#for whatever reason i decided to start with the end of chapter two and work backwards so uh its already off to an interesting start

[derinwrites]

How can I make money writing fiction?

I'm gonna be straight with you. There is no guarantee that you'll make enough as an independent writer to make it worth your time. You very well might -- I make a liveable wage as an independent writer -- but many don't. Most writers I know also have a job. And luck plays a big part in it.

If you're interested in going forward in spite of this, you have two main options for monetisation open to you, and you are going to have to pick one. I call them the sales model and the sponsorship model, and you are going to have to pick one.

The sales model involves writing stories and selling them to readers. You can put books up on Amazon or Smashwords, sell them direct from your own website, enlist the help of a traditional publisher to handle that for you and let them decide where to sell, whatever -- the point is that your money is made from the sale of books to readers. If you go with a traditional publisher, you're using this model (though they will give you some of the money ahead of time in the form of an advance). Most indie authors also use this model, publishing through draft2digital, Ingram Spark, direct through Amazon, whatever. I've never relied on the sales model and can't give you any advice on how to do this, but Tumblr is full of indie authors who probably can.

The sponsorship model involves soliciting small amounts of money from various readers over time. This is ideal for web serials, and it's what I use. I use Patreon, which is designed specifically for this purpose, but you can use other sites such as ko-fi. This model involves providing regular content for free, with bonuses for those who support you.

"Can't I do both? Sell books and have a Patreon?" You absolutely can! I know several indie authors with a Patreon. I sell my completed books as ebooks and will eventually sell them as paperbacks. But your time and attention is limited, and so is your audience's, and you're going to have to half-arse one of these in order to have enough arse to whole-arse the other. You're going to make a lo of decisions that benefit either the sponsorship model or the sales model, not both. So pick your primary income source early and commit.

I can only advise on writing web serials and using the sponsorship model, so I'll go ahead with that assumption. If you want to make a liveable wage doing this, not only will you need luck, you'll also need patience. This is not a fast way to build a career. at the end of my first year of doing this, I had one single patron, and they were a real-life friend of mine. When I reached an income of $100/month, I threw a little party for myself, I was so happy. It had taken such a long time and was so much work. I reached enough to cover rent/mortgage after I'd been doing this for more than four years. It's a long term sort of career.

Here are some general tips for succeeding in this industry, given by me, someone with no formal training in any of this who only vaguely knows what they're talking about:

Have a consistent update schedule and STICK TO IT

The #1 indicator for stable success in this industry (aside from luck, which we're discounting because you can't do much about that) is having a consistent update schedule. Your readers need to know when the next chapter is coming out, and it should be coming out regularly. Ideally, you should have no breaks or hiatuses -- if you're in a bus crash or something, that might be unavoidable, and your readers will understand if you tell them, but if you're stopping and starting a lot for trivial reasons, they WILL abandon you. You can't get away with that shit if you're not Andrew Hussie, and I'm pretty sure Andrew Hussie doesn't message me for career advice on Tumblr. If you find you need a lot of hiatuses to write fast enough then you're updating too often; change your schedule. A regular schedule is more important than a fast one (ideally it should be both, but if you have to pick between the two, pick regular).

2. Pay attention to your readership, listen to what they want from you

Your income is based on a pretty complicated support structure when you're using the sponsorship model. this model relies on people finding your story, liking your story, and continuing to find it valuable enough to keep paying you month after month. This means that your rewards for your sponsors should be things that they value and will continue to pay for ('knowing I'm supporting an artist whose work I enjoy' counts as a thing that they value, to my great surprise; there's a lot of people giving me money just for the sake of giving me money, so I can pay my mortgage and keep writing for them without needing a second job), but it also means supporting the entire network that attracts readers and keeps them having the best time they can with your story -- being part of a rewarding community. Because this is advice on making money, I'm going to roughly divide your readership into groups based on how they affect your bottom line:

sponsors. People giving you money directly. The importance of keeping this group happy should be obvious.

administration and community helpers -- discord moderators, IT people, guys who set up fan wikis, whoever's handling your mailing list if you have a mailing list. You can do this stuff yourself, or you can hire someone to do it, but if you're incredibly lucky and people enjoy being a part of your reader community, people will sometimes volunteer to do the work for free. If you are lucky enough to get such people, respect them. They are doing you a massive favour, and they're not doing it for you, but to maintain a place that they value, and you have to respect both of those things. My discord has just shy of 1,300 members and is moderated by volunteers. I'd peel my own face off if I had to moderate a community that large. If you've got people stepping up to do work for you, you need to respect them and you need to make sure that they continue to find that rewarding by doing what you can to make sure that the community they're maintaining is rewarding. Sometimes this means taking actions and sometimes this means staying the fuck out of the way. Depending on the circumstances.

fan artists. Once you have people drawing your characters, writing fanfic of your stories, whatever, treat these like fucking gold. Give them a space to do this, and more importantly, give them a space to do this without you in it. Fanworks are a symptom of engagement with your work, which is massively important. They are also a component of a healthy community, an avenue for readers to talk to each other and express themselves creatively to each other. Third, fanworks act as a bridge for new readers. When readers share their art on, say, Tumblr, it can intrigue new people and get them into the story. Your job in all of this is to give them the space to work, encourage them as required or invited (I reblog most TTOU fanart that I'm tagged in on Tumblr, for instance), and other than that, stay the fuck out of their way. These people are vital to the liveblood of your community, the continued engagement of your audience, and the interest of your sponsors. Some of the fan artists will be sponsors themselves; some won't be. Those who aren't sponsors are still massively valuable for their art.

speculators, conversers, theorists, livebloggers, and That Guy Who's Just Really Jazzed For The Next Chapter. Some people don't make art but just like to chat about your story. These people are a bedrock of the community that's supporting your sponsors and increasing your readership, and therefore are critical to your income stream. Give them a place to talk. Be nice to them when they talk to you. Sometimes, they'll ask you questions about the story, which you can choose to answer or not, however you feel is appropriate. They'll also want to chat about non-story-related stuff with each other, so make sure they have a place to do that, too.

that guy who never talks to you or comments on anything but linked your story to ten guys in his office who all read it now. Some of your supporters are completely invisible to you. You can't do anything for these people except continue to release the story and have a forum they can silently lurk on if they want to. But, y'know, they exist.

