”

“Because she needs to learn how to self-soothe.” Ben looked at you like if you were mad.

“She needs to what?” His yes were narrowed and they seemed even darker than usual.

“Self-soothe”, you repeated. “Soothe herself.”

Ben stuck out his tongue and gestured towards you. “And why’d she do that?”

“I read it, Ben. It’s important. Let’s just give it a minute.”

The way he shook his head made you believe that he thought you were nuts; nevertheless, he did as you said. So you were both standing right in front of the playpen, waiting for Sophie to calm down all alone.

But she didn’t, so an idea came up to your mind. “Five little ducks went out one day, over the hill and far away”, you started to sing in an uncertain voice. You looked at Ben with the corner of your eye and he had an amused smile on his face. “Mother duck said, ‘Quack, quack, quack, quack’ but only four little ducks came back.”

“One, two, three, four. Four little ducks went out one day...” Ben’d started to sing along with you as you tried to impress Sophie with your dance moves. “I don’t remember it”, he whispered to you.

Sophie wasn’t particularly impressed by your singing skills, given that she was still softly crying. The sight of her teary eyes’d become unbearable so — unlike what you’d told Ben — you leaned towards her and picked her up. “I think she’s hungry. Yup, I’m gonna feed her. Let’s go eat, love.”

“I though we weren’t picking her up!”, you heard Ben saying as you walked away.

Day Two - Tuesday

Sophie’d fallen asleep in your arms. Her beautiful blonde hair made her seem angelic as she dreamed and you gently grazed her cheek. You didn’t want her to wake up because of you, but it was impossible not to caress her when se looked so peaceful.

Eventually you forced yourself to let her sleep in peace and you decided to get some work done. You’d been highlighting titles over titles for an hour when you heard the front door unlocking.

Shortly after Ben came into your view and you placed a finger on your lips, silently telling him not to wake Sophie up. His eyes immediately went to the baby sleeping in your arms and his features relaxed at that view. Then he looked up at you with an expression that you’d never seen in his face. Not when he looked at you.

But he quickly looked away, carrying the bags into the kitchen before joining you in the dining room.

He sat far from you, but on the same couch. You could feel his gaze following your movements as you tried to get your work done, and when you looked at him you noticed a strand of golden hair that had fallen on his forehead.

“What you up to?” His words were nothing but a whisper.

You gave a quick look at Sophie before turning your gaze to him. “Some paperwork.”

“Right, work.” His tone made you narrow your brows.

And even though the grey sweater that he was wearing made you feel things, you ignored those feelings and asked “Why did you say it with such irony?”

“You run a bookstore.” As if it was an explanation.

“And what with that?”

If Ben’d realised that his words might’ve hurt you, he didn’t show it. “It’s a bookstore.”

“I love my job, you asshole.”

Then you suddenly realised that Ben was just teasing you. The little smirk on his face couldn’t be misunderstood. “Language, love. Last thing we need is Sophie’s first word to be ‘asshole’.”

You shook your head in amusement and even though you were trying so hard not to, your gaze fell to his lips. It’d happened many times for you to think about his lips, how soft they seemed to be. Usually Ben’d dampen those moment with a jab of his or a perv comment just to drive you nuts. But not this time.

“Ben?”

By hearing your whispers Ben moved his gaze from your lips to your eyes. “Yeah?”

You didn’t want to ruin the moment, but you did it anyways. “Do you smell that?”

His brows narrowed in confusion. You nodded towards Sophie, who was still sleeping peacefully, and Ben leaned towards the baby to sniff on her. “Oh my God.” His face twitched in disgust and he quickly leaned back.

“Did she finally—“

“Oh yeah, yeah, yeah. I think she... She sure did.” The expression on his face was hilarious.

“Ben”, you said with an amused smile.

When he turned towards you, in his face there still was a disgusted expression. “What?”

“Don’t be a pussy. It’s just poop.” Ben sighed and you giggled.

But then it was time for you to change her diaper. Sophie laid in the changing table, looking at the two of you with a little smile on her face. The problem was, neither of you had the courage to face all that poop. “Remind me again why we agreed on this”, you whispered.

Ben gave you the typical ‘what’d I say?’ look but said “Because we are great friends and now Rami and Lucy owe us a big one.”

“And because we love Sophie”, you added.

Ben slowly nodded at your words, a tiny smile appearing on his face. “Yeah, we love this little one.”

“And because uncle Benny’s the best”, you started by taking a step away from him. “He’s gonna be the one to change your diaper. Right, Sophie? Isn’t he the best?”

“What?”

“Oh c’mon, Ben.”

Ben threw his hands in the air. “Why me?”

“Why me?”

Ben sighed again. “Let’s make a team effort, ‘kay?”

You just couldn’t say no when he showed you his puppy eyes. Bastard. “Fine”, you gave up. “I’ll undress her.”

As you unbuttoned her bodysuit, Sophie gave you a big smile. “You’re lucky I love you”, you whispered to her and you heard Ben giggle behind you.

When she was finally free from her leotard, you turned towards Ben. “Your turn.”

“Already?”

“Yeah, already. C’mon.”

He stood right next to you. “It’s a weird smell, right?”

“Why do you always complain? Go ahead.”

“Fine, fine. It can’t be that hard, can it?” He gave you a hopeful look and you giggled.

“It’s something you can take off the checklist”, you said as you tried to hold back a laugh.

“Yeah.” He carefully approached his hands on the diaper but it was crystal clear the fact that he had no idea how to do it.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t know. It’s not a bra that I’m taking off a girl, it’s a diaper.” The way he underlined the last words made you laugh.

“It’s not a surgery, just undo the tabs.”

Ben’s hands, so big compared to the little Sophie, were now following your instructions. As soon as the tabs were undone and Sophie was finally free from the dirty diaper, the smell came to you even stronger than before. “Oh my God.”

“What’d I tell you?”, Ben asked with a disgusted expression.

“It’s burning my eyes.”

“We have to clean her up.”

“Yeah, I know.” Trying not to throw up, you quickly took Ben’s place. “Can you please me hand me the baby wipes?”

As you gently held Sophie’s feet up not to dirty her and to clean her better, you hurried to get rid of all that smelling poop. “She didn’t eat enough to produce that”, Ben commented as he watched you.

“Stop it or I’ll throw up.” You gave him a quick look from above your shoulder and Ben smiled back at you. “Another one, please.”

Wiper after wiper, you finally managed to get her clean. Yours and Ben’s reaction did nothing but amuse Sophie, who was giggling with the biggest smile on her face. “Are you having fun, huh?”

“She’s as wit as her mother”, Ben whispered.

After getting rid of the dirty diaper and having Sophie clean and fragrant, you picked her up from the changing table. “What do you say, Sophie? You want uncle Ben?”

“Didn’t hear that”, Ben tried to cut himself off.

“I did hear it, though. Go to uncle Ben, my love.” Sophie reached up to him and Ben grabbed her, giving her the biggest smile you’d ever seen. As you tried to tidy up the room, you heard Ben saying as he walked away “Say Uncle Ben. It’s easy, love. B-e-n.”

Day three - Wednesday

The house was silent. Too silent. That’s why you tried to close the front door as quietly as possible — maybe Sophie was sleeping. Or maybe Ben was. All the bags and books you took home from work were long forgotten on the table as you checked every room of the ground floor to find them.

As you walked upstairs the theme song of Peppa Pig came crystal clear to your ears. It was the hint you needed to know exactly where they were.

“Wow, that was a really good episode.” Who was Ben talking to?

But, more importantly, was he really talking about Peppa Pig?

“Y’know, what I really love about Peppa is that even when everything seems to go wrong and they scr— blow, they blow things up, this funny man keeps saying ‘Oh dear’ or ‘Look out’.” His words made you giggle but you tried not to make any noise.  “Auntie Y/N should follow my example, don’t you think? I’m such a good uncle, right Soph?”

You were now standing against the doorframe, watching Ben sprawled on the soft ottoman as he talked to Sophie in a very serious tone, gesturing towards her. The little girl seemed to follow his conversation, letting out little squeaks of excitement every now and then.

“Too bad that aunt Y/N is way better than you.”

Ben turned towards you by hearing your words and gave you a lazy smile. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to hear you talking about Peppa Pig. Oh dear!”

You loved to tease him.

“Oh, shut up.” Despite his words, Ben was smiling in amusement.

You took a few steps towards the baby, kneeling in front of her. “Hi, love. How did uncle Ben treat you, uh? Was he good?”

“I’m the best. Look at her, she’s ecstatic.” Sophie squeaked in excitement, trying to say something as she proved Ben’s point.

“What do you think of a bath? Would you like that?”

Once again, Sophie mumbled some incomprehensible words. They made sense to her, though. “Is that a yes?”, you asked Ben, who limited himself to shake his head as if saying ‘I really have no idea.’

Not being able to decipher Sophie’s words, you took them as a yes. Sophie was now in Ben’s arms as you prepared everything to bath her. Every now and then you threw them a few looks from above your shoulder only to find Ben being completely focused on her, trying to make her giggle by tickling her.

“How was work?”, he asked you as you both waited for the tub to fill up.

You bit your lower lip and gave him an amused look. “Oh, now you care?”

“I was just trying to make conversation”, he quickly replied and shrugged.

His words made you sigh deeply, shutting the faucet and checking the water temperature. “’t was fine, I guess. A bit exhausting. Thanks for asking.”

Sophie loved water. Literally, she loved it. She got all excited when taking a bath and started to spray the water everywhere. Needless to say that both you and Ben were soaking wert as you tried to clean her up. “C’mon, Soph. Just wait for a second”, you almost begged.

“Where the hell is the bloody duck she loves so much”, Ben murmured as he looked for the toy everywhere in the bathroom.

“Language, Ben.”

Ben laughed. Hard. It was probably the first time you heard him laughing like that and you loved that sound. “That’s rich coming from you.”

You mimicked him and gave him a look as you held Sophie. He was sticking out his tongue like he used to do, a proud smile on his face as he held Sophie’s duck. “Look what uncle Ben found, love.”

Sophie became even more excited at the sight of her toy, trying to take it from Ben’s hands when he came closer to you. “Would you hold her? I need to remove all the foam with the shower head.”

He didn’t hesitate to answer “Yeah, sure.” So he gently grabbed her and lifted her, holding her far from his body as he waited for you to wash her.

“Look, Sophie. Uncle Ben’s afraid of getting wet.” If Sophie protested when Ben got her out of the tub, now she was relaxing under the jet of the water.

“I’m already wet.” Dangerous choice of words.

“Then”, you started in an angelic tone. “You wouldn’t mind if I did this, right?” You splashed a bit of water in his face.

Ben was tempted to retract from the jet but Sophie needed to be cleaned. So he bit his lower lip and said in an amused tone “You’re lucky I’m holding the baby.”

“Or what?”

You giggled at the look he gave you and you wrapped Sophie in her bathrobe, taking her from Ben’s arms and holding her close to your chest. “You can’t revenge now. I’m holding the baby.”

“I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next.”

You gently rubbed Sophie’s back, leaving a few kisses on her cheeks as you told Ben “Nice movie quote.”

Day Four - Thursday

“Okay, Sophie. I’m almost done, hold on.” The baby food you’d lovingly prepared for the little girl looked nothing like Lucy’s. It tasted good, though. You made sure of it before taking a seat in front of her, ready to feed her.

“She’s not a food critic, she’s a one-year-old”, Ben commented as he watched you. He was leaning against the stool, his arms crossed in his chest as he gave you a sceptic look. Each passing day did nothing but confirm you that he only wore black. The dark hoodie he was wearing was a proof of that.

“She might not be a food critic but sure as hell she doesn’t like my cooking.” And it was true — no matter how much you tried to make her open her mouth and eat her food, she just wouldn’t. “C’mon, Soph. It tastes so good, you’ll love it.”

Ben loudly giggled from where he was standing. “She had the guts to tell you that your cooking sucks.”

“My cooking is amazing. You ate almost half of the roast beef that day at the party”, you protested.

Ben raised a brow. “Did you cook it?”

“’f course I did.” You tried again to feed Sophie but all you managed to do was to get her dirty. You groaned in frustration and sighed deeply.

Five seconds later your attention was caught by the ringing of Ben’s phone. He took it from his pocket and gave a look at the screen before moving his green eyes on you. You raised your brow in a silent question and he bit his lips, walking out of the room and getting the phone out in the backyard.

Sophie finally ate the first spoonful of her meal and as you slowly fed her, your mind started to run wild. Who was he talking to? Was it one of his dates? But then you convinced yourself that it was none of your business.

“Good girl, Soph. Do you like it? Is it good?”, you whispered as you wiped her mouth. Sophie clapped her hands in excitement and it made you genuinely smiled. “Where’s mommy? Say mommy. Mommy”, you repeated slowly for her to understand.

A few minutes had passed before Ben came back into the room. “Did she eat?”

“Just a little bit”, you replied without looking at him.

“She doesn’t like your cooking for real, huh?” Ben was just teasing you but, for a reason that you didn’t know yet, you were pissed at him.

So as you put away the plate on the sink you limited to say “Huh-huh.”

“Y/N?” As you heard him calling you by your name you gave him a quick look. His brows were narrowed in a frown.

“What?”

“What’s wrong?” It was probably the first time that Ben was concerned about you.

You sighed and you turned towards him, drying your hands. “Let’s establish a rule.”

“What rule?” He gave you a confused look.

“The week’s almost over. Let’s spend it peacefully.”

He gestured with his hand while saying “Is that the rule?”

You were starting to get used to the tiny lines forming around his eyes whenever he narrowed them in a confused expression. “No. The rule is that we don’t get to bring dates here in this house. Not around Sophie. I know it’s hard for you to hold on for a whole week, but you’ve got this Saturday night off.”

It was for Sophie’s sake, right?