If you want to focus on income then these are, roughly, the groups of people that you will need to listen to and accommodate for. You can generally just make sure they have space to do their thing, and if they want anything else, they'll tell you (yes, guys, paperbacks will be coming eventually). Many people will fit into multiple groups -- I have some sponsors that are in every single one of these groups except the last. Some will only be in one group. A healthy income rests on a healthy community which rests on accommodating these needs.

3. If you can manage it, try to make your story good.

It's also helpful for your story to be good. Economically, this is far less important than you'd think -- there are some people out there writing utter garbage and making a living doing it. Garbage by what standards? By whatever your standards are. Just think of the absolute laziest, emptiest, hackiest waste-of-bandwidth story you can imagine -- some guy is half-arsing that exact story and making three times what you'll ever make on Patreon doing it. And honestly? Good for him. If he's making that much then his readers are enjoying it, and that's what matters. Still, one critical component of making money as a writer is writing something that people actually want to read. And you can't trick them with web serials, because they don't pay in advance -- if they're bored, they'll just stop. So you have to make it worth their time, money and attention, and the simplest way to do that is to write a good story.

This hardly seems mentioning, since you were presumably planning to do that anyway. It's basic respect for your audience to give them something worth their time. Besides, if we're not interested in improving our craft and striving for our best, what are we even writing for? I'm sure I don't need to tell you to try to write a good story. The reason I list this is in fact the opposite -- don't let "I'm not a good enough writer" paralyse you. The world is full of someday-writers who endlessly fuss over and revise a single story because it's not good enough, it's not perfect, they're not Terry Pratchett yet. Neither was Terry Pratchett when his first books were published. If you're waiting to be good enough, you won't start. I didn't think Curse Words was good enough when I started releasing it -- I still don't. I started putting it out because I knew it was the only way I'd get myself to actually finish something. I don't think it's all that great, but you know what? An awful lot of people read it and really enjoyed it. And if I hadn't released it, I'd have been doing those people a disservice.

Also, it taught me a lot, and based on what I learned, Time to Orbit: Unknown is much better. If I'd never released Curse Words, if I hadn't seen how people read it and reacted to it and seen what worked and what didn't, then Time to Orbit: Unknown wouldn't be very good. And it certainly wouldn't be making me a living wage, because it was the years writing Curse Words that started building the momentum I have today.

And Time to Orbit: Unknown as it is today has some serious problems. Problems that I'm learning from. And the next book will be a lot better.

So that's basically my advice for making money in this industry. Be patient, be lucky, be consistent. Value your community; it's your lifeline, even the parts of it that don't directly pay you. And try to make your story as good as you can, but make that an activity you do, not a barrier to prevent you from starting.

Good luck.

[ktkat99]

Update to this prompt I posted a little while ago. Scroll to the bottom for a link to the story.

Tim gets injured while not wearing his suit one night.

Bernard, who has never met Tim before, finds him and takes him home. He ends up losing his memory and Bernard decides to let him move in while he heals, unaware that he's really Red Robin.

Bruce and the rest of the family can't find Tim anywhere.

Days turn into weeks.

Weeks turn to months.

All without a trace.

Tim and Bernard are getting used to living together, and both the pros and cons of being roommates.

Tim will sometimes have nightmares or flashbacks, but he’s also started to heal.

His family ends up torn, with Jason, Dick, and Steph convinced he’s alive, while Bruce, Cass and Damian have all resigned themselves to believing that he died.

One night, Tim and Bernard take a nighttime walk to a convenience store and witness a robbery.

Tim stops the guy on instinct and has a flashback of fighting with Nightwing. He assumes he was a criminal and runs off before the clerk can thank him.

Something the clerk mentions to Officer Dick Greyson when he arrives to arrest the thief. The clerk hands over the surveillance footage, which ends up being proof that Tim survived.

Dick is overjoyed, but Steph and Jason point out that he isn't being held hostage. He's free and yet never contacted them.

Was he in hiding?

From them?

Or for his own protection from someone?

Or maybe the civilian he was with had done something to him?

Whatever the reason, they decide against telling the rest of the family until they can figure out what's going on.

They begin following Tim, keeping their distances.

Tim, meanwhile, after ‘remembering’ being a criminal, can't stop obsessing over his scars, and who he might have hurt to receive them. He keeps thinking about the convenience store clerk and Bernard, wracked with guilt about all the things he may have done.

Bernard stays by him the whole time, doing his best to calm him down.

Tim doesn't tell him what's on his mind out of fear of being kicked out, and Bernard assumes the event was too stressful for him and doesn't push him to talk.

Eventually, the two of them fall asleep together, and Tim promises to make up for his past crimes by protecting Bernard. Things gradually go back to normal with Bernard going to work and Tim, who has no valid id, staying home and taking care of the apartment.

Nightwing, Red Hood, and Spoiler take turns watching Tim and Bernard.

They still haven't told their family, but know they can't just follow Tim forever.

Before they can decide on their next move, though, Cass bumps into him while grocery shopping. She freezes and he doesn't recognize her, but Dick, Jason, and Steph have to come clean.

Cass is pissed, Bruce wants to bring Tim home immediately, and Damian points out that he might not even want to come home, and that they should leave him be.

They decide that, before they make their decision, they need to talk to Tim. Maybe he really did just decide to quit.

Tim, meanwhile, has been using his free time while Bernard is at work to help people who need it. He becomes somewhat of a neighborhood vigilante, believing that he needs to make up for his past crimes.

Most of the injuries he incurs are minor and easy to hide from Bernard, but one day he takes a knife to the arm.

Bernard freaks out and tries to give him stitches in their kitchen, but then has to convince Tim to let him take him to a hospital.

Tim, not wanting to be arrested for crimes he doesn't remember committing, therefore leaving Bernard alone, argues that he's fine.

It doesn't hurt that bad.

He'll heal.

Bernard gets frustrated and shows off his own scars, which he had worked hard to always keep hidden. He explains what happened to him, and how his family disowned him as a result of ending up in the cult, and that he promises he won't put Tim in a situation where he could be in danger.

He asks to know why Tim is so adamant against going to the hospital and Tim reluctantly admits what he's pieced together from his flashbacks.

Bernard is shocked to find out that he might have been sharing his apartment with a criminal, but reasons that that must be why Tim knows how to fight.

Deciding to focus on the problem at hand, Bernard convinces Tim to at least let him take him to Leslie’s place, as she doesn't ask questions.

Leslie proceeds to ask questions, prompting Bernard to be the one to answer them for Tim.

Leslie comes to the conclusion that Bernard is answering so that Tim doesn't say the wrong thing, and only grows more concerned when she tries to subtly give him openings to slip her a message or some sort of sign that he needs help and he doesn't.

She decides that, since he's acting like he's never met her, she'll play along.

Once Bernard and Tim leave, she calls Bruce and tells him what happened.

Bruce decides it's time to step in because something is clearly wrong with Tim.

Tim and Bernard head back home and have a long talk about everything Tim's been hiding and what he's been up to.

Bernard wonders if Tim might be wrong about his assumption that he was a criminal, but Tim remembers stalking Batman, fighting with Nightwing, Robin trying to kill him and a few other things.

Tim was a criminal, and he's certain of it.

At a loss of what else to do, Bernard convinces Tim to get takeout for dinner, since neither have eaten yet.

Tim agrees and they walk down to Tim's favorite place.

On the way there, Batman and Nightwing show up and order them into the Batmobile.

Tim manages to fight off Nightwing as Batman is driving and Nightwing isn't expecting Tim to fight him and escapes with Bernard.

Their suspicions all appear to be confirmed; the Batfam believe Tim is being controlled by Bernard, while Bernard and Tim believe he's a wanted criminal.

Tim decides he needs to leave, since he's obviously being hunted, but Bernard refuses to let him.

Not alone, at least.

Tim wants Bernard to stay safe, which means away from him, but Bernard is just as worried about Tim's safety. They argue, but ultimately both find an abandoned building to hide in together.

They decide to take turns sleeping and Tim falls asleep wondering what sort of crime he committed to warrant the Bats searching for him. He ends up dreaming of the night he found his father's body and wakes up believing that he killed him.

Bernard has nodded off at this point and Tim needs to clear his head so he heads up to the roof to process what he dreamed about.

The bats decide that, for their safety and his, Tim will need to be taken by force and they can figure out what's wrong with him once they have him back home.

They track them to the abandoned building and break in, but only find Bernard.

Bernard ends up getting captured quickly and taken to the batcave for questioning.

Tim, who witnessed the abduction but hadn't been quick enough in getting down from the roof to do anything, decides it's time to go on the offensive against the bats.

He has had enough flashbacks to piece together that Batman is Bruce.

He's tired.

Angry.

Frustrated.

He's been living for months without knowledge of who he used to be and having to deal with random flashbacks and trying to piece together what his life before looked like.

The bats taking Bernard is his last straw.

He decides to start by breaking into the manor and looking for Bernard there.

Bernard, meanwhile, is desperately trying to convince Bruce and the others that he has no idea where Tim is, that he didn't do anything to Tim, and that Tim has amnesia.

They don't believe him until Tim shows up and goes all-out trying to attack them and escape with Bernard, but Bernard is the one who manages to calm him down and convince him to listen to his family.

It takes a while, and a lot of proof, but Tim finally regains his memory.

He and Bernard officially start dating and move back in together.

They like to joke that Bernard had the craziest introduction to the family, despite being a civilian.

[bedouinpoet]

Leader, lover, sir, and broken dream

Aaron Hotchner x (BAU) fem reader

Continuation of Permission and offices and punishments. Three part story. Took me a hot minute to finish it but hope you like it part 2 and 3 will be done soon! Hope you enjoy my lovelies. Not much SMUT in this chapter but a ton in the next two chapters 🫣

CHAPTER 1

It had been a year since Haley was murdered by George Foyet aka the reaper. That day tore down everything for Hotch…for Jack…and for you. Her funeral was the day Aaron Hotchner decided to end it with you. You felt your heart rip apart he was pushing you away. After everything you both went through together, even when Haley and Jack were in witness protection things may have gotten rocky but you got to be there for him but there was this feeling of guilt that you were together while they were in witness protection. But you and the team were all doing everything you possibly could to take Foyet down but when all was said and done…you remember that day, every day like it was only moments before.

…

1 year ago, Haley’s funeral.

Everything feels so surreal for the whole team, everyone just trying to see what you could do for Aaron “I just feel so awful, maybe I should send them gift basket or or or I don’t know home made cookies, or brownies or wine I don’t know-“ you give Pen a hug to cool down her spiral as she starts to tear up “hey whatever you give them they will love, Jack happens to love double chocolate and Hotch likes simple chocolate chip you wink and wipe away her tears “they’ll be okay pen, its just gonna take time and a whole lot of support from us when their ready” She smiles and nods giving you one more grateful hug. You spend an hour talking with people sharing memories, you notice Hotch has been avoiding you but you shake it off you can’t imagine what he’s going through all you can do is be patient and be there for him as best you can but its getting hard when all you want to do is hold him, tell him it will be alright. Give Jack-o-lantern a big hug. But for some reason you can’t. You keep glancing at Hotch and notice he started fidgeting with his index and thumb, he always does that when he’s nervous or a million miles away so you shoot him a text

Y/N: Hey, if you need a drink or some fresh air just let me know , how are you right now? <3

You see Hotch take his phone, read your text…then put it back, he’s never done that, he really is avoiding you. You once again shake it off as Derek comes over beside you. “He’ll be okay pretty girl” and you start to feel your eyes burn with tears, the emotions you’ve been burying rise to the surface, Morgan is always able to get you and he hugs you without you needing to say a word and you stay in his arms for a moment “I know guess I just feel so useless. How are you feeling by the way DM?” He laughs into your hair, you started calling him that after a flirty joke you told Morgan to piss off Hotch and get punished after work “Derek Morgan can fill my DM’s anytime”

Hotch tied you to the bed and didn’t let you cum for an hour after that.

“I’m alright pretty girl just worried about Hotch and Jack but they are both tough they’ll get through it” you find yourself hugging him tighter not realizing how badly you needed to be hugged like this….then you get a text

Hotch: meet me outside in five…please…the balcony

you turn to see but Hotch is already gone. As you step out onto the balcony you face Aaron’s back. Even after everything he’s gone through he always stands tall, the air and silhouette of a leader. And he fidgets with his index and thumb, you clear your throat and he turns around his face softens from surprise to familiarity “you were a million miles away huh?” He tilts his head in curiosity and it takes everything in you to not just go and kiss that adorable face…but some thing about the way he looks at you stops you. Even from grabbing his hand. You just put your hands in your pockets “What’s up handsome? Where’s your head at right now?” He swallows hard and for the first time ever it seems like Aaron Hotchner….was scared to say whatever he wanted to say. “Aaron? What is it? talk to me” you reach for his hand finally and for a moment everything is okay for a moment Hotch is back to being your Hotch, your Aaron, then it crashes, he lets go of your hands and ”I don’t think we should continue this anymore…”

”I’m sorry? Continue what?”