“Wha— is it because of the phone call?”

You shrugged. “Maybe.”

Ben quickly rubbed his eyes, taking a step towards you. “It was Joe.”

Oh.

You stuttered before saying “It’s the principle that matters.”

“Fine. No dates here.”

A nod is all you gave him as a confirmation before turning towards Sophie. Giving her a better look you said “Ben.”

“Hum?” He followed your gaze to the kid and his eyes widened. “She’s making the look.”

“Yeah, that’s the look”, you confirmed. Not shortly after Sophie started to cry. Loudly and uncontrollably. “Your turn”, you told Ben as you stepped aside.

You heard him sighing as he picked her up, rocking her gently on his chest as he tried to soothe her. “C’mon, be good for uncle Ben”, he whispered as he started to walk around the room.

Your gaze ran over the kitchen and it fell on the hood. “I’ve got an idea.”

Ben limited himself to give you a questioning look and you gestured towards the hood. Still, he didn’t understand. Right, he wasn’t with you when Lucy told you that Sophie loved the noise of the hood. “C’mere”, you whispered as you turned on the extractor fan.

“What are you doing?”, he asked, but he did as you told him.

Now Sophie was softly crying and you tapped Ben on his shoulder, making him sign to lean closer to the hood. The kid’s attention was immediately caught by the noise. Even though she’d stopped crying, her eyes were still a bit teary. It was working.

“Rock her”, you whispered.

Ben looked at you. His green eyes were fixed on yours and you suddenly realised that you were close. Maybe too close. Your chest was touching his arm and his face was just a few inches away from yours. Once again your gaze fell to his lips and for the first time you didn’t care if you were staring at him.

But then Ben cleared his voice and moved his gaze to Sophie. As he gently rocked her he started to sing in a soft voice, trying to get her to sleep “But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo.”

You had to cover your mouth not to burst out into laughter. “What are you doing?”

“Everybody loves Radiohead.”

Day Five - Friday

“You went groceries literally three days ago. I can’t believe you forgot all this stuff”, you complained as looked at the shelves.

The three of you had gotten in the supermarket not even fifteen minutes ago and your shopping cart was already full. “’s not like I know what’s on Lucy and Rami’s pantry.”

Ben was pushing the cart without paying attention to what you put in it — his eyes were for Sophie only. She was in a good mood and Ben did nothing but improve the situation by playing with her.

“Does she like peaches?” You gave him a quick look from above your shoulder.

Ben was in a good mood, too, given that he gave you a big smile. Maybe you should go often together to the grocery store.

“Why don’t you ask her?”, he proposed.

Opening a jar of peach jelly, you made her smell it. She wiggled her nose in a disgusted expression and she shook her head. “You don’t like it, huh?”

“Huh-huh”, she replied and her expression made you giggle.

“Told you”, Ben said. “She’s as wit as her mother.”

Sophie smelled at least other three other flavours before picking her favorite — apricot. “Really? Apricot?”

“Apricots are a gift from God.” Ben’s words surprised you.

You had a stupid smile on your face as you said “D’ya like them?”

“I love them.” He underlined the word ‘love’ and you shook your head in amusement.

“Y/N?” Hearing that someone was calling you by your name, you turned your back to Ben to face the stranger.

“Nick?” One of your friends from college — whom you hadn’t seen in forever — was standing right in front of you.

“Wow, I thought I was wrong”, you heard him saying as he hugged you.

You couldn’t tell why, but you felt uncomfortable.

“It’s me”, you said with a nervous smile.

Nick’s gaze moved behind you and you followed him. “Is she—?”

“Huh?”

Nick cleared his voice. “Is she your daughter?”

“Wha— no! No, no. Ehm, she’s Lucy’s. And he’s Ben.”

“His husband”, Ben added with a polite smile.

You parted your lips in a confused expression as he shook Nick’s hand. “He’s not—”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence that Ben asked him “College mates, right?”

Nick nodded. “Yeah. Haven’t seen each other in forever, though.”

“Yeah”, you confirmed. The truth was that you were still trying to process Ben’s lie.

“How long have you guys been married? I didn’t know anything about it.”

Ben smirked at Nick’s question. He moved next to you and put his arm around your shoulders, giving you the biggest smile you’d ever seen on his face. His cologne smelled so good that it almost made you forget his lie.

Did he want to play that game? Fine by you.

As he held you close to him, your arm surrounded his hips and you faked a smile. “Oh, just for a few months. It was a small ceremony”, Ben said with a fake smile and you pinched him. A low, deep groan came from his throat but your actions had the opposite effect you wanted to provoke.

Ben was amused.

Even though Nick was still there, you’d almost forgotten about him. “Oh, it sounds so cool. I’m so happy about you guys.”

Thankfully you both didn’t get the chance to answer him because Sophie started to squeak in excitement at the sight of a dog. You took the chance to slip away from Ben’s grip and you approached the kid as you said to Nick with an apologetic smile “’m sorry, Nick. We’re kinda in a hurry. It was nice seeing you again.”

As Nick walked away you nudged Ben. “Idiot. C’mon, push the cart.”

“Don’t be such a bossy, wifey.”

You playfully pushed him away when he tried to come closer to you and then you asked “What was that?”

Ben smirked. “I was just making sure you wouldn’t bring any dates home.”

Since when Lucy and Rami’s place had become home?

Even though you’d spent the last week together, the grocery store gave you the opportunity to fin out new things about him. Like the fact that he likes cereal with no milk or thwart he would gladly mop the floor a hundred times rather than loading the dishwasher.

Once gotten home, you also found out that he hated making two trips while carrying the bags. And he made it very clear by complaining the whole time.

“What do you want for dinner?”, you asked as you hoped you were guessing right where to put all the food you’d bought.

Ben was taking care of Sophie as you tidied the pantry. His voice came muffled as he proposed from the other room “How about we order a pizza?”

“Yeah, fine.”

Where the hell did Lucy put the mayonnaise?

You were still trying to unload the groceries in the kitchen when you heard Ben’s voice. “Y/N?”

The tone of his voice made you worry. “Yeah?”

“She’s walking.” Maybe you misheard him.

“What?”

“She’s walking!”

The bags forgotten right in the middle of the kitchen almost made you stumble as you hurried to move to the dining room. Ben had his back to you, his arms arms stretched out towards the baby.

Sophie was standing on her own feet and a big smile was printed on her face. “Oh my God she’s walking.”

Ben gave you a quick look by hearing your whispers and you noticed a big, enthusiastic smile on his face. He was genuinely happy and for the first time ever the idea of Ben as a dad didn’t seem too abstract.

“Come to auntie, Soph. Come.” Her attention was caught by you and Ben quickly moved behind her, ready to catch her if she fell.

Step by step, Sophie came to you and hugged you with so much love that you almost cried. You couldn’t help but kiss her and as you still held her in your arms you told Ben “FaceTime Lucy. She’ll kill us if she misses it.”

Five minutes later, the three of you sat on the carpet and Lucy was waving at you with a toothy smile on her face. “Hi my love! Hi Sophie!”

“Where’s Rami?”, Ben asked her. He didn’t want his friend to miss it.

“Ugh”, Lucy gave a quick look behind her, probably looking for his husband. “He’s probably taking a shower. How are you guys? How’s my baby?”

“We’re fine. But you gotta take a look at this.” You just couldn’t hold the excitement in your tone. Lucy was beyond excited at your words — you could see it from her eyes. “Just wait a sec.”

Ben stood up as you gave him a pat on the shoulder and he moved right in front of you, far enough for Sophie to take a few steps on her own. The camera was now turned towards him, showing his arms stretched out towards the baby. “Come to uncle Ben, Sophie. C’mere”, he encouraged her.

Lucy narrowed her brows. “Y/N what—”

“Just wait”, you cut her off. “C’mon, Soph. Go to uncle Ben.”

Sophie’s eyes gave you an excited look and she clapped her hands. She slowly leaned towards the sofa, holding on it as she struggled to get on her own feet. When she finally did, Lucy’s eyes were widened and her lips were forming a perfect ‘O’ before whispering “Oh my God.”

When Sophie started to take little steps towards Ben — who’d the biggest smile on his face as he made sure Sophie wouldn’t fall — Lucy said out loud “Rami! For the love of God, Rami! Come here!”

Her excited tone made you chuckle and you heard a loud thud from the other side of the call. Ben heard it too and gave you a quick, confused look before moving his gaze back to the baby.

Rami was now standing right next to Lucy, his hair wet and his eyes widened in confusion. But then he saw his daughter walking on her own feet and he looked at Lucy with so much love that it almost made you cry.

Inevitably your gaze fell to Ben, who was now hugging Sophie and whispering “You did really good, love. You did great.”

The sight of a sweet, soft Ben made you think about your situation. Maybe, after all, spending all that time together had improved your relationship. Or maybe you were just fantasising.

Day Six - Saturday

It’d been a hell of a night. Sophie cried for most of it and it was impossible for you to understand why, given that she still couldn’t talk. Both you and Ben tried to calm her down with anything, but not even the hood kicked in.

Eventually she fell asleep at 8AM and as she rested peacefully in her bedroom, you realised you might as well stay awake. As you were about to make you a coffee, you heard footsteps approaching you.

Ben was rubbing his sleepy eyes, trying to force himself to stay awake. His hair was messier than usual and the shirt he used as pjs was wrinkled.

“Did you check on her?”, you asked in a low tone. To be honest, you felt like shit.

He cleared his voice and nodded his head ‘yes’, taking a seat on the stool of the peninsula. “She’s sleeping.” His tone was just as low as yours.

Sophie had worn you both out.

“Would you like a coffe?”

By giving him a look from above his shoulder, you noticed he was nodding. “Yeah, thanks.”

Five minutes later you were sitting one right in front of the other, just like the very first day. This time he hadn’t the strength to throw jabs at you, though.

“Thank god it’s Saturday.” His sea-glass eyes stared at you for a few seconds.

The hotness of the cup of coffee was warming you cold hands. “Yeah. We did it, right?”

“Yeah... but I’m never doing it again.”

You narrowed your brows at his tone. “Why?”

Ben gave you a condescending look. “If you haven’t noticed, running a baby’s not like running a bookstore.”

“Are we back at it again?”, you asked in an annoyed tone.

Ben started to gesture. “They’re a mess. They pee on things. They bite and they poop a lot.”

“They’re babies.”

And then Ben snapped. You knew that sooner or later he would’ve, because it was Ben we’re talking about. “I had plans this week. Business meetings. I gave up everything to give you a hand with it and play this part.”

“I never asked you to do it! I never asked for your help. And ‘play this part’? Are you serious, Ben? That’s what this is to you?” Hopefully Sophie wouldn’t wake up. As much as you were both trying to keep your tone low, you were in the middle of an argument.

“We’re living in the same house, watching over a kid that isn’t ours and we’re acting like we’re married but we are not.”

“So you’ve been pretending, huh. Have you been pretending with Sophie?” Bet stuck his tongue out, slipping his fingers through his hair as he usually did when he was nervous or upset. And right now he was both. “No, I love Sophie.”

“So just me, then.” It was destroying you the fact that your words sounded like a whine, but you were hurt.

Ben narrowed his brows in a confused expression and his lips parted. “Y/N—“

“You know what, Ben? I shouldn’t have said yes. I should’ve known that you and I aren’t the ideal pairing to take care of a baby. I knew we weren’t a good pairing at all when you left me alone in my fucking car two years ago.” You finally had the chance to tell him how much he hurt you when he screwed up your first blind date. He had to know how much it had influenced your relationship.

“It’s been two years ago!” He threw his arms in the air.

“Yeah, and look at us now. You could’ve just told me you didn’t feel like it, but no. You had to be a dick.”

“’m sorry if I didn’t feel like going to a blind date a month after I broke up with my long-term girlfriend.” Now he was being sarcastic.

And now you were really mad. “How the fuck was I supposed to know!” Your tone was higher than you expected so you took a deep breath to calm down, not wanting to wake Sophie up. “It was my first date in a year. I never let Lucy set me up for dates but for the first time I did. I did and I regret it. Look how it ended up.”

“I told Rami not to do it.”

“I don’t care, Ben. You could’ve managed it better. All you did instead was calling another girl as you were with me, because all you care about is getting laid.” Even though your tone was low, your words were ice cold.

Ben slowly shook his head, his hurt expression quickly replaced by the one you knew so well. “You shouId get Iaid yourself. Except to have sex, you gotta find somebody who can stand you first.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah”, he muttered as he stood up.

“You know what? Take all the fucking Saturday as your free day because I can’t even stand looking at you right now.”

And he did. The day went by and Ben hadn’t come back yet. You were trying to convince yourself that you could do it on your own for another day. Sophie seemed to understand that your mood wasn’t one of the best and she behaved like she never did before. She even ate all her meal, which was new to you.

Lucy called at some stage in the evening and she showed you the amazing architecture of Florence. It seemed like they were having a good time and there was no point in making them worry, so you didn’t even mention Ben.

But she did. “Where’s Ben?”

You rubbed your nose, trying to find a believable excuse for his absence. “He went to the grocery’s.”

“How many groceries are you guys buying? It looks like you spend whole days at the mall.”

“No, uh — we ran out of ketchup. We’re having burgers tonight, ketchup is essential.”

She seemed to notice that something was wrong — here brows were narrowed and her eyes were giving you a condescending look. Yet, she didn’t say anything and you closed the call a few minutes after.

It was night by now and Sophie was finally sleeping. You, on the other hand, just couldn’t fall asleep. That’s why you spent almost half an hour channel surfing, ending up watching Love Island. In extremis...

But then the click of the look caught your attention and even though you hadn’t yet turned towards the front door, you knew it was Ben. His cologne couldn’t have been mistaken.