”this….us…”

you try and tell yourself this is a trick of your mind, your ears something in your body is just playing some sick joke…it must be

“wait…are you ….Aaron are you breaking up with me?”

You see Hotch’s eyes swell with tears and you know one more word and the dam breaks as he nods

“what? No? Aaron, Hotch honey right now you’ve gone through something unimaginable and its fine if you need me to give you and Jack some space to settle but please please don’t do this, don’t do what you always do when your in pain don’t push me away we don’t have to end this, us, after how hard we-“

”but we do don’t you see? Haley-“

the dam shatters to a million pieces but he keeps going “While Haley and jack- my son! Were in witness protection , while Foyet was hunting them like dogs, you and I were” his sobs began to break through and it was like time stopped for you as you felt every brick of the wall he tore down, slowly build back up. You say nothing as he continues “I just can’t…I don’t know if we can go past this cause everytime we’ve kissed since…I just can’t…I think its safer if we just stop now”

”Safer for whom?” You want to cry, to shout, to push him, to hug him but you can’t you just stand there eyes burning looking at the man you love push you away and your entirely powerless. You notice your question took him by surprise

“well…you said safer …safer for whom, you or me? Cause I think you’re scared, and hurt and so you do what you always do when you’re in pain and your scared of losing someone else you love and I think that’s really why your saying this”

don’t cry is all you can think as as Hotch cries. You realize you’ve never really seen him cry like this and you also realize . He is already going through hell, if this is what he wants you can’t make it harder on him especially not now.

“No I’m saying this because it’s the truth. Right now I need to focus on Jack we are done…I’m sorry y/n I really really am…tell me what I can do-“

“nothing-“

”wh-what?”

”there is nothing you can do…you clearly Made your choice. I wont beg, and I wont make this harder for you right now you need to take care of yourself and Jack …it’s fine I understand . It was nice while it lasted and hopefully we can still be friends especially since we work together -“

“of course but y/n-“

he tries to grab your hand but its too late you are already walking away with a text from Morgan

Derek: we got another case :(

“its fine Hotchner….no worries I get it goodbye” no more calling him Aaron…Aaron was for a different time a happier time so you leave making sure not to look back or else he’d see the tears streaming down your face and your body almost shut down….as you walk away from your dream and build back those brick walls this time with iron steel

…

back to present 1 year later

”remind me again why we can’t make paperwork illegal?”

You sigh placing another file on the mountain on your desk, leaning back on your chair you allow yourself a glance at Hotch. Since the breakup you have kept your distance but he always made it so hard. After a few months he started having you drive in the the same car again, teaming up more often and you always made sure to act like you didn’t care.

“I know what you mean pretty girl Damn, my hand is about become a permanent claw if only SOMEONE would take us out of our misery and can read all this in five minutes…what do you say pretty boy?”

you and Morgan both look at Reid with pleading eyes, you’re practically pouting and without even looking up from his page Reid shakes his head smiling “not a chance”

“ughhhhh” you and Derek both groan in unison

“I think that’s Spence”s way of saying ‘how can you do your job properly without doing the paper work or the statistics on how we can we improve our speed reading by doing more paperwork-“

“actually statistically the average person learns their reading timing by the age of 15 although with practice you can improve your timing by practice but its best to practice before the age of 40 or else it becomes far more difficult. So Technincally the human mind can learn to read 4.5 seconds faster the more you train it to skim whilst still retaining the information-“

“Spence Spence….JJ was just being sarcastic hun” you pat him on the shoulder “bless my wee lamb” (every time you call him that he blushes how could you resist) “ohhhh” he mearly nods and continues to read as you all laugh before continuing your own work. When you see Pen coming out of Hotch’s office…”we have a case my lovelies…off to the round table my knights of shining armour…or leather for my handsome man and pretty girl Morgan and y/n”

you and Morgan high five in mini celebration “saved by the bell!”

“So you are all heading to Dallas Texas home of hot cowboys, horses annnnd creepy serial killers apparently…this is Victoria Baird a 23 year old sophomore in college, last night she was taken from her car after a frat party….”

“Any idea if she was on anything?”

”not according to her friends apparently she rarely drinks and last night she was the appointed designated driver-“ before you could ask anything further you notice Pens face fall further “alas my beautiful family there’s more and the real reason Dallas PD invited us….this is Patty Sybil, Cherry Smith, Liz Barton, in the past three weeks each were grabbed on a Friday and found the next Friday, ME says they were dead less then an hour before they were found so they were killed that day.”

“One a week that’s a short cooling off period, all brunettes, short hair, brown to hazel eyes, he definitely has a type these girls look like they could be sisters-“ you notice Hotch’s eyes never leaving you…maybe he notices what you unfortunately already picked up on…these girls looked a hell of lot like you….you remember comforting JJ a lot when the cases had to do with young blond women around her age and looked like her….it was tough…and now you understand even more how it can make you feel when the victimology hits too close to home…its a haunting feeling but you shake is off reminding yourself this is about them and finding the son of a bitch hurting these innocent girls all because they wanted to party…these girls had a right to feel safe no matter what they were doing. And its about finding Victoria-

“if we’re right Victoria Baird only has till Friday to live… wheels up in 20” Hotch is the first to grab his go bags and leave. You, Reid and JJ agree to get the coffee on your way promising Em to pick up her caramel Machiatto with soy.

…..

On the Plane you take your usual corner seat legs up leaning against the wall. Missing the days when you always sat by Hotch, secretly getting a hand grab or thigh grab when no one was watching but you liked your corner, your corner was safe, your corner was farthest away from Hotch but still part of the conversation. You try to make notes in the file as you notice a pattern.

“Hey Pen?”

��Yes beautiful girl?”

“You said that Victoria was the DD and apparently Cherry Smith was partying with her friends but she was 4 years sober and apparently didn’t break it…what was Liz Bartons drinking habit? Especially the night she was taken?” Everyone looks down except Hotch whose eyes remain on you hanging on your every word. “thaaaat is a good question….acording to her friends she wasn’t much of a drinker and…” Garcia’s eyes widen, you were right “she was the DD the night she was taken”

“THATS another connection our unsub likes the responsible type but why? I mean it would be a lot easier to take someone when their inhibitions are lowered by alcohol, not that I’m victim blaming ever…person has every right to go enjoy themselves and be safe doing it but yet the unsub takes those whose alert is probably at the highest..”

“why do you say that?” Reid gives you your coffee and sits besides you as you share your blanket

“when you’re a girl…and with your girlfriends you know the risks…all girls do and when your the DD there is an unspoken responsibility to keep tabs on everyone to keep your girls safe and-“

For a moment you picture yourself in the bar as the unsub, who and what would you look for? How to catch her off guard. Your brain is going faster then you realize until you hear Hotch’s voice bring you back to reality as he seems to read your mind, he always does.

“Which makes her the perfect target, she’s so focused on everyone else’s safety she doesn’t pay attention to the man that’s focused on her” you nod your head taking a moment longer to keep eye contact with Hotch so you quickly look away clearing your suddenly dry throat.

“Exactly! Plus her other friends were intoxicated so none of them are paying much attention to the perv in the corner”

you find yourself able to sit a bit taller and you try not to smile but you always feel this way when you crack something new in the case, a small insurance that you belong in this team. But your smile fades as you notice Hotch looking at you even while Rossi’s talking and you can’t read his eyes but you swear there’s a hint of a smile in his face, pride? No that can’t be it you think looking away and staying relatively quite the rest of the flight only talking to Spencer who’s feet are now up as you both share the blanket comfortably and he rests his hand casually on your shin that’s by him covered up. Hotche’s eyes darken as he notices the level of casual touch between you two. The moment you landed in Dallas it was non stop. Hotch tried to pair you off with him when “actually is it ok if y\n comes with me? I think she could give more insight plus she’s the youngest and college students would be more likely to open up to her-“

“plus my wee lamb needs a wing woman with all them college girls” you hug Reid and kiss his cheek teasingly as he fake pushes you away but you notice Reid’s blush and Hotch stares daggers in your directions but he gave in “fine- Reid and y/n you two go to the college and the frat house Victoria was last seen in, JJ you’re with me to coordinate with local law enforcement” and you all part says in your respective SUVs “don’t worry wee lamb you can be passenger princess” you wink at Reid and he shakes his head and laughs “gee thanks”…..

“so do you remember if anyone was paying particular attention to Victoria? Anyone come up to her?” Reid begins to ask questions to the victims friend Lindsey as you look outside of the frat house, no signs of a struggle. “No-no I don’t know there was a few guys, but everyone loved Vickie and she’s so pretty-“

you sense a tinge of jealousy at those final words as she looked off when she spoke. You and Reid gave knowing looks, you’d discuss that later. “Did she reject anyone? Any of them take it hard?” You ask stepping closer. Lindsey shakes her head “I don’t think so, it was just a fun party everyone having a good time” you could tell she was holding something back. You push further. “Come on Lindsey…I need you to think, you said a few guys hit on her? So she must have rejected at least one of ‘em at least right? Think”

“okay yea…yea one of the guys struck out with Vic, he was this shorter white guy, he kept trying but Vic just wasn’t into it, he throw a glass on the ground, so a couple of the guys kicked him out”

Reid adds on to the questioning “do you remember anything else about the guy? Hair colour maybe? Eyes, anything distinctive?” “yea blond I think but the lights were crazy that night, colourful, and music was loud bumpin-“

Reid looks at you for translation and you laugh lightly

“she means the music was good ya nerd”

you nudge him, loving his innocence even when he’s supposed to be the older one…

the rest of the day went the same way, two more mentions of the supposed “short blonde white dude” but with no other descriptions or leads, Hotch called it a night. As you step up to the front desk of the hotel a feeling of Deja vu washed over you when the women says “sorry agents we’re almost entirely full a couple conferences in the city we only have four rooms available, two king, two double twin”

Before anyone could say anything Rossi takes one of the kings for himself “sorry kids I am not sharing a room again too old and consider this pay back for the two bottles of hundred dollar scotch you party animals drank at my house.” Everyone rolled their eyes but you couldn’t argue as he was already walking to the elevator waving while it closed, Emily and JJ paired off which left you with Morgan, Reid ….and Hotch. Whatever happens you knew you couldn’t pair off with Hotch it would be too hard, too painful. Your head spiralled, Hotch was clearly looking at you ready to speak when Reid saves the day and you could just kiss him for it “hey y/n wanna room? We can watch that documentary on Arthurian history we talked about?” You can’t help but smile widely loving your bestie more and more. “hell yea we can, but we are gonna have to get some chips, can’t have a documentary night without proper snack action, we’ll take the king” you wink at Reid and he shakes his head as you notice Hotch staring at you with a shocked expression at your ease to share a bed with your bestie. But Reid breaks the tension. “Deal ill go get them and meet you upstairs”

”sounds gucci handsome I’ll take your bag just get my chips.” You grab Reids go bag and you nudge Morgan as you notice him laughing “y’all really are nerds…I mean I expected that from pretty boy but you too y/n?”

“Hey! I’m a nerd and proud you’re just jelly cause you aren’t part of the King Arthur legends snack party” you stick your tongue out and tease morgan more as Hotch hands him the room key pretending to ignore the conversation but you could tell he’s hanging on every word. You all go into the elevator and you put your bag and Reid’s bag down giving your exhausted arms a break. When the elevator door opens on your teams floor before you can react Hotch grabs your bag silently, you don’t argue you just grab Reids bag and head to your door, before Morgan steps into his own room he makes sure to wink at you “hey you and pretty boy better not get too crazy.” “no promises” you wink back sticking your tongue out as you go into your own hotel room followed closely by Hotch so close you feel yourself barely able to breath. As you get into the room you gently put Reid’s bag down on the rather smaller looking king size bed then as you turn around you notice Hotch putting your bag down on the bench close to the door, staring at the bed, looking none too happy. The silence deafening so you try to break it as casually as possible “welllp thanks Hotch!”