You gave him a quick look from above your shoulder only to meet his beautiful, puppy eyes. Even though you were still pissed at him, you couldn’t keep ignoring your feelings.

He sat right next to you, remaining quiet for the first few seconds. It was him who broke the silence. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have said those things” you whispered as you turned towards him.

His elbows were resting on his thighs as he rubbed his hands together. “You were right, I’ve been a prick. I should’ve talked to you back then. You would’ve understood the situation.”

“Yeah...”

“And I’m sorry I��ve been distant all this time. I knew I fucked things up that day in your car and when I realised it I... it was too late. I just wanted you to like me back, but you wouldn’t have. Not after how I treated you.”

“But I did! I still do, Ben.”

And it was the truth. No matter how many times you’ve tried to convince yourself that you despised him and that you just didn’t get along. You liked him.

His green eyes were staring at your lips for the umpteenth time that week, but this time was different because Ben placed his own on yours. His hand was resting on your neck and the softness of his touch gave you the goosebumps. When you leaned towards him to deepen the kiss, his touch became even more secure as he come closer to you.

You’d fantasised many times on how it’d feel to kiss Ben, but now that you were really doing it, it exceeded all expectations.

When you leaned back from his lips, a big smile appeared on his face. One of the smiles he reserved for Sophie only. You snuggled against him, his arm surrounding your waist as he kept your body close to yours.

There were tons of situations yet to be clarified, but you both stood quiet for the rest of the night, bodies close but hearts even closer.

Day Seven — Sunday

Last day. On one hand you were sorry to leave Sophie — you’d gotten used to her habits and rhythms, but on the other hand you couldn’t wait to go back to your old life. 

Scratch that.

You couldn’t wait to go back to your new life with Ben.

“You done? They’re almost here”, Ben told you as he held Sophie.

As you put the duck away, the one that Sophie loved so much and that drove you insane, you nodded your head ‘yes’. “Yeah. The house should be okay.”

And now the three of you were waiting on the porch for Lucy and Rami to come home. Sophie was beyond excited to meet her parents again and she showed it by walking around the house. Ben had to follow her everywhere, given that she wasn’t still 100% steady on her feet.

“Here they are!”, you told Sophie who was walking around the dining room. “Mom and daddy are here, Soph!”

She clapped her hands, making Ben chuckle as he accompanied her to the front door where you were standing. His green eyes met yours as a loud thud came from Lucy and Rami’s car, who were now shutting the doors and hurrying inside.

Lucy’s eyes immediately went to her daughter, who was standing on her own feet right in front of you. She hugged her, kissed her and held her close to her chest as she whispered lovely words. Rami left a soft kiss on her head before looking up to you and Ben.

When he noticed that you were standing right next to each other with bigs smiles on your faces, he narrowed his eyes and smirked. “What did I miss?”

“Uhm — nothing, really.” But the look Ben gave you made you chuckle. Rami was more than sure that he missed a lot, especially when Ben’s arm surrounded your waist.

“Oh wow”, Lucy whispered as she stood up, holding her baby in her arms. “You guys need to fill me in on what happened between you two.”

“Sophie happened”, you said with a sweet smile, looking at the baby who was in awe for her mother.

”Y’know”, Rami started saying. “You’d make great parents. Sophie loves you guys.”

“Yeah”, Ben murmured. “Maybe someday.”

[erin-bo-berin]

Darkest Storms & Brightest Rainbows (Part 3)

MASTERLIST

Part 1

Part 2

Hard Love (unofficial part 4)

The final part of the Cat fic is finally here! Hope I didn’t leave you in too much suspense. I don’t have much to say about this part other than it’s the longest of the three and there’s a nice mix of angst, smut and daddy Spence. Happy reading :)

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: M (some smut)

Word Count: 5,425

You hadn’t felt this queasy since your pregnancy.

There across the room stood Spencer, Cat’s face in his hands as he kissed her hungrily. His lips moved with hers with a lightning type of electricity between them.

You couldn’t believe your eyes.

“Spencer?” you croaked.

The two broke away quickly, his hands still on her face and he looked utterly horrified.

Horrified and guilty.

Cat untangled herself from your boyfriend and  walked toward you, not so discreetly wiping the edge of her mouth.

“Oh good, you’re awake. Welcome to the party,” she purred.

“W-What’s going on?” 

Your voice trembled, your gaze flickering back and forth between Spencer and Cat. Between being confused at the current situation, you were freaking out, worried about the whereabouts of Spensa. You desperately hoped she was okay.

It had been nearly a year since you last saw him in the flesh. Now his hair was longer and his face was shadowed with facial hair, more present than it usually was.

“Just to catch you up, sweetheart,” Cat sat next to you on the couch, “Spencie has been alive and well this whole time.”

You had to force yourself not to flinch, both at her close presence and at her words.

“Y/N, I can explain,” Spencer said, his eyes pleading for you to understand.

You couldn’t comprehend anything at the moment.

“Now, now. Don’t steal my story from me,” Cat tsked before turning back to you.

“Anyway, Spencer here thought he was being smart by faking his death. He thought I wouldn’t find him. Obviously he underestimated me. Did I also mention that the entire BAU knew he faked his death and didn’t have the decency to tell you?”

Your brows furrowed, your chest feeling tight. You looked over at Spencer.

“Is that true?”

But Spencer wasn’t looking at you. He was looking at Cat.

“Why are you doing this, Cat?”

“Well I thought it would be nice to have a little reunion. Besides while you and I were having some fun, I had my partner kidnap Y/N here so she could join us.”

“Where even are we?” you asked, peering around the dusty, rundown apartment.

There was a smashed TV in a corner, empty beer cans scattered by a wall and dust bunnies everywhere. It looked like it had been a long time since anyone had inhabited this space.

“Not important,” she brushed the question off, “But I thought us women should stick together, ya know?”

You looked at her blankly.

“Well I wanted to get three of us together to let you know that you could do better than Spencer over here.”

“And why do you say that?” you challenged her.

“Well, one,” she bit her lip, pretending to think, “He’s just like me. We deserve each other. Two, I hate to disillusion you that there’s nothing going on between Spencer and I. I just wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Three, I’m just looking out for you. You could find someone so much better for you.”

She reached out to push a lock of your hair behind your shoulders and you flinched away from her, anger growing in you.

“So this entire time, you’ve been with her?” you asked Spencer.

“No! No,” he shook his head emphatically, “I was in Moscow until she found me.”

“We’ve been having a great time,” Cat crossed her legs, smirking, “As you’ve seen. Did we even leave bed yesterday, Spencie?”

You pressed your lips together, refusing to let her see that she was getting to you.

“You kidnapped her just to make a point that I could do better, with you?” 

“Not exactly. I also wanted to tell her just the kind of guy she’s dating. Oh, I’m sorry, thought she was dating.”

Her eyes were locked on Spencer’s, the challenge like flames of a fire in them.

“Did you know, that right before you woke up he told me that you’re not me?” Cat said, turning back to you, “That a part of him still thought about me all the time. I asked him to prove it.”

She made a face, a mock grimace, “Well you saw that part.”

Spencer now stood near you. She got up and squatted in front of you.

“I have to admit the sex is great,” she said nonchalantly, “But I’m sure you knew that. With the baby and all.”

You felt the blood freeze in your veins. How she knew about Spensa, you had no idea. Your fear for her spiked even more. If Cat even as much as touched a hair on your little girl’s head, you wouldn’t hesitate clawing her eyes out and ripping every hair from her head. The mama bear part of you was intense, just as intense as your love for your daughter.

“Baby?” Spencer looked confused, glancing between the two of you.

“I forgot, you didn’t know,” Cat laughed dryly, “My bad. Well she was pregnant with your baby. Such a shame that you miscarried and on the day daddy dearest decided to…”opt out” of being a father. Guess the excitement was just too much, huh?”

The look on Cat’s face was of a cruel pleasure. Spencer looked devastated as he tried to process what she’d just said.

“You...miscarried that day?” he whispered.

You weren’t about to make Cat aware of Spensa’s existence, so you made the lightning quick decision about what you had to do.

“Yeah. I did.”

•

“Emily!”

Penelope ran into the bullpen, concern written all over her face.

“What is it, Garcia?” Emily asked, instantly picking up on her frantic mood.

“I just got a call from your associates in Moscow that was keeping an eye on Reid. He’s gone missing.”

“You think Cat found him?”

“I don’t know, but it gets worse. JJ went to pick up Spensa to take her for a few hours like she’d promised Y/N, but she found Y/N gone and Spensa in her crib screaming.”

“She could have both of them.” Emily’s eyes widened, horrified.

“I’ll get the team!” Penelope was already running to locate all of them.

Cat Adams was going to be caught for good this time if they had to shoot her themselves.

•

“Just let her go Cat,” Spencer pleaded, “I’ll do anything you want.”

“Anything?”

A wicked grin crossed her face as she sat in an overstuffed chair across from the couch.

“You could always kiss me again. You know just to make sure she gets the picture.”

You had yet to face Spencer completely. Your turmoil was rolling inside you, too many emotions competing to be felt at once. You were angry that no one told you about Spencer and you’d spent a year mourning what you thought was his death. You were hurt, Cat’s words and Spencer’s actions still playing in your mind. You were scared, sad, confused, jealous, overwhelmed; it was like a bad combination of every emotion imaginable creating one big miserable cocktail.

“Y/N could just get up and leave,” Spencer argued.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t do that if I were her.”

The click of her gun got your attention, she had it pointed in your direction. She knew you had enough sense not to test her; she would pull that trigger if necessary.

“You think you’re so clever,” you sneered.

“Oh I don’t just think it sweetheart, I know it.”

“You account for every possible outcome and plan accordingly don’t you?”

“Wow, you sound just like Spencer,” she glanced over at him, “You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“You obviously didn’t plan well enough,” you goaded.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Spencer said.

He was on the couch, a good distance from you. He’d been there, head in his hands for a while before he’d started negotiating with her for your safety. 

You ignored him and played the one card you knew you had.

“Can you actually trust your partner, Cat?”

“That’s irrelevant,” she deadpanned.

“Well I’d think it over if I were you.”

You sat back with a smirk of satisfaction because of the knowledge you had. Earlier hadn’t been the first time you had gained consciousness.

•

You’d waken in the backseat of a moving car. Your hands and legs were bound with zip ties. In the driver’s seat was a dark haired girl with a pixie cut.

“Hey!” you hollered, “What’s going on? Why are you doing this?!”

You thrashed and hit the back of her seat when she ignored you and turned the volume of the radio up.

“Shut up!” your captor hollered over the music.

You decided to be on your best behavior.

For now.

Spensa had been left in her crib asleep when this mysterious woman had kidnapped you. Tears slid down your face as you thought of her. All you wanted is to be home with her in your arms. You prayed she was safe and that someone would find her soon.

You waited until the radio became nothing but static, the channel lost, before you made your next move.

“You’re working for Cat Adams aren’t you?”

“I don’t have to tell you nothin’.”

The woman lit a cigarette while she drove, taking a long inhale of it. You watched her exhale the smoke then asked your next question.

“What’s your end of the deal?”

“Don’t know what you’re yapping about.”

“Come on. You don’t give a shit about me. What’s she promising you?”

She ignored you and continued to drive. You pleaded with her, you were desperate.

“Please, I have a daughter. She’s only 5 months old. Did she tell you that?”

“Shut up.”

“How do you even know Cat?”

You fell to the floor of the backseat as the car swerved suddenly and the tires squealed. You felt the car come to a stop.

The driver’s side door opened and closed. Then the back door was yanked open. You were grabbed by the back of your shirt and pulled upwards.

The pixie-cut woman jabbed her gun in your face.

“What’s to say I won’t shoot you right now?”

“Cause it’s not worth going to prison for killing a person you give zero fucks about,” you stated.

You might’ve been terrified, but your voice came out clear and even. She stared you down for a long moment until she spoke again.

“I don’t know her that well. She just came to me saying she needed a job done.”

“Did you get any payment?” you questioned.

“She promised ten grand.”

“Did you get the money?”

“She said I had to get the job done, then I’d see the money.”

“You know you’re probably never going to see that money. Either she’ll kill you or she’ll disappear without paying her dues.”

For the first time, you see her hesitate.

“What if she turns on you? She could lead the police, feds, the whole works right your way. She could blame it all on you. I’ve dealt with Cat before. She’s a dangerous woman.”

You knew you were probably grasping at straws by now, but you had no other choice. You had to do something.

“How do I know you’re not just bullshitting me?” The gun came closer to your face again.

“All I want to do is get back to my daughter. She already lost her father, I don’t want to make her an orphan.”

“What the hell do you expect me to do anyway?” she laughed cruelly, “It’s not exactly like I can walk in and say “hey I kidnapped this woman” you know.”

“Make an anonymous call. They won’t have to know your name. Just tell them where Cat is, where you’re taking me, something. You can call from a pay phone, they won’t be able to trace it back to you. No one will ever know you were involved in this.”

You can see her resolve wavering, the gun lowering just a bit. You tried not to get your hopes up.

“You can walk away from this,” you said evenly.

For a moment you think she’s actually going to let you go as leans forward to you, but she doesn’t. Instead, she swings her arm back, the gun coming in contact with your forehead.

You fall backwards in the seat, your head now pounding doubly as hard. 

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, bitch.”

The car door slamming shut was the last thing you heard before you blacked out again.

But you hadn’t missed the look of panic in her eyes.

The next time you’d woke up, you were in the jaws of the psychopath.

•

“Your partner decided not to play by your rules anymore, Cat.”

Your voice was calm, but your nerves were frazzled. You were sick of dealing with Catherine Adams.

“I doubt that,” she smiled, “I have her loyalty.”

“Just because you’re a bitch doesn’t mean you get what you want, Cat.”

“Y/N,” Spencer warned.