“What’s going on between you and Reid?”

and that hit of Deja vu strikes again for the second time today remembering him asking a similar question regarding Morgan. Yet you’re still caught by surprise by the question all the same. “I’m sorry?” His face remains at his neutral seriousness but his jaw is clenching, he does that when he’s proper angry. “are you and agent Reid dating yes or no?” You start to feel anger sizzling at his authoritative, ownership tone. As if he has some right to know everything about your sex or relationship life. This time for some reason you wanna see where this goes so you play with him. “maybe….its not really your concern Hotchner” it was his turn to act surprised. “excuse me? It’s my business as your boss-“

you feel your emotions starting to bubble to the surface and shockingly it’s followed by your eyes filling with tears

“oh for fuvk sakes Hotch don’t give me that Bull! Garcia and Kevin dated and it was fine. YOU AND I (the tears start to fall) and worked and did our job fine so don’t act like this is work related cause that’s bullshit Aaron Hotchner….you’re jealous and THATS the real reason and we both know it. Why can’t you just admit it!?” You feel your face burning, your whole body shakes and you feel, whatever was keeping you together, break, and you notice his fist clenching, his eyes darken and without half a second passing his hand is grabbing your waist and his lips crash into yours. In that moment you feel like you’re coming home. Your hands run through his hair your other hand grabbing his tie but as you feel his hand run under your shirt carressing your bare skin, something in you pushes him away, “no no I can’t do this-“ you take a step back

“y/n? What’s wrong?” His face flushed yet filled with concern and the dam breaks, the rope snaps. Your breath still heavy but you continue “we can’t do this…fuck why Hotch? Why? First you break up with me, you broke me! And now what ? You wanna fuck me just cause you see me with someone else on the team?” He shakes his head profusely “no-no no sweet-“

”don’t call me that! You lost the that right when you ended it…”

You notice the hurt in his eyes but you can’t you just can’t, he broke you last time. Hotch takes a deep breath

“okay…I apologize, but that’s not it y/n I-“

”Then what? Huh!?cause we both know-its only been a year, we fuck, I let you back in, then something makes you feel guilty and you drop me again….I can’t handle it I already lost you once….if I lose you again it would kill me, and this time I wouldn’t recover just-“ you feel your eyes burn with your pain “just get out Hotch, we’ll forget about the whole thing just go! Please!” Before he could protest you started to cry completely and your face spilt with your pain, apparently Hotch could see that because he didn’t argue, he stood up straight and walked out closing the door gently as you fall onto the bed, face in your hands trying to hide your hurt from the empty room as you feel yourself break all over again but you swore this time….you weren’t going to let him hurt you again….

to be continued

[whimsiwitchy]

Controversially Young Girlfriend (part seven)

Hugh Jackman x popstar!reader 

series masterlist & main masterlist

summary: y/n is a globally beloved pop star. She is known for her talent and dedication towards her craft. Recently, she has also been known for her preference for older men. After a breakup with her former older boyfriend, she had a run in with the hottest dilf right now, Hugh Jackman. Y/n tried to warn him, but what can she say, she has an effect on hot, older men. 

warnings: age gap (23/55), cursing, y/n used, implied shorter reader, afab reader, she/her pronouns, sexual themes, pedro (srry he's a big part of this chapter)

warnings will change as the story progresses! all descriptions of real people in this story are FAKE. I do not know these people and this is purely fiction. Please let me know if I missed anything!! <3

authors note: hi everyone! I literally just posted saying idk when I would update again but I decided to look through what I had written for this part and give it to y'all. she's a short one but it's cute. somewhat proof read lol. enjoy <3

part seven: closing chapters

You’ve been back in Los Angeles for less than a day and you already missed the simplicity of being with Hugh. Los Angeles was reality and it was an ugly one. All of the responsibilities came tumbling down on you and you felt like you were stuck in an inescapable maze. As much as you wanted to stay hidden, tucked under Hugh’s protective arm forever, you had to be an adult about this. You needed to stop ignoring Ashley and talk things out with her. You also needed to talk to Pedro and close that chapter that had been left wide open. Your personal life couldn’t have picked a worse time to get interesting. Tour started in two weeks, leaving very little time to tie all loose ends before traveling the world.

When you landed this morning, you ate a quick breakfast from a small cafe and went straight to rehearsals. They ran longer today to make up for the few days you were gone but you didn’t mind. Being on stage and performing the music you worked so hard on always upped your mood, even if you were unbelievably tired at the end of the day. At the moment, you were laying in bed, trying your best to stay awake while you waited for Hugh to call. He texted you a few hours earlier saying he spent the day with his kids and talked to them about the relationship you two had built over the questionable short period of time. He didn’t go into any further detail but promised to call as soon as he got home and settled. It was a little past 10pm, making it 1am in New York. Just as you were beginning to lose hope in Hugh’s late night call, your phone lit up with Hugh’s contact. 

“Hi Hugh.” You say sweetly into the speaker, sleepiness evident in your voice. “Hi, baby. Were you sleeping?” The deep accent you adored so much rumbled through the phone. “No, I was just laying down. How are you? How was your day?” As you speak, you move to sit up, your back resting against the headboard. “My day was good. It was nice to spend some time with the kids and catch up. We did a puzzle and talked, it was a nice day. How was your day, baby?” 

“It was good, busy. Basically hopped off the plan straight into rehearsals.” You let out an airy laugh. “I’m sorry sweet girl, I should let you get some sleep.” His voice trails off at the end and you know he genuinely feels bad for calling so late. “No, no…it’s fine. I want to talk to you. I don’t start as early tomorrow so I have some time to sleep in.” You assure him. “Are you sure baby? We can always talk tomorrow.” “I’m sure.” You let out a small yawn and Hugh chuckles.  “Hm, if you say so.” 

“Whatever..” You say playfully. The line goes quiet for a moment, neither of you speaking. “So uh…you told your kids about us?” 

You wanted to ease into asking but you were dying to know. Thay had been the number one reason you’d been so hesitant to take on a relationship with Hugh and you know their opinion means something to him too. If they didn’t approve or had any distaste towards your pairing, you weren’t sure if you could be with Hugh without having a heavy layer of guilt strapped to your heart. 

“Oh yea, I told them.” 

His response makes your heart skip a beat. Hugh was never one to beat around the bush but he was dragging this out and it scared you. 

“And what did they say?” 

Hugh takes a sharp breath in and your heart falls into your stomach. They don’t approve, you can sense the words about to tumble out of his mouth. 

“They’re fine with it.” 

His short answers are beginning to irritate you a little bit. You needed to know every detail of their conversation, you wouldn’t be able to sleep without it. 

“Hugh, can you please just tell me everything? Your lack of words is driving me insane.” You draw out the end of the last word, showing him just how frustrated you are. 

“I’m sorry baby, there's not much to tell. My daughter is a fan and begged me to introduce you two and um…well my son…he uh..this is so fucking awkward…” He huffs. “What did he say? I’m sure it can’t be that bad if they’re fine with everything right? Just spit it out, I can take it.” He sighs. “My son has a crush on you.” 

“Oh!” You can feel your body heat up underneath your duvet. “That uh…that is kinda awkward. What did he say about us being together then?” 

“He said something about how he doesn't understand how I was able to ‘bag a baddie’ like you, whatever that means.” You laugh at that. “He’s not mad, just jealous I guess. I’m really gonna have to keep an eye out for him when you meet them. I trust him, he’s my son, but I’m not gonna stand for his eyes wandering on my girl.”

You laugh again, partially because of his words and partially because of how wild this entire conversation is. 

“Well I’d love to meet your daughter and she’s free to come to any show she wants, I'll get her in. Same goes for your son as well, if that’s okay with you. I don’t want you to get too jealous and cause a fight between you two.” You giggle through the last few words. 

“Yea yea, we’ll see.” 

The line goes quiet again, a comfortable silence. 

“Hugh, I have a question.” “Shoot baby.” You can hear the sleepiness starting to appear in his voice. “I was wondering if you’d be okay with me going to talk to Pedro soon?” You hear rustling on his end before he speaks again. “Why do you want to do that?” There’s a slight hint of anger in his tone but you know it’s not towards you but towards how Pedro treated you. “I really need to talk things out with him. As much as I'm over him, there’s still a little part of me that needs closure, that needs to ask questions. I want this part of my life to be done but I need to have it properly sealed off.” “Could you wait until I’m back in town? I trust you but I don’t trust him one bit.” You smile at his protectiveness. “I really want to fix everything before the tour starts. I need to talk to Ashley too and the sooner I can get over this, the sooner I can put all my focus on the tour and you. So unless you’re planning on being back in town in a week, I need to do this alone. Is that okay?” He sighs and takes a moment. “Of course that’s fine baby. Just keep me updated on everything that happens.” “I will.” The two of you talk for 20 more minutes before you both call it a night, ending the call with “I love you”. 

The next morning, you immediately texted Hugh before rolling out of bed and starting your day. You showered, brushed your teeth, got dressed, and made your way to the kitchen. You opted for a lazy breakfast, too tired to do anything else. You popped a bagel into the toaster and fried an egg, laying a slice of cheese on top to melt. You made your little bagel breakfast sandwich and washed a few berries to go with it. 

While you ate, you scrolled through your phone. Hugh hasn't texted you back yet but it didn't surprise you. He was up late and with his age, he needed his sleep. You smiled to yourself as you thought about how peaceful he looks while he’s deep in sleep. While scrolling through instagram, you get an ad for Gladiator II. Your ex’s stupid hot face was plastered on your phone. You sighed and pulled up his contact. You were grateful you deleted the text thread you once had, you weren’t sure if you could handle seeing all of the previous sweet words he used to send you. 

You: hey p, it’s y/n. I was wondering if we could meet up soon and talk? no pressure :) 

Once you hit send, you locked your phone and slid it across your kitchen table. Your phone buzzed a few seconds later and your heart started beating faster…there’s no way he could have already responded. You reached for your phone, having to lift out of your chair slightly. When your phone unlocks, your heart slows down, it’s just Hugh. 

You texted back and forth with Hugh all morning until you pulled up to the Kia Forum. Tour was officially a week away from starting which meant you got to rehearse in the venue that would be starting the tour off. You’d been in the Forum a few times for various concerts but being here for your own performance was a different animal. Knowing that this place was sold out for you was wild. You caught up with all of your dancers, them sharing the same excitement. The energy in the building was electric. The crew was excited to get their creations in full and everyone was just happy to finally be starting. 

With being in a new space, the start of rehearsal was a bit slow. Lights, sounds, and various other things had to be adjusted now that everything was in full. You didn’t mind though. It gives you a chance to slow down and appreciate how far you’ve come. It was lunchtime and you decided to hide away in your dressing room to eat. A few people offered you to come with them but you really needed a moment to yourself. You were overwhelmed but in a good way. You grabbed some food from the catering someone had ordered, you made a note to yourself to find out who it was and thank them. 

Once you got to your dressing room, you pulled your phone out of your purse and scrolled through your notification log. Hugh’s messages were the first thing you saw. You were responding to everything he had sent when another message popped up at the top of your phone. 

pedro: hey y/n. I’m free today if you wanna swing by sometime? 

You pulled up to the familiar gates and typed in the code that was still etched in your brain. Once you parked your car in the semi circle driveway, you texted Pedro that you were here before taking a deep breath and stepping out of your car. It always looked out of place next to the large home, even more now that you didn’t belong here the way you once had. One of the brown French style doors open just as you're walking up the three concrete steps that lead to the entrance. You look up from your shoes. Locking eyes with Pedro, you feel your heart tense up. The pain of losing the man you had felt so deeply for re-entered your body involuntarily. He was wearing his typical casual attire: a pair of black cotton shorts, his beloved yellow lakers tee, and a pair of long black socks. The slight gray in his hair had begun to spread, the sides of his beard almost losing all color. He looked as handsome as ever. He held the door open with one arm, leaning slightly. A small smile rested on his face and his brown puppy dog eyes gave you the same feeling they had when you had first met him. 

“Hi y/n.” His voice sounded almost hesitant. “Hi P…Thanks for having me.” He backs up to let you inside. You slip your shoes off, like you had many times before. “No problem. I’m kinda surprised you wanted to talk to me, thought you would’ve been done with me after…well you know.” You don’t answer, instead you walk towards his living room and plop yourself down in the spot you had claimed many months ago, Pedro taking his own claimed spot not too far from yours. “It’s weird seeing you there again…missed seeing you here.” You sigh. “Pedro…don’t say that.” “Why not?” “You don’t get to miss me when you’re the one that left me. You hurt me P. Not the other way around.” He scoffs. “Sure didn’t seem too hurt to me. You moved on just fine.” “Can you stop being an asshole for two fucking seconds?” 

You wanted to come into this with patience and maturity but Pedro was making that impossible. He was being completely insufferable and had been since the moment he broke up with you, like it was somehow your fault. You missed the kind Pedro, the one you had fallen for. 

“Well it’s true, isn’t it? It took a month before you fell into someone else's arms, no let me clarify, my friend’s arms.” You could tell he was trying to get under your skin and you didn’t know where he gained this hatred for you. His voice was sour, a scowl present on his face. 

“God Pedro…” You sigh in anger. “Yes I invited him to the album party but he was there for me when you sat there and yelled- no embarrassed me at my own event. You don’t get to play victim in this situation. We weren’t together and hadn’t been together for weeks by the time I met him.” You could tell you were beginning to lose control over your emotions. The anger and pain both battled reaching for your throat begging to take control over your next words. 