“No, no. I’d love to hear what she has to say,” Cat leaned forward, interested.

“You literally had me kidnapped just to tell me that I’m not good enough for Spencer, that he should be yours which is ridiculous cause I doubt you have any feelings, much less love.”

“Love?” she snorted, “Please. I’m not delusional, besides love bores me. Do you think he’s capable of love?”

Spencer looked at her. You looked at him. He looked even worse than he had five minutes ago, if that was even possible. There was just something about Cat that drained him.

“If he was capable of love, he would’ve never put you in danger. Only reason you’re here at all is because of him.”

“If you’re this pleasant now, I’d hate to see what you’re like when someone double crosses you. Like say, your partner.” You ground your teeth in attempt to keep your cool.

“This isn’t her first rodeo, sweetie,” Cat looked over at Spencer, “You’ve got a fiesty one here.”

The glint in her eyes was a tell that she was enjoying this challenge. If it was a fight she wanted, a fight she was gonna get.

You stood up and walked toward her. Her eyes never left you as you approached her.

“I know for a fact that she’s gonna give up every bit of information she has on you and your plan.”

“She wouldn’t be an idiot. It would incriminate herself.”

“Not if she had something to,” you paused, shrugging nonchalantly, “Enlighten her.”

You had no idea if her partner had really contacted authorities and you hoped against hope that she had, but you weren’t about to show your doubts. With Cat it was all or nothing and if this would get you and Spencer out alive, this is what you would do.

“Huh. I like her, Spencie.”

“Cat, the gig is up. By now the BAU would have been alerted about my disappearance, Y/N’s too.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Cat said, sitting back as if she had all the time in the world.

“Did you know that Spencer is the only man to actually peak my interest? I’ve spent my whole adult life studying men and their lies, yet he intrigues me.”

“Obsessed is more like it,” you huffed.

“We have a...connection, you might say. By the way are you this bitter and bitchy because you lost his baby or is that just a personality trait of yours?”

She was goading you, you knew it. Even though she didn’t know about Spensa, it still felt like she was insulting her entire existence. 

You’d noticed she’d completely taken her attention away from the gun, which was resting on the arm of the chair. 

All the anger, all the resentment you had felt the day you thought Spencer died was bubbling to the surface. All the hurt you’d felt, the loss you’d experienced, the frustration, the pain that she caused made you snap. You’d had more than enough. You lunged for the gun just as fast as she did.

“Y/N, no!” Spencer yelled, jumping to his feet behind you.

Both of your hands were on the gun as you wrestled for it. It went off, a stray bullet going into the ceiling but even the gunshot was drowned out by the sound of the door caving in.

“FBI!”

Your hands dropped from the gun and you fell backwards onto the floor with a grunt. In your line of vision you saw Rossi, Emily and JJ rushing in, their guns on Cat.

With her two hostages too far out of reach and three guns pointed against her in comparison to the lone gun she had, the odds were not in her favor. You breathed a sigh of relief when the cuffs snapped closed around her wrists.

“Hey Spencie,” she smirked in his direction, “I may be going to prison, but that’s not going to ruin my mood. Wanna know why?”

“Why?” he bit out.

“Because you two are over.”

His jaw clenched, mouth pursed. The look of misery was written all over his face.

With one last knowing grin before she was escorted out, Cat’s last words were thrown in Spencer’s direction.

“I win.”

•

The tears started to fall the moment you exited the dirty, musty apartment. It was like you couldn’t stop crying.

You were sitting in the back of one of the FBI’s SUVs, tears still streaming down your face as you stared into space. Spencer was sitting in the backseat with you, on the opposite side and you could feel his eyes on you.

You were less than a foot away from each other yet you couldn’t feel more distant. You were relieved that he was alive, of course, but so much had transpired in the last hour that you weren’t sure what to feel anymore.

“You know, crying can actually be good for you. It can cause the release of oxytocin and endorphins, chemicals that can make us feel better,” he said gently.

“Spencer,” you sighed, feeling worn.

“Sorry.”

You didn’t mean to make him feel bad, but all you could feel were the torn shreds of your relationship at the moment, as if Cat’s words and actions had reduced it to nothing.

“Did you really sleep with her?” you whispered.

“No,” he answered firmly.

The kiss hung in the air between you two, though. Even knowing it was just Cat, stung.

“That kiss though.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “You can’t fake things like that.”

You looked out the window, rain beginning to fall from the grayed sky. It was fitting for your mood.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” his tone was dejected, “Please don’t be mad.”

You shook your head.

“I’m not mad. It’s just...a lot to take in.”

He nodded, staying silent. There was nothing but the soft sound of rain hitting the window for a few minutes before he spoke again.

“Did you really have a miscarriage?” His voice was barely a whisper.

“No. I carried her to term.”

You looked over at him, his face changing when your words finally sunk in.

“I have a daughter?”

A small smile crossed your lips.

“I named her Spensa. Spensa Rose Reid.”

“You named her after me?”

You nodded.

“Can I meet her?” he asked, hesitantly.

“Of course.”

A smile peeked at the corners of his mouth. You glanced down at his hand that was resting on the middle seat. You reached out, touching your fingertips to his.

Maybe things would be okay after all.

•

After long hours of briefing, medical check ups and paperwork for Spencer, you both were finally back at the apartment. You hadn’t really had the chance to talk much to each other after the ride back to the BAU, much less see each other.

You were extremely grateful when JJ and Will had offered to take Spensa for the night and the next day, to give you both a chance to settle back in at home. 

In a way, it was awkward being in the same space as him again, especially after all that had happened. It had been your space, then yours and Spensa’s for so long that you weren’t used to having him around.

“You know we’re gonna have to talk about this at some point,” Spencer pointed out gently as he sat down on his side of the bed.

The sight took your breath away for a moment. It had never occurred to you that you’d have the opportunity to see him on his side of the bed, ever again, but here he was.

You just weren’t ready for that conversation at the moment.

“I promised you I’d show you pictures of Spensa,” you said, getting your phone off the charger.

He didn’t say anything about your shift of the subject. 

You sat down on the bed, pulling up pictures of your and Spencer’s daughter. You handed him your phone.

“Those are pictures from when she was born.”

He was speechless as he stared at the pictures, scrolling through them.

“She’s beautiful,” he breathed, in awe.

“She is,” she smiled.

“She’s so tiny.”

“Definitely not tiny anymore,” you chuckled.

“What’s this?”

You scoot closer, peering at your phone screen.

“Oh that’s a mini photoshoot I did in different onesies that the team bought her. They were so big on her then.”

Spencer kept looking through the pictures, watching her grow up via photos and videos, desperately trying to soak up all the moments he’d missed out on.

You weren’t quite sure of when it happened, but you’d settled next to him, your shoulder touching his. He was quietly scrolling through pictures when you spoke.

“I thought you were gone forever,” you whispered, your voice shaking.

He looked up at you, the pictures forgotten for the time being. You guessed there was no better time to talk about this than the present.

“I know. I knew the risks I had to take when I decided to fake my death.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me? Especially the team. They saw me all the time, how bad things got, how depressed I was and they never said a thing.”

“I told them not to, Y/N,” Spencer said.

“Yeah, I got that. But it still wasn’t fair to me.”

He sighed, placing the phone on the nightstand before turning back to you. He contemplated his next words before he spoke.

“I knew it wouldn’t be. It was a lose lose situation. I would be away from you and you would be hurting, but I wanted to protect you. I needed to keep you safe,” he rubbed his jaw, agitated, “Although a lot of good that did considering what happened.”

“Spencer, you can’t blame yourself for things that Cat did. She’s the one that did this, not you.”

“I know, but she tricked me too. As much as I tried to outsmart her, she seemed to be one step ahead of me. She told me if I came with her, she wouldn’t hurt you, so I did.”

“But she kidnapped me anyway, just to mess with you.”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

“Was it true? What she said you told her? That there’s a part of you attracted to her or fascinated with her, or something?”

“Truthfully, yes,” his tongue glided over his lips, stalling his continuation.

“That kiss you saw...part of it was just giving into what I knew she wanted from me because I knew she would hurt you if motivated enough. Part of it was all the frustration and hurt and anger she’s caused me. It just kinda came all out, in that kiss.”

“Yeah, it was...something,” you chuckled slightly.

“I���m sure I could do better with you.”

You grinned marginally.

“What about your wound? You actually got shot, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said, lifting his shirt to show the now faded scar from surgery, “That part is true. I had to have surgery and it was touch and go there for a while. Hotch decided then I was to fake my death until Cat was caught and I agreed once I had woken from surgery.”

You turned the information over in your mind. You wanted to be mad at him, mad at the team, but you knew that wouldn’t be fair to them. They had a job to do, Spencer had tried to do his best in a bad situation. You were still hurt, but you weren’t angry.

“I understand you did what you had to do. Faking your death, Cat and all. I can’t be upset with you just for trying to keep me safe.”

Another silence fell, but a more comfortable one now that you’d cleared the air. 

You slid down on the bed, making yourself more comfortable against your pillow, assuming he was going to return to looking at pictures.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” you looked up at him.

“You know that no matter what convoluted thing Cat and I shared that she doesn’t hold a candle to you, right?”

“I know. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I hurt you, I can tell. I don’t want her to win. I don’t want her to break us up.”

“She won’t. I wouldn’t dare let her have the satisfaction,” you said.

“I don’t love her, I love you,” his fingers traced your cheek.

“And I love you,” you whispered.

He leaned down, his lips meeting yours. It had been so long since you last felt his touch that it was like the first time all over again. Your hand slid across his jaw to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. 

He slid down the bed with you, moving over you as his lips moved against yours. It was as if the two of you were rediscovering each over anew. Just the way he kissed you made you feel like the most loved person in the world.

His hands slid under your shirt, resting on your stomach and pushed up your shirt, breaking the kiss only to pull the shirt over your head. He looked down at you, pursing his lips in contemplation as his eyes drank you up.

“What?” you whispered.

“Nothing. I just love you, is all.”

You smiled, pulling his face back to yours. You lay there a while, just simply kissing each other, the kisses varying in length and pressure. From slow and sweet kisses to longer and more heated kisses, you both were making up for lost time.

Between kisses more items of clothing hit the floor until you were both left completely skin to skin attempting to get as close to one another as you could.

His lips grazed your collarbones, a hand sliding up your side before his gaze returned to yours, eyes locked with yours as he entered you.

Your soft moan mingled with his own. It had been so long since you’d been in each other’s arms that the sensation was a blissful relief. 

Your chest was flush with his and you felt his skin glide against yours as his whole body moved with his thrusts. Your hands ran over his back, pulling him closer to you.

His lips pressed against yours, a deep groan rumbling in his throat. He broke the kiss, his mouth hovering close over yours as he moved within you. He was so close you could feel his breath across your face, his breathing becoming erratic.

“Fuck, honey,” he groaned and your stomach churned in desire at the sentiment.

He dropped his head into the crook of your neck and your hand gripped the back of his hair, your hips beginning to have a mind of their own, working for that sweet release. The bed shook from your passion as your bodies moved together quickly.

You were incapable of words, repeated moans escaping your lips. His lips kissed your neck, nipping just hard enough to add to your pleasure.

“Spence, Spencer,” you whimpered, your toes beginning to curl.

Your fingers twisted in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him grunt in your ear. You had to smirk to yourself, you still knew what drove him wild.

His grip on your hips tightened, moving them to a different position resulting in your feeling of him deeper inside you. You couldn’t even care about being embarrassed at the loud moan he elicited from you.

Spencer’s hand came up to caress your head then landed on the bed sheet next to your face, gripping the sheet in his grasp. His grunts and groans of your name rang in your ears as the pressure in your stomach built.

Inadvertently your legs pulled him nearer as if he couldn’t get any closer to you than he already was. You could feel his own muscles tense, your knowledge of his body and his tells coming back to you as if it had never been such a lengthy period.

Your teeth scrape against your bottom lip, his fingertips finding your clit, knowing exactly when and how to bring you to careening over the edge. You do just that, your nails scraping down his back with a vengeance. The long break from intimacy has made this high even better than you remembered, his name falling from your lips repeatedly.

You faintly register his growl of your name as he comes apart, his jaw slackened with his groans, eyes closed blissfully. Your hand is still tangled in his hair and you slide it down the side of his neck as you watch him recover. 

He’s breathing hard, as are you and his forehead rests against yours for a moment before he pulls away, looking at you lovingly. He leans down to kiss you softly and briefly, breaking away to push a strand of your hair that had fallen in your eyes, aside.

“I love you,” you whispered, captured by his gaze, smiling at his return of your sentiment.

“Welcome home to me.”

•

You were still naked when you heard the doorbell ring the next morning. That was what in fact woke the two of you.

“Shit,” you jumped out of bed, grabbing your clothes, “That’s probably JJ.”

He tossed you one of his shirts as you pulled on a pair of lacy underwear that you managed to find on the floor. Whether it was the correct pair or not didn’t matter, at least it was clothes. You pulled on the shirt afterwards.

“Go ahead and get dressed, I’ll go get the door.”

You rushed towards the front door before the bell could ring a third time. Opening it, you found JJ holding Spensa’s carrier, diaper bag and then a smirk. Her eyes roamed over your attire.

“Fun night?”

“Okay, not in front of the child,” you chuckled, taking her carrier and bag from her, “Thank you so much for watching her.”

“It’s no problem, really. It’s nice to have another girl around the house sometimes.”

You smiled, unbuckling Spensa from her carrier. She was already beginning to get fussy. She loved to be on the go and hated to be restrained.

“Do you want to come in?”

“No, it’s okay. I gotta run, besides I figured you’d like some family time,” she smiled, “She’s gonna love him, by the way.”

“She better, she’s too much like him.”

JJ laughed and gave Spensa a kiss on the head, telling you and her goodbye then left, leaving you and Spensa alone in the living room.

Spensa babbled, sucking on a finger.

“I have someone for you to meet, baby girl.”

More babbling ensued as you walked back to the bedroom. Spencer was still somehow trying to get dressed.

“Have you seen my pants?” he mumbled, before turning around and freezing.

“Spencer, I want you to meet your daughter, Spensa.”

Spensa was already fussing, trying to reach for him. He took her, a smile brightening his face.

“She sure doesn’t seem to be shy.”

“Oh no. She’ll let practically anyone hold her. She loves people,” you said.

“I can’t believe it,” he smiled, looking down at her.

Her fingers were back in her mouth and she was looking around the room contently.

“Look at those little curls,” he chuckled, running a hand over her head and then kissing it, “She’s perfect.”

“That she is,” she smiled, leaning against the dresser, watching the two of them.

“You’re totally going to be a daddy’s girl aren’t you?”

As if she had understood what he said, she yawned, laying her head on his shoulder.

“I love you so much, my little Spensa. I’m never leaving you or your mommy ever again.”

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[pseudospectre]

Had a conversation recently with some friends about how stories with a heaven/hell dynamic love the idea of fallen angels, but I’ve never seen anything that goes the opposite direction. So I wrote one.  It’s been a long long time since I’ve written anything so please forgive the quality, it was just a quick bit of fun. :)

Rise

I fell for a reason. I burned for a reason. I remember so little of my previous life, so many years, even centuries ago, but I remember that much.  I have no tragic story of innocence betrayed or manipulated, no heart-wrenching tale of self-sacrifice or loss. I was just, as they say, a bastard. That’s all I can tell you, all that survived the fire, so to speak.

They’ll tell you, gleefully, about the hopelessness, when your soul arrives after judgment and they offer you a position. This is all there is left, they say. You are lost, you are evil, this is all you deserve for eternity. Most damned souls don’t truly understand, in my experience. Everyone believes, to some degree, that they were at least all right, in the end. And they fight the idea of damnation and punishment, think somehow that resisting the new temptation and heading to their torment is somehow going to prove that, or help. As if they can weasel out, eventually, if they aren’t contracted. It always seemed remarkably shortsighted; of course you can’t. I already enjoyed the cruelty, I knew what it meant, so the opportunity to spare myself the pain in return for causing it? Well, what is a demon if not selfish? I was fine with the requirements, already there and unsaveable, it’s not like it can be worse? You can either suffer or be a part of the system, and I made a damn good demon. A little hell humor. And that’s supposed to be all there was, the end, fin.

Turns out, they don’t quite give you all of the information

What you need to understand is that there’s a lot of misinformation out there about how all this is set up. Most beliefs have some concept of punishment or reward, but strictly speaking, we’re not really associated with any one in particular. Funnily enough, it has more to do with your social beliefs than whether or not there’s a god. Nobody gives a fuck who’s name you take in vain, for example; it’s all about balance. And there are absolutely folks that fill the roles of what you’d call god or the devil, make no mistake. The cultures that talk about weighing souls have that part the closest, although it’s a hell of a lot more complicated than that, ha. Not that I cared at the time, but actions, with very few exceptions, cannot be good or bad in and of themselves. Something you do nice for someone could in fact have a negative result for someone else down the line, unintentionally or unknowingly. All of that has to be carefully picked apart and scrutinized to truly reach a conclusion, and I’ve even seen a net “loss” overall be rewarded and net gains get descended, based on factors even I don’t understand. Wasn’t my job; I didn’t judge, I just turned the screws on the ones they sent me. But as with any large-scale operation, it’s not infallible. I know it seems like it ought to be, but here we are. Hell, here I am. The thing is, it’s a lot easier to correct an accidental reward than an accidental punishment, because everyone down there wails their innocence. No one believes them, of course, they all think that. There’s no point in following up, usually. Mostly, souls I worked on were one of two things: screamers (self explanatory) or talkers. Talkers are the ones who still think they can wheedle their way out, or want to share their life story again, hoping they can find a loophole or something to get them out. Some of those souls had been there longer than I had, sometimes; pitiful. Didn’t matter to me, I was having a gre- well, it was a time. And then I was passed a recent acquisition for punishment; not that uncommon, although by then I usually mostly had the old-timers who needed the skills of someone who really knew their stuff. But this soul? 

Completely silent.

Really. Didn’t make a sound. Threw me for a huge loop, centuries as a literal nightmare and suddenly, no begging, no crying, nothing. Not even if I taunted, not even when I got started. And in that moment, it became the worst day of my afterlife-me, a piece of shit human voluntarily gone horrifying demon. Because I felt something. First mistake. If I’d stopped there things might have gone on without changing, but I was never what you might have called smart. Average is probably being generous. But I was so bowled over by that little spark of whatever it was-I couldn’t even recognize that it was an emotion, isn’t that sad?- that I made my next mistake: I asked why. Turned out I’d been handed my first actual misjudgment, this poor thing never protested a single action since they got here, never once defended themselves. They’d convinced themselves in life so completely that this is what they would deserve, that they just didn’t have any desire to try to fight it. I asked what they’d been judged for, and they just looked at me, and said they were ready. But when I pushed (at that point I was panicking over whatever was happening in my brain and figured I could count more questions as emotional manipulation or baiting or something) they didn’t list a single thing I had ever heard of stacking up to damnation. Someone at the gates really fucked up, in other words. Someone came in shortly after that and whisked them off, everyone had a good laugh over it for weeks after, jeering and asking me how much I got to put them through before they got picked back up. It should have been easy to join in- before this I would have been in the center of the mockery, but something was wrong, that flare was still inside me and I was having trouble handling it. You ever have a secret and you’re just sure everyone knows what it is just by looking at you? It was like that. And eventually I figured out that’s all it was, just a little bitty emotion, but that almost made it worse because it wasn’t supposed to be there; from what I even knew how all this demon shit worked in the first place, I was pretty sure it wasn’t even possible! But all I had to do to go back to my routine was ignore it, suppress it, reject it. Easy peasy, I’m a goddamn senior demon.

Except, to my shame, I couldn’t let it go. Does that even make sense, a demon feeling shame? Pretty sure that’s what it was at that point. But it was like having a little secret treasure that no one else could see. I would hide it, and then in little moments alone or whatever, bring it out and feel. I didn’t have the context anymore at the time, but now I can compare it to having lived in the dark and suddenly feeling a moment of sun. I had felt sorry for the soul, for just a moment! And the thing about emotions, they can grow the more you think about them. And I started thinking about it a lot. And then I started feeling happy (the horror!) that the mistake was caught and they got to leave. In case it’s unclear, feeling stuff like that for non hell-related reasons makes it pretty hard to do demony things. And if you remember, I’d never felt a whole lot of that kind of thing even before I got here. I literally tortured the souls of the damned, how do you do that when you start feeling sorry for them? But that little crack of light inside me, the shard of humanity, started bring back memories, or at least concepts, from when that’s all I was, and I suddenly started recognizing them as lost. And it hurt? And for the first time, I was mourning. After all, damned is forever. A demon is forever. So I was some weird fluke who caught some feels somehow, it couldn’t change that. But, you know, when your work starts to suffer, people start to notice. They started to talk. And they were right, my game was slipping hard. I felt bad! After a while I couldn’t just not say anything to the ones who just barely tipped the scales! As secretly as I could, I was giving them comfort. And I had to defend myself from my superiors over stuff I couldn’t stomach anymore but had to keep up with, or risk getting kicked back down. The wildest part was, my first thought about losing status wasn’t to save my own skin, of course not….now I was thinking about what the folks I got to talk to would do without those brief moments of respite I’d been passing out.

Point is, I was a demon who didn’t want to be a demon anymore, after centuries of not giving a fuck, and knowing full well that I was solidly fucked and that this was only going to get worse. I was miserable, but I still couldn’t put away the way the tiniest good feelings and I hoarded my experiences like someone who’s drowning clings to a raft. Except this raft was ruining my afterlife, and I didn’t really care for some reason. But I wanted to do my best, and not in the way I was used to. I had no idea what was going to happen but it probably was never going to get better.

But then, the crossroads.

Not the regular demony kind of crossroads. Oh no, I got stuck with the moral kind, although I didn’t realize what it was going to mean at the time. It had gotten bad enough for me that I was back to working under supervision, just like old times, the bad ones from when demons are just getting started. It was hard to do much that way but I’d figured out that even just smiling helps some people apparently? Or at least, once I first figured out how to smile so that they knew it wasn’t a threat. You ever seen a demon? I was not precisely what most people would prefer to look at with any expression. But it was already a hell of a day (more jokes!) and I was apparently near a limit I wasn’t aware of, and we got assigned a new soul. A new soul who didn’t say a word, just like where all of this began. And my supervison grinned at me, and snarled, and raised an arm, and I didn’t even have time to register that I had stepped between them to take the blow. Cheesy, I know. But there was a sound like one of those big industrial light switches snapping off, and it felt like time stopped or something. Maybe it did, I’m still not sure. But the literal, actual judges showed up. I was relieved someone got there so fast before anything else happened, I hadn’t even thought about what was going to happen to me yet. Proof positive I was completely broken by then, hadn’t even thought about my own skin yet. A couple of the judges took the soul away, and I waited for my bosses to show, but the judge still standing there was just watching me. After a moment, they said “Are you coming, or not?”

What.

I don’t think I was processing yet, but I think that’s probably all I actually said. So they gave me a look like you give to the dumbest guy in the room (I’m familiar with it) and said “Are. You coming? You have work to do. Unless you really think you’d prefer to stay?”

“Coming to what? You already picked up the error, it’s not me. Why would they let me leave, anyway? Not that I’m in a hurry to get my asskicking for this.”

There’s that look again. “Then don’t stay for it, they have no claim at the moment. Your balance tipped. Your call, stay, or take your out and rise.”

First time I’d ever heard that word. “……Rise?”

“Yes, rise. I suppose they wouldn’t want it to be common knowledge around here; then again, it means the few cases we get tend to be pretty solidly legitimate. Angels can fall, after all….why couldn’t a demon rise?”

“Sorry, got brimstone in my ears or something, are you telling me, of all creatures, that I’m heading upwards?” I definitely laughed. Demon laughter is very unpleasant. Recognizing this when you’re the one laughing is not fun.

“Something like that. As I said, your call. If you still prefer all of this for eternity, by all means, stick around.”

And that’s how I found out risen demons are a thing.

It’s not easy, no longer being of hell but not being of heaven, but it’s probably easier than you might expect. People think about heaven and hell in terms of punishment and reward, and while this is mostly true, like I said before, it’s really more about balance. The slate’s not wiped clean, but it’s not like I have some impossible restrictive rules that set me up to fail, it’s not like one tiny slip will shoot me back to the inferno, but I have bosses who check in now and then, keep tabs. And they’re here to help me, I’m not just stranded to make my own way. I’m not human, but I’m probably closer to that than I am to angel or demon anymore. And I gotta say, I look a whole lot better. I still put most people off at first, at least a little, but I’m way less spiky and you know. Fewer teeth, fewer arms, that kind of thing. But I guess you could say I’m doing pretty well now, dragging my way back to something I’m not sure I ever was, to be honest. I’m grateful for the chance.

And I’m looking forward to seeing who I can drag along with me, and that part feels pretty good.

[pact-mom-kyrie]

Hey after a year I wrote a thing. I called it “Brooding nerds“ because is about Alesso (sniper, priest of Grenth) being broody after the event of Hall of Chains. He got some weird powers because hey, he had been dead once before, in Queensdale. He feels alienated. Fron his brothers, from the guild, from everything. So his brother Enzo (mesmer, nerd) goes to talk to him.

Shout out to @disaster-bi-canach for always being there. I mention her main Sinéad here. Go and read all her stuff. Is really good.

Also HAPPY FANFIC DAY!!!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The nights on Istan were cold, or at least the wind blowing up Champion’s Dawn made him feel like it. The little town was gleaming under the moonlight, pretty like a painting with Churrhir cliffs beyond. 

This was the ancient homeland, thought Alesso. Or at least part of it. He was not knowledgeable enough about the story of Zephaniah, he has bearely heard the story of his ancestor, the man he had only known as Zephare. The only thing he knew for sure was what Koss had said to him: “Another touched by the gods?! By Dwayna, never knew a child of Zephaniah could get this pale, huh?”

Somehow it hurt. But he didn’t say anything. Koss seemed like the kind of nosy grandpa he had never known. Salva noticed though and glared at the old man. Somehow the judgmental gaze of sweet, kind Salvatore made him feel guilty, or at least act like it.

It felt nice, but it was not enough to make him feel better.

That was the reason behind him being sit down, brooding on his own in a cliff, reaper-forged rifle by his side. He had given the excuse of going up just to shoot any awakened that dared come close to the town. But there were none, otherwise, he would have seen them walking through the plains or the breach… that was kilometers away.

Such accuracy was unnatural.

“The eyes of a god” Maesta said while they were in the Priory. He only thought it was about the fact that now they shone like embers, but he realized soon enough that it was something more terrible than that.

When he shot an awakened soldier.

From the cliffs.

With his eyes closed.

“Now you’re just fuckin’ cheatin’ partner” Exclaimed Johnny, his voice a mixture of anger and excitement. 

Alesso knew that yeah, he was cheating. But he couldn’t stop it. He had been dead twice, and that allowed him to gain some weird boon, and it felt extremely weird. After all, who else could say they had held a tiny bit of that kind of power?

All of sudden, a portal appeared by his side, and from its glimmering depths, a figure appeared. Tall and aristocratic.

“Good evening, little brother, nice weather for alienated brooding isn’t it?” Lorenzo has managed, after all their years as adventurers, perfected the art of princely sneer. Alesso glared at him, but could only mumble a weak curse. Years ago, he would have said “Yeah, fuck you”, and close himself up. But not now. Not like before.