His eyes go soft as he starts to speak again. “Y/n…I’m sorry about that, I was drunk and I-” 

You couldn’t help but laugh. 

“You know what? Fuck you Pedro. Truly. You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met. You broke up with me because the pressure was too hard on you. You come to my event and try to grab me, then you yell at me because Hugh came to check on me. Now you’re mad that I found someone that actually gives two shits about me, that isn’t afraid to deal with whatever comes with dating a younger girl? I’m over it.” You laugh again. “And now you want to apologize for that night when you’ve been nothing but rude since I sat on this couch? I came here for closure, nothing more. I liked you Pedro. I really really like you and you crushed my heart that night and every time I’ve seen you after. I don’t understand what I did to deserve this hatred that you’ve been throwing at me but it’s not fair.” 

Your anger had won the battle but your sadness would win the war. Your voice broke on your last words, hot tears pouring down your cheeks. 

“It’s not fucking fair P…” 

You tuck your face into your sweatshirt, allowing yourself to cry in peace. Pedro doesn’t speak and the silence lasts for what feels like forever. You could feel a slight movement on the couch, then two warm arms wrap around your shoulder, a chin resting atop your head. The two of you stay like that for a while. You let your tears flood your cheeks until there aren’t any left. 

“I’m so sorry babygirl. I didn’t mean to hurt you like this.” 

You slowly pull your face out of the sweater. One of Pedro’s arms drops to rest on his leg, the other lay across your shoulders still. His water line was filled with his own tears, eyes red. 

“Then why did you?” He takes a moment to think and pulls you into his chest. Your head resting right above his heart, the beat a little faster than the one you had memorized. 

“Shit y/n…I know no matter how I say this, it’s gonna sound fucked up.” He squeezes his arms gently. “I was so scared, baby. When everyone started to form their opinions on us and kept pinning me to be some weirdo, I freaked out. I’m at the height of my career and I couldn’t imagine losing that…and you were right, I'm selfish. When I let you go, I immediately regretted it. I showed up to your party wanting to apologize. I had a few drinks, some liquid courage if you will, but damn baby, those fruity little drinks were a lot stronger than I thought they’d be.” You chuckle at the comment. “I was waisted by the time I saw you and when…Hu-...when he came to defend you, I lost my shit. I was so pissed off. Even in the state I was in, the look in his eyes was loud. He looked at you with so much adoration and I knew I’d already lost you.” 

He pauses. 

“I’m not trying to make excuses for myself, I just..I just want you to- no, I need you to know what happened. I’m sorry for being an ass today too. I guess I’m not over you and it hurts that you’re over me.” 

You look up at him. 

“I’m not trying to be mean when I say this P but it’s your fault. I could’ve loved you….I was falling in love with you. My time with you was special, so different than anything I’d ever felt before. I think we would’ve been good together. If you would have talked to me, maybe things would be different. You should have talked to me.” 

“We could’ve been the greatest?” He gives a lazy smile down to you and you look down in shame, wincing slightly. “You watched it?” You ask quietly. “Yea I did.” He pauses. “You sounded beautiful up there, you’re so talented y/n…even if it was so clearly targeted towards me.” The arm that's wrapped around your shoulder moves, his hand resting on your head now, moving in slow circles. 

“Would you ever give us another chance?” He asks, looking down at you. The hope in his eyes pains you. 

“I love him P…” You see the small glimmer of happiness drain from his face. You were feeling just as hurt, knowing that if Hugh hadn’t entered your life when he did or if you had talked to Pedro sooner, you’d give him another chance without a second thought. 

“Does he treat you good?” You almost scoff at the question, given who’s asking, but you don’t have the heart to be mean to him anymore. “Yea he does…” You smile at the thought of just how well Hugh does treat you. “Well, then I’m happy for you.” 

“Are you really or are you just trying to be nice?” You joke and he shrugs. “The latter but truthfully if you were going to be with anyone other than myself, I’m glad it’s him. He’s good.” He smiles down at you and it almost reaches his eyes. “Speaking of Hugh…you kinda owe him an apology, mister.” You poke at the side of his chest that you’re not leaning on. “For what? Stealing my girl?” His words make your tummy stir. “I wasn’t your girl anymore. You called him old and yelled at him. He’s your friend, so apologize.” 

“He is old.” You punch his arm and give him a look. “Ow..fuck. Fine, I’ll apologize but I’m not sure how buddy buddy I can be with him anymore.” “I don’t really care about that, as long as you’re nice to him.” 

He doesn’t respond. You spend a few minutes feeling the warmth of his embrace, it was something you were going to miss. As much as you loved Hugh, Pedro had been someone special to you and it hurt to let him go, even with what he put you through. 

“How much longer do my pictures have on your instagram before I’m replaced by Hugh?” He jokes and your eyes go wide. “Oh fuck me…” You had completely forgotten about the pictures that littered your page. “I will.” He smirks. “Shut the fuck up. I’m deleting them in front of your face just for saying that.” You whip out your phone. There are a few texts from Hugh on the homescreen asking how it’s going. “I’m surprised your guard dog let you come alone.” “Oh believe me, he didn’t want me to but he’s in New York and couldn’t stop me.” You open instagram. “And for that comment, I'm making you press delete on these. You can feel the finalization of us being over. Consider it punishment for being such a dick.”  He laughed and pressed delete on the first one. 

In the third picture, you started to regret this ‘punishment’. “We were a cute couple. You remember that one? That’s when you came over and we fucked like rabbits all week-” “Okay your done. Give me my phone.” You shove him away after and he lets out a deep belly laugh. The sound made you pause for a moment. This was the Pedro you had enjoyed being around. It was always so easy to joke around with him and be yourself. You would miss him. 

series taglist: @chronicallybubbly @spideybv28 @pear-1206 @robertthehoover @reidsworld @bloody-bunni666 @quillycrow @kythefangirl25 @bluetimeombre @cskidjgsjaoaknayan52782 @thewiselionessss @annagraceevanss @peterparkernotfound @rogueinmymind @samsamsantos @wolviesgirl @white-wolf-buckaroo @weskerussy @marvelgirlie-4 @honey-ros3ss @nonamevenus @nizem8 @chaimshelii @rockerchick05 @starryeddie @saylak @haytchee @godlypresley @mega-kittyglitter-1 @acescutejeans-1247 @bethexo07

*taglist closed*

[magical-reid]

Back to Beacon Hills

Pairing: FBI!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Teacher