“Don’t you have an entire observatory to read? Or did you run out of paper for interviewing zombie grandpa?”

The mesmer almost laughed, but he just gasped as if scandalized “Don’t call Koss Dejarin like that, young man” he faked the intonation of a scolding mother “he is not your grandpa!”

Alesso snorted, his devilish laughter barely escaping his lips “So you’re accepting he is a zombie, right?”

“Well, to be honest...” Enzo got lost in thought for a second, half-joking, half-serious “Awakened have peculiar characteristics, and have different needs from other types of risen-type creature, so they belong to their own category in Howard’s classification of unde-”

“You fucking nerd” The sniper rolled his eyes, huffing slightly “Whatever, tell everyone I’m ok, just thinking of stuff and… stuff”

The redhead sighed deeply and sat down, looking slightly distraught. “Oh no, I came here because I am worried, you little twerp. You’ve been way too quiet and sullen. That is not normal”

“What is normal then?” Claimed Alesso, wiggling a bit far from his brother. He was slightly scared, not ready to face any of his siblings, and tried to mask his fear with annoyance.

It wasn’t working.

“You being with us, smiling when no one looks, competing with Johnny over shots, praying for the fallen of Elona, just...” Enzo looked down, into the town “not like this, not as if we still were the same idiots running around Queensdale”

Alesso winced. Queensdale. It had been five years, it used to feel like a month ago, and now it felt like yesterday.

“Gyro behaved the same when I came back this time. He checked my pulse, he looked at my pupils, almost asked me for a blood test, as if he believed I was… as if I am-”

“You are not dead, Alessandro Zeppeli” The voice of Enzo broke a bit as if he was trying not to sob “You re here, with us. Still the same fool that tried to wrestle a spider queen, still the same child that broke into the home of Thomas Silvertogue to learn how to be a spy”

Those words felt like a knife stabbing his heart. Lorenzo was not the kind of man who broke easily, even if his emotions were there for everyone to see. It was not simple nostalgia, but a sort of awed reminiscence, and Alesso could not help to feel it too. 

“I’m scared” He murmured. It would have been better if he didn’t remember the last time he had said that. The sight of the ashes of Commander Steinbrecher in an urn, the greatest hero of all Tyria, had sunken his heart into the abyss of terror.

“I know” Enzo replied softly “The letter you gave me. Maesta… she wrote about everything”

Alesso lowered his head, feeling smaller. Silent in his own uncertainty. He had a snarky comment ready, but he felt too tired to say it. He was tired of hiding his thoughts behind the words of an asshole.

His brother sighed “You didn’t read it” It was not a question “You had a letter from a noble of Kryta, an agent of the Shining Blade, and didn’t even peek under the seal, knowing it may have some valuable intel. Thank you”

“What? She is my friend. Besides I don’t know if she had enchanted it or something” the thief tried to explain, not ready to show how much he cared about their relationship “Also I don’t wanna read the correspondence of someone whom actually thinks you are hot enough to fuck”

Lorenzo scoffed, no doubt rolling his eyes. “There were no details of that kind if you are interested, dear brother. Actually...” His tone changed to a more solemn one “She was asking for an explanation about… the way I said goodbye in Lion’s Arch”

The sniper raised his gaze. That was not a good memory, if anything, it was extremely awkward to remember Enzo being a jerk towards anyone, more so the woman he loved. “Did she break up with you via letter? I mean you mocked her for being emotional...”

“I am perfectly aware of what I did and I am ready to face punishment for my actions” Once more, the princely manners return “but that is not the point, as a matter of fact, the letter made me realize that we have something in common”

“That we deserve a slap for being assholes in serious moments?” Alesso raised an eyebrow, cringe clawing his heart. Enzo looked surprised, not ready for such a display of painful self-awareness.

“No, not that. Maybe a bit of that, but this is something completely different. Something we cannot… solve, so to speak” Enzo looked above them, gazing at the starry sky, “She wrote you were given a portion of Grenth’s power. As well as she did, but since you’ve been to his realm twice, your abilities got… stronger”

The eyes of a god. The reason for his accuracy, his eyes changing, now gleaming in the darkness. 

“Here is the question, Alesso: do you think you’re the only one who has felt the power of a god running through his blood?” It was a serious question. Way too precise. He would have expected it from Salva, or from Commander Sirhasi, but not Lorenzo. Then again, he had the bad habit of underestimating Lorenzo.

“I think so. I am the only one who has been so close to the gods...” he stated with unnerving confidence “Damn now I feel like an arrogant little shit”

“Well you arrogant little shit!” the mesmer exclaimed joyfully, opening his arms “You are SO wrong I could write a whole treatise on how wrong you are. But since I love you so much, I will give you a short version: I have felt the power of a god too, and it was fucking awful”

And so, Alessandro Zeppeli, a descendant of the house of Zephaniah, Lightbringer of the Order of Whispers, opened his mouth and gasped like a fish out of water. Because he had no idea what his brother was talking about.

“W- what? When? Why?!” He almost yelled, more confused than ever. He looked all around him, somehow waiting for someone to appear, to confirm it was all a joke at his expense.

“Do you remember the battle in Lion’s Arch against the minions of Zhaitan?” 

How would he forget that? He had spent days with Ihan and Joseph cleaning the city, trying to heal his sadness with risen’s blood. Until Commander Sirhasi asked if he was alright and he ended up crying like the child he was into the norn woman’s bosom.

“Yes, that face tells me that you do” Enzo whispered. Maybe lost in his own memories of those awful times. “Steward Gixx told Magisters Irene and Gialinn to help him with a relic of Balthazar. He thought that someone had to wield its power and since it was a human god...”

“It had to be a human, and there were no other nerds close to you” he muttered.

“Yes. I had to carry a part of the spirit of a god of fire, fury, and mass murder. As powerful as I felt, it was not a good experience. I thought nothing of it later, just a weird experience in an extremely hard time. Until Balthazar returned..” he lowered his head, while Alesso put the pieces together in his head.

“Whatever remained of the fucker within you, resonated with him, then” The sniper stated, only understanding the implications a second later “So your behavior, the fire that sometimes escaped from your illusions… that was Balthazar...”

Enzo nodded “Yes. One time I spat molten embers, one night I cried fire, and sometimes I just wanted to kill someone. Anyone. And I hid it all from everyone but my colleagues of the Priory”

“Well shit, even I didn’t saw that coming, except the part when you almost scared Cesare to death, of course,” Alesso looked at his brother, making him recoil slightly “Did you use your illusions to hide? Because you are good, but not that good”

“You rude prick. I happen to be that good” Lorenzo sneered “I was scared of any of you realizing it, I didn’t want you t think I was going to join the Zaishen or something like that”

Alesso moved closer to his brother “I get it... but if there was anyone of us who would have joined that prick, it would have been anyone but you” he saw the mesmer smiling, moved by his trust “After all, the stick in your ass wouldn’t let you bend the knee towards that monster”

“Fuck off” the strange laughter of Enzo pierced the night, sounding like a weird harpy in the cliffs “The point is: you are not alone, dumbass. Your god loved you. Maybe all that happened is sad, and I cannot imagine how you feel about it but...” He sighed and hugged Alesso from the side “You are still out little brother. The one who creeps us out because he looks a lot like dad. You’re part of the best and strongest guild in Tyria. The weirdest guy of the whole Pact...”

Now it was the turn of Alesso to laugh, like a tiny devil mocking Champion’s Dawn “I get it, you old cheesy geezer” He returned the hug, and felt his loneliness fading away “Thank you, really”

“I know, I am amazing. You are welcome” The fake pride of Lorenzo was even worse than his stupid smile, and he knew it “No, but in all seriousness, it is alright. You can tell me every time you feel bad about your existential crisis, at least regarding your godly issues. You’re my brother, and we are very similar....”

“Ew. Don’t remind me that. Makes me wanna hide under a rock” Alesso broke the hug, stood up, and took his rifle before looking up to the sky, smiling “Maybe Grenth is gone but... I feel I can still carry his will as long as I am with you, my family... bunch of losers” 

Lorenzo also stood up, stretching his back “You better. Without you, we wouldn’t be as good as we are. Also, I wouldn’t be able to fulfill my main familial obligation without you”

Knowing what kind of obligation he was talking about, Alesso sneered and said a single sentence. “To keep Cesare humble? Alright. Seems all this ‘Hero of Three Nations’ thing has started to go to his head, do you have a plan?”

The redhead smiled, malice covering his face “Oh yes, it includes portals. Lots of portals” he stated while opening one by their side.

“I may have an idea, but you lead the way”

The two brothers entered the shimmering pond of light, and for a moment there was nothing but peaceful silence in Istan.

Until the shriek of a heroic guardian pierced the night.

[thomaslightwoodenthusiast]

hey guys! i finally had the time to get this started. here was the first request:

an alice in wonderland au - malec edition

i tried my best, i was kinda young when i read the book so i don’t remember exactly what it was like but this is my attempt !!

requested by @tobeornottobetequila !

➰➰➰➰➰

Alec woke up feeling a little dazed, and with an absolutely thudding headache. He stretched his arm out with his eyes still shut, and accidentally slapped Magnus awake.

“What was that for??”

“Sorry. Stretching.”

Now, Alec usually had great vision. It was part and parcel of being a shadowhunter. But even after he rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times, it was clear that he was not in Magnus’s apartment. Or in the Institute. Or anywhere he recognised, for that matter. He shook Magnus -who had went back to sleep- to get his attention.

“Alright, stop messing. Where are we?”

“Huh? We’re in my apartment- oh.”

“You see it too?”

They shared a glance and looked around themselves. It was Magnus’s bed, sure, but it was in the middle of nowhere. There was insanely green grass, and the trees- such an odd shape. Alec could even make out a castle in the distance. “So it’s not my headache. Whatever the hell this is is real.”

The place looked like Faerie, but more in a Fairytale fantasy way- like the pair had been sent into a book.

“You know, this place gives me insane Alice in Wonderland vibes. I’m half expecting the Cheshire Cat to pop out of that tree.”

Alec looked extremely terrified. “Is that another of your cats?” he inquired.

Magnus half-laughed, half-sighed. “Remind me to never make a reference towards anything at all with you. Alice in Wonderland is a famous book, my love,” he said, kissing the top of his boyfriend’s head. Things were going great right now- Alec had finally accepted himself and came out, and whilst the reaction wasn’t the best from everyone, he seemed happier. More free. More willing to love Magnus. Despite being in a completely foreign place with no idea how to leave, he didn’t quite want to. It was peaceful here.

“Do you think you can portal out?”

Magnus shrugged and waved his hands- with no avail. Not even any blue sparks came out of his hands.

“I’m afraid, only magic from this dimension works here.”

“This dimension.” Magnus repeated. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Why not?” The voice gained a face, to which Magnus’s eyes widened. “Holy fu-“

“Language!” Alec exclaimed, mock offended.

“Sorry darling. But I need to use it right now. WHY THE HELL IS THE GODDAMN FUCKING MAD HATTER STANDING IN FRONT OF US?”

“I DON’T KNOW WHO THE GODDAMN FUCKING MAD HATTER IS!”

“Boys, boys. Calm it down. I’m simply here to tell you that you need to leave as soon as possible. People don’t like your kind here, and I can-“

Suddenly, Alec was angry. “Your kind?! Your kind as in ‘gays’? Well you listen to me, dude. We have every right to exist just like you straight people. There is nothing wrong with me not with my boyfriend and I love him so goddamn much that I’m ready to punch the absolute SHIT out of you if you say that-“

“As I was saying, your kind refers to the fact that you’re from another dimension. I was offering to help you both leave, before the Queen finds out you’re here. Also, where the hell did you get the assumption that I’m straight from? I mean, look at me.” The man gestured at himself, and Alec noticed that he shared a very similar taste in style with Magnus. Now he knew what Simon meant when he greeted Magnus as ‘the Mad Hatter’ all the time. He was still to figure out why Magnus called him ‘Edward’ though.

“Well, I’m sorry. Quite new to being out and happy, so I get defensive.”

“That’s totally understandable! Now, I suggest you two get ready and follow me,” the Mad Hatter said, ducking out of sight. This whole experience was so bizarre.

“That rant was really sexy, by the way.”

Alec flushed. “Shut up.”

“You make gay rights sound even sexier.”

“Why are rights sexy in the first place?”

Magnus rolled his eyes and got out of the bed. “You’re such a buzzkill,” he said, pouting.

➰➰➰➰➰

Alec’s mind wandered yet again to how odd everything was. Where was this place? What was it? Why was there an insane man leading them about?

“Alrighty boys! We’re here!” The ‘Mad Hatter’ gestured toward a portal- guess some things didn’t change. “One thing before you go. You have to take these,” he said, handing Alec a small cake-like item with an ‘eat me’ tag on it, and Magnus a small vial with ‘drink me’ inscribed on the lid. “We give them to everyone who unexpectedly turns up here before they return home.”

Magnus stares at his vial in wonder. “We really are living a fairytale right now,” he muttered, downing the stuff. Alec watched him nervously, swallowing the cake bite whole before he had a chance to taste it.

And of course he started choking.

Magnus slammed his back several times as his skin became increasingly more red from embarrassment. He then stopped, and they brushed themselves off. Magnus of course giggling silently to himself.

“I didn’t quite expect you two to be so desperate to take them- are you in such a rush to go home?” the strange man said, looking sad.

“Well, yes. Plus you did say that-“

“That the Queen would be angry if people not belonging to this dimension were here?” echoed a new voice. A female one.

Magnus spun around. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Not you?!”

The Queen of Hearts raised an eyebrow. “Am I truly that bad?”

“You behead people.”

“She beheads people?!”

“Yes, Alec. It’s the- you know what, forget it. We’re in a fairytale, the book I said about. I don’t know what the hell happened or how drunk I got to be able to conjure this shit up. But what I do know is that this is the part where he,” Magnus said, gesturing at the Mad Hatter, “gets arrested, and so do we, and our heads get chopped off.”

Alec did not quite like the sound of that. As Magnus said, sure enough the Queen of Hearts ordered her guards to arrest the other man and take them as well for immediate beheading. “What did we do?” he asked in a small and vulnerable, panicked voice. Magnus’s heart broke that second; he sounded so scared. His Alec, his brave archer boy, made so small. All he wanted to do was hold him and tell him that it would be okay, but all he was capable of doing was brushing his hand against his.

“You trespassed. And this mad man here was helping you leave. He does this all the time- and gets away with it. Well not anymore, I say! Off with all your heads!”

Alec looked as if he was about to pass out.

➰➰➰➰➰

It took surprisingly less time to get to the castle than they thought it would. As soon as they’d arrived, all three had been sent to the dungeon quarters to prepare for execution, each in three separate cells as extra added torture for Magnus and Alec. They were also brought out with hoods over their heads, meaning they couldn’t even see each other.

“Down!” The Queen barked.

The executioners shoved the three down on their knees.

“Prepare!”

Their heads were pressed against the blocks.

“Anyone have any last words?”

“Damn. You know, I really thought they’d be using the guillotine by now. It would’ve been cooler. Imagine dying, going to hell because let’s face it heaven is definitely not for me, and the other ghosts being like ‘How did you die?’ And then you get to go ‘Guillotine’-“

“Shut up, please,” The Queen yelled. Alec laughed to himself; Magnus was never short of something quick witted to say.

“Ready?”

They were hushed, the axes lined up on their necks.

“Aim...”

They were lifted off. The pressure being removed felt odd. Then Alec began to feel sick again. Like he was going to collapse.

Magnus felt so too. Even though they couldn’t communicate properly he could almost feel it in his veins. For a moment, he thought they were both going to die, and silently hoped that they would before the axes met their necks again. It would be less painful that way.

The whoosh of air they felt against themselves as the axes were brought down with force was oddly calming. Even though they were one second away from-

➰➰➰➰➰

Magnus sat up, first of all aware that he couldn’t breathe. He choked on water, coughing endless streams of it up. Once he’d calmed down, he noticed that he was soaking. His hair was dripping in his face.

“Magnus! You’re okay, thank god-“

“Guys Alec isn’t moving-“

“What?” said Magnus. There were too many voices surrounding him. He looked up and was glad to see that the soft voice that first spoke to him was his little biscuit, Clary. He was on the ground in the middle of Central Park with a few other shadowhunters- Jace, Isabelle, and Simon too- and Alec was lying limp beside him. He was extremely pale, deathly so, and he could barely breathe. His chest rattled with each one he took.

“Magnus, what happened? How did you guys fall in there?” Clary asked, concerned.

“Clary, sweetheart, I appreciate your concern but one; I have no idea what just happened and two; Alec?”

He shifted himself over- he could barely move- and tried his magic. He ordered Jace and Isabelle back. The magic shocked Alec awake, but he was too weak to cough the water out himself. The next few seconds were terrifying- Alec spasming and freaking out, Isabelle loudly sobbing in fear, Clary getting worried, and Jace. Jace was silent, expressionless. He couldn’t quite believe it- in fact- he refused to. Alec couldn’t die. Not before him.

As if knowing what he was thinking, Magnus looked at Jace with a kind smile. “No one’s dying tonight. He’s going to be fine- I can remove the water. But he definitely needs to go to the Institute infirmary. And he needs strict bed rest.”

Seeing as he was unable to make a portal because of his weakened strength, he called Catarina to pick them up and take them to the Institute. On the ride there, he was able to talk to Clary.

“So what did actually happen?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “You guys must’ve went for a walk and fallen into the river. We got a fire message from a shadowhunter on patrol of the area saying they saw you drowning- he helped you both to stay afloat whilst help came. Then we arrived.”

Magnus considered asking if she knew how the hell they had even fallen in in the first place, but didn’t. He had too little energy. So was the whole Alice in Wonderland thing fake?

Later in the afternoon, Alec had been taken to the Institute to recover and get cleaned up. Magnus went back home, so that he could clean up too. The whole thing was mad. As he took off his coat, he felt something in his pocket.

A little vial.

The exact one that was in that ‘dream’.

He decided to keep it to show Alec and made his way to the Institute. Isabelle opened the door.

“Magnus! Hey! Alec is a lot better. He kept asking for you. He wants to show you something I think.”

Magnus held the conversation with his boyfriend’s little sister for a few moments before making his way to his room.

“Magnus?”

“I’m here.”

Alec was curled up in his bed. He looked exhausted and freezing. “I feel so cold. I had a hot shower to help but it hasn’t really.”

“It’s okay. Just let me hold you. Your sister said you wanted to show me something?”

Alec shuffled up so that he was sitting against the headboard. Magnus slid on beside him, putting an arm around him and letting his head fall on his shoulder. He absentmindedly ran his fingers through Alec’s soft, dark hair. There had been a Herondale once, one that on first sight Magnus thought Alec resembled almost perfectly. The dark hair, stark against pale skin. The deep blue eyes, which held oceans of emotion behind them. And to be fair, Alec was a descendant of him. But after getting to know him, Magnus realised that Alec was not as like Will Herondale as he thought.

“This,” said Alec, snapping Magnus out of his daydream. It was a tag.

A tag that said ‘Eat Me’ on it.

Magnus wordlessly scrambled for his pocket and produced the vial.

“By the Angel. What does this mean? Where were we? What even happened? Were we actually almost killed? What about that other guy-“

“Alec, don’t worry yourself. Everything’s fine. I don’t know either. I don’t even know if we just hardcore dreamt that or if it actually happened. I mean, it’s not every day you just casually fall into a river. And you of all people- a shadowhunter nonetheless- shouldn’t be just falling in.”

Alec sighed. He shuffled back down on the bed and gave Magnus a look that meant he expected him to do so too. So he did. They still held each other tight. Alec took Magnus’s face gently in his hands, like he was precious porcelain. He kissed him, almost relieved that he could. The dream had been so real. His soft skin felt warm on his hands.

“Magnus?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“I’m glad you didn’t get your head cut off.”

The two burst into fits of laughter. This was definitely going to be an inside joke now.

Then someone appeared in the doorway. It was Simon.

“Isabelle sent me here to make sure you guys were okay.”

“Oh, we’re fine. Thank you Edward.”

Simon winked- well, tried to- and left.

Alec turned back to Magnus.

“Where the hell do you get Edward from?!”

(here’s the first of the requests! number two is currently in the making and will be done soon)

[sombrz]

The Evolution of Katsuki Bakugou and The Importance of Saving

after the last chapter, i couldn’t help myself and wrote down a huge...meta? description of a collection of moments? relating to bakugou’s ongoing arc with his increasing dedication to prioritizing rescuing others in his pursuit to be a top hero. feel free to add on if i somehow forgot something!

behind the cut bc it’s really image heavy!

CHAPTER 5

we’re introduced to the concept of combat vs rescue, win vs save - and of course it’s by comparing our main boys. they started on opposite ends of the spectrum, after all. deku’s all hero, no super. bakugou’s all super, no hero. so yeah, bakugou managed to get first place in the entrance exam without a single rescue point. which is a feat considering even iida managed to get 9 points and it was clear he wasn’t thinking about helping others until he saw deku’s bravery when uraraka was in danger. at this point, bakugou’s only interested in showing off. being flashy and tough, proving he’s the best!

CHAPTER 18

bakugou’s first rescue and he could give less of a shit! he saves deku from running into kurogiri’s portal here, not with the motivation of saving his life but to get him out of the way - he jumped into the fray in order to take down kurogiri. saving deku isn’t even a plus, really, it’s just a side effect.

deku’s still grateful though.

EXTRA 1: THE FIRST OVA (actually written by horikoshi!)

bakugou initially complains about having to be on rescue duty, but he still gets praised by thirteen for his efforts: many heroes struggle with the parts of heroism that they can’t easily solve with their quirks, and simply by manually pulling the stretcher up, he’s showing he’s capable of overcoming that. a beautiful hero, indeed. then, later, while he himself doesn’t rescue todoroki, he works in tandem with deku and class 1A to ensure that save AND their victory. and while iida, uraraka and asui give deku the credit of coming up with their plan, and he modestly returns the praise to everyone, he makes sure to give indivudual kudos to bakugou - because like this OVA, aizawa’s ‘twin pillar’ speech, all might’s ‘raise each other up’ speech, and the upcoming movie all prove: deku and bakugou work best when leading their peers together using the ‘save AND win’ mentality.

CHAPTER 65 + Ultra Archive Databook Omake

saves deku again, this time from all might. this is interesting because he’s doing this for both their benefits despite still not really having the ‘rescue’ mindset. he’s counting on deku to make it to the gate, but he was the one (by launching deku towards the gate to begin with) who assigned them these roles. deku as the runner, while bakugou distracts all might and therefore, shields deku from the brunt of the attack. he’s putting himself in physical harm for deku. but he’s not thinking it that way: to him, this is still just for personal gain (passing their exam) and due to (thanks to deku) a renewed sense of willpower and drive. he sees these actions as his own willingness to destroy himself for a victory.

 and he’s definitely pissed later during the databook omake that deku went back for him, seeing no positives in deku’s innate inability to ignore others when they’re in trouble (especially when that someone is bakugou himself - since we learn during this exam that bakugou equates all might being able to stand against any kind of tribulation by HIMSELF and coming up on top as what makes him the strongest hero). 

EXTRA 2: THE FIRST MOVIE (not written by horikoshi but i still wanna bring it up)

uraraka can’t fight back or escape the drones because she’d have to release her quirk to do so - which would put deku and melissa in danger. but when things look grim, who comes to the rescue? bakugou does! like his first rescue, he’s not doing this with the thought process of ‘oh i have to save my friend’ but rather, ‘hey i just got here and there’s things to fight and one of them is about to attack uraraka so might as well start with that’ but in this case, it’s....the action that counts! and the action was still heroic! he did it in a very dramatic way too!

CHAPTERS 79, 80, 85, 90

i decided to group all these together. it’s all in the same conjoined arcs and it’s a little more nebulous on whether it counts for this particular meta because, well, bakugou doesn’t really do any rescuing. i didn’t bother with the sludge monster scene because it’s pretty clear-cut but i think that this really set the baseline for all future bakugou development and he filled the role of the damsel in need of rescuing - so it definitely affected his perception of it.

things i wanted to point out: during the forest, he and todoroki are together since they ended up partners during the forest activity. at some point after (or maybe as it happened) the mustard gas filled the forest, they came across tsuburaba and todoroki decided to carry him through the rest of the way. todoroki also has to continually point out to bakugou that he should avoid using his quirk as to avoid further endangering their peers still in the forest (since, y’know, fire and explosions + wooded area = bad). for this entire time, bakugou is the hothead who just wants to fight and needs to be reminded that, hey, others could get hurt if you’re not careful. he barely pays tsuburaba any mind either, and we can probably assume he refuted it if todoroki even slightly implied they take turns carrying him or something.

he still helps out tokoyami even though he didn’t really need to, since todoroki’s fire would have probably sufficed on its own. so that’s nice! but then the convo switches gears to the fact that the legue of villains are here to kidnap bakugou and his friends all agree to be his [fandom voice] defense squad. EXCEPT, WAIT, WHAT THE FUCK? HE DOESN’T NEED ANY PROTECTION, THANK YOU VERY LITTLE, HE’S FINE BY HI - oh, yikes, and he got taken by mr. compress. i do like how he did listen to todoroki telling him to follow them, and must have stopped grousing about it long enough for the guys in front to not realize when he and tokoyami got taken. 

uraraka’s the first to bring up that bakugou would probably feel bad about being rescued - because of his pride. that’s what leads deku to add the caveat of, if we offer our help to kacchan, kirishima should be the one reaching out - at this point, bakugou would hate help from anyone, even though he KNEW that he was a hindrance to all might during the fight, and deku knows from personal experience after the whole sludge monster debacle, but it’s less of a blow to his ego if it’s someone he doesn’t see as a threat, and he’ll be less hostile if it’s someone he recognizes completely as a friend. the fact that he’s starting to see anyone as a friend is a lot! and though he denies it later, that grin says it all - he’s glad to be saved. he’s thankful.

CHAPTER 110 (& 113)

this is also an interesting one. i wish more people did a bit of retroactive meta for bakugou during this arc, because everything he does really shows his mental state in the aftermath of his kidnapping. anyway, while the first part of the exam was to show off your battle prowess against foes (which, another interesting note, bakugou would have FAILED without kaminari), the second test is where you show off your saving skills. and this is NOT what bakugou does. his tagalong BFFs chastise him for his behaviour, but the ‘victims’ seem to realize bakugou is observant enough to know they’re low priority civillians. this doesn’t stop them from taking points off for his bad attitude though - because the thing about bakugou is he’s actually emotionally intelligent enough to understand other people (when not clouded by personal feelings), but he repressed his empathy at a young age and therefore struggles with acting appropriately without coming off as terrible. and he ends up failing because he presumably doesn’t try to alter his method and lets kaminari and kirishima do all the heavy lifting while being unusually complacent throughout - not even bothering to check out the big gang orca fight, despite apparently being aware it was happening.

but also, side note about the first test - where kaminari notes that bakugou held back on using his more powerful attacks because he didn’t want to hurt kirishima (who was on the ground) or kaminari. i didn’t include it as its own thing here since it more shows bakugou’s development in terms of teamwork, and not really rescuing - though i DO think getting kirishima back was on bakugou’s mind - but it’s still bakugou being pre-emptive and mindful of not hurting others and caring about his friends. sowing the seeds for his future motivations.

CHAPTER 120

after he failed his exam, finally vented his guilt and frustration, and beat deku in their fight - all might shows up with some words of wisdom! bakugou admits that all that ^ wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but a cool thing about bakugou is that he always absorbs criticism and advice and takes it to heart (ex: bakugou’s start line!) he’s not averse to changing himself to improve, and if his IDOL says that being a bit more like deku is the way to be the best hero: that he can finally put aside all that anger and all those misunderstandings, and instead rise up by helping deku and keeping pace with him? surpassing him? that saving people is just as important as the final victory? then there has to be some truth to that, right?

bakugou has nothing to do now but let all those revelations simmer, attend his remedial classes, and wait to be relevant again.

and so we’re now in a different ball game!

CHAPTER 207

let’s fast-forward a few months. bakugou’s been out of the spotlight for a bit, if you don’t count him getting his babysitting credentials, joining a band and just generally being more invested in ~friendship~. but we haven’t seen him fight anyone for a while! he automatically puts himself in the leadership position of team 4, annoys his friends by being bossy and impatient, same old bakugou, and then - wait, he throws himself between kamakiri and jirou to save her?

we finally see the fruits of his labour after deku vs kacchan 2. the old bakugou wasn’t a team player, didn’t care if anyone else got hurt as long as they didn’t get in between him and his opponent - him and victory. the new bakugou is still prickly, still has the same personality, still wants nothing more than to surpass the number one hero - but he’s had a change of heart. the new bakugou has discovered a new strength, and that’s the desire to rescue others.

CHAPTER 208

i don’t even have to say anything. class 1A does it for me. while monoma, tokage and class 1B are shocked beyond belief that bakugou is capable of changing...his friends are just proud and happy. at this point - seeing him day in and out - they (especially the ones he’s built up closer friendships with, like kirishima and kaminari) all know exactly how he thinks and feels. 

we also get to hear that, before the fight even started, he straight-up put it out there: ‘if you guys are in trouble, i’ll save you. if I’M in trouble, YOU gotta save me.’ and that’s the next step, right? bakugou never put stock in protecting others, sure, but he was adamantly threatened by the idea of being the one that needed protection. because that would mean he was weak, right? he can handle anything by himself! except....his friends saved him in kamino ward, and maybe - his databook bio implies this too - time to reflect on it has let him see that...was okay. we saw in the license exam with kaminari, and during the culture festival with jirou and the band (both things that are brought up here) that he’s begun to - not just acknowledge his peers as worthy of respect, as he did with todoroki and yaoyorozu after the battle trial and with kirishima and uraraka after the sports festival - but TRUST them too. specifically here, he trusts that if he fucks up or if class 1B decides to target him, he can count on his teammates - on jirou, sero and satou - to rescue him and take over when he can’t do it himself. and they do, so well done!

CHAPTER 219

the sketch is from the volume extras: to let us know that bakugou attacked from up above in the air (and the lamp post) in order to make sure no bystanders got hurt from his explosions or todoroki’s ice. :)

anyway, this is his official premiere into the hero world! his first licensed fight, and it serves as a surprising template for how bakugou operates these days. for one, he has no qualms with teaming up with todoroki - whom he claims to dislike (haha, suuuuure, kacchan). two, he lets todoroki call dibs on the main baddie while bakugou takes care of all the lackies (in one fell swoop bc he’s THAT GOOD) - even though one could easily argue that there’s less glory in that. three, he’s aware of his surroundings and notices a civillian in danger at the same time as all might, moving quick to save her, whereas todoroki only manages to react in the aftermath - because, as we’ve seen, rescue is now firmly imprinted in his mind’s eye. if he sees someone in trouble, that’s going to be the most important thing to him. four, we find out after the fight that he prioritized saving everyone’s wallets and purses before blowing up all the lackies. and i love that bakugou’s more talented at snatching wallets than actual goddamn thieves. master cook, natural musician, battle genius, honour student.....pickpocket extraordinaire?

bakugou’s still rude to the civillian, still brusque with the pro heroes (even trying to act cool when faced with proud dad might head pats), but this fight showed us where his priorities lie - and it’s not what they were when he started school and couldn’t even garner a single rescue point.

EXTRA THREE: THE SECOND MOVIE (also not written by horikoshi but it seems he had more of a hand in it)

the movie’s not even out yet but it’s clear that the boys are going to be leaning HARD into their new shared mantra. defeating nine and his lackeys, in order to save everyone on the island, and personally motivated by protecting mahoro and katsuma in particular.

so even though we don’t know the nitty-gritty of what happens yet, i felt the need to include it. bakugou’s gonna be doing a lot of saving in this movie. i can tell.

CHAPTER 248

he doesn’t do any rescuing here. on the contrary, he and the multi-quirk boys almost let a couple people get run over by a truck head-on because they’re still too slow to keep up with endeavour. but endeavour’s words here are pointed directly at bakugou: he can’t treat hero work like school, he can’t make excuses for his shortcomings - because he has to work his ass off in order to save lives.

once again, the narrative ties bakugou’s growth with the lesson that the goal of heroism is to save other people. 

CHAPTER 251

earlier that week, endeavour set the three main tenants of heroism: combat/suppression, evacuation and rescue. the intent was to show that a top hero has to do all THREE, instead of just one, but a lot of fans obviously instantly tacked one of those on each of our trio. i wasn’t surprised that most put ‘combat’ as the bakugou one. because, yeah, bakugou....battle instincts, feral boy, here to fight and win....

BUT THAT’S BECAUSE Y’ALL WEREN’T PAYING ATTENTION SINCE SOME OF YOU ARE ACTING LIKE THIS IS SURPRISING. so, let’s break it down - bakugou’s the first out of the car and first to activate his quirk. he’s so in the zone that he doesn’t even turn his head when catching his suitcase. and what does he do? he, ONCE AGAIN, just like in the ch219 fight, allows todoroki to be the one that handles the villain. instead, he uses his new supernova flashstep move to focus on RESCUING THE HOSTAGE. he catches ending by surprise, securing natsuo away from him, and blasts away to safety while also using his explosions to rip the other cars out of ending’s grasp, fully entrusting in deku’s ability to catch the cars safely and evacuate all the bystanders with zero injuries, and DEFINITELY zero corpses.

early bakugou would have immediately stormed for ending (then again, early bakugou wouldn’t have chosen to do this internship in the first place) but he’s not that guy anymore. we’re dealing with bakugou 2.0 now, and we have for a while now.

WOW, THAT WAS A LOT OF WORDS BUT I CAN’T WAIT UNTIL WE CAN KEEP ADDING MOMENTS TO THIS COLLECTION OF BAKUGOU’S LOVE FOR SAVING PEOPLE.

[mynameisdreartblog]

Structural Isomers 2

Leo: 2,3-Dimethylheptane. It’s just… my life is so average that I gotta force myself into others’ situations; how else am I gonna get a thrill? Do you feel me, Viz? <The amusement park ride begins to take off, revealing the mildly broad view of the Guatemalan cityscape. The smell of barbeque holds back the tears Oro was ready to shed because ferris wheels strike a particular emotional nerve for him.> «Uh… my advice is that what you’re doing isn’t necessarily a bad thing. To be philosophical, nothing anyone does is bad.» Even murder and like, murdering children? «Yeah, not even that can constitute you as a bad person. And that’s true ‘cause everyone alive now has come here with a purpose, and those purposes can manifest in many ways in our lives.» <The carriage buckles a bit, enough to make noticeable the snot on Oro’s hand> ...You sound like you’re heading into some wacky territory, but I’ll bite. <Viz takes another bite into the corndog that seemingly materialized from his pocket> «So, because of this highly encoded model of fate, that means that even the worst shit that happens to you happens for a reason.» Even cancer and like, terminal cancer? «Redundant, but yes.» Hmm… <Oro takes a small bite of Viz’s corn dog while he’s distracted> I think there’s some moral holes in that, Viz. «It’s funny ‘cause that isn’t real either!» Okay, you’re just fucking with me now; may Jesus find your lost soul. «Sounds like you can’t see past yourself!» <The carriage buckles again but harder, knocking the corn dog out of Viz’s hand and revealing the loogie Oro was hiding.> So you’re saying that it’s commendable for me to put myself where I don’t belong? «Hold on, I never said that, but… actually, you should just be proud for who you are. Take yourself as you are, and you can then begin to do the same to others. Forget about the idea of souls and deeper selves entirely.» Whatever you say, homie.

Taurus: 3,3-Diethylpentane. «Gresham.» <He peeks his head from washing the dishes to divert attention to the voice that called him> What is it, Sanjay? «Hmm, I was gonna ask you questions about how nonsensical this world is, but my mind immediately shifted to asking you how you got to this point.» This point? Like, the quality of life I possess currently? «What else?» I would’ve preferred to point out the ridiculousness of this whole ordeal, but I understand your shift. Shoot! «Do you think the ways you’ve gotten to where you are now were… unethical?» There’s a lot you’re holding in your mouth when you ask a question like that. As a lover of difficult questions, I won’t answer that until the day’s done. «Uh-» No complaining, or I’ll cut your pay by 30%. <Sanjay thinks to himself> That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to him about: He has to be aware, right? There’s no way his skull is that dense, and his jokes are too clever! <Gresham finishes washing the last remaining plate and slides it atop the rack. Afterwards, he walks back to his usual position in the restaurant and waits for any new service.> [...] <Sanjay flicks his used cigarette from his mouth and onto the elaborate ashtray outdoors. In impatience, he goes back inside and demands the accountability he thinks he deserves> «It’s been three hours and nobody has shown up; you want to start removing that answer’s date back?» <Gresham breaks his inhuman concentration to make a firm statement> Clean up your ashtray first. «Are you teaching me an ecological lesson? Is this some lesson of your Tantra?» No, I’m just conscious about any numbers of fires that could emerge from cigarettes. «Fine.» <As Sanjay begins to go back outside, Gresham speaks again> Trust me, I wish I could escape the clutches of this cast we thrive and suffer under. However, no matter where I go, the world still refers back to where I came from. Is there value in not persisting forwards but backwards? <Sanjay looks back with hesitation, thinks briefly “the Manusmriti?” but scoffs at his datedness> Also, If you walk out, I’ll assume you’re doing terrible things, so don’t. «What about the-» The ashes will know where to go. «Why do you put on this faux mystic attitude? You’re a restaurant owner!»

Aquarius: 2,6-Dimethylheptane. <Aukai finds herself awake in her unsheeted bed, further disorganized beyond possibility. She forcefully motions her lips and breathes words of lucid wisdom through her dry chords.> There’s an anxiety that grips me sometimes, and it’s that every passing second I don’t recognize the artistic potential of something, it gets lost to time. What I fear the most is my head getting cracked wide open, losing consciousness, and awakening to a future that robbed me of beautiful scenes for new pieces. «This anxiety seems… unlike you.» <Aukai is surprised by the fact that her client is awake. Fear would gain control of her if it weren’t for him snoring afterwards, indicating it’s sleep-talking> Men are more beneficially judgmental when they’re asleep, huh? Whelp, I can leave while the night’s still middle-age. <Aukai gets dressed, particularly struggling to get her galoshes back on to weather the incoming rain. Once outside, she dashes through the rain almost oafishly, betraying the expectation of feminine grace. She thinks to herself> Even beyond how ridiculous it sounds, the life of an artist is a religious one: One where we’re conflicting our reality with the one produced on canvas. Well, that’d make the process more like the foundations of a religion than the application of it. The completeness isn’t there yet, but hopefully I can figure it out by the time I’m home. <The moonlight becomes secondary as the artificial lights create new scenes at every corner, torturing Aukai’s poor, traumatized eyes. She simply looks into her hands to avoid all these temptations.> [,] <There’s now tears mixing in with the raindrops, and on the way home, Aukai is stopped by an obstacle she couldn’t see coming. Facedown in the asphalt, she looks up to see a beautiful scene, etching itself into her eyes to haunt her next gig.> G-goddamn you <Aukai pounds her fist into the ground.>

Pisces: 2,2,4,4,-Tetramethylpentane. <Maghazi is walking down the crowded afternoon streets of Dakar, gleefully filling his lungs with the smell of pollution and fried fish. Here, he feels at one with the natural world, leaving no space for false misconceptions of the monism he lives and, well, breathes. Here, there’s people he can both condescend and praise, leaving ample room to leave a web of both shrinkage and growth. His baggy pants are scruffed from the leftover paint of the bricks he vaulted and leapt over for the style of the action: Something to move the body he believes serves no purpose other than preserving the valuable brain.> Hmm, my ears are pointing me somewhere ambiguous: 20 meters away. <It appears he’s detecting something his senses designated as important to him. Despite this, he was never really the opportunistic personality, at least never one that took what was in front of them. Maghazi takes more determined steps, inching closer to the source> If I had to guess, it’s likely a drone chip. They don’t exactly make their existence a secret <He rubs a special knob on his glasses, enabling a process we can’t witness or understand> …Found them. <Maghazi stumbles upon the source, which is a group of teenage boys in an alleyway kicking around a hacky sack, which he believes to be the source of the signal. Wondering how to approach, Maghazi comes to only the most optimal method> Oh, it looks like I’m substituting today. «Man, who are you talking to?» You guys: Who else? ²«Nobody agreed on that.» I never said it was democratic. All I need now is to be in this space and access to that hacky sack. «Get your own.» What if I told you it was an explosive device ready to go off and I was the only one who knew how to disarm it? «We’d die happy then.» <Maghazi is irked as there’s no other plans of approach left. In defeat, he walks away with a hunched demeanor. He thinks to himself how humorous it’d be if the hacky sack blew up like in his absurd hypothetical, but he’s quickly disappointed by the unpoetic reality> Nothing’s gonna happen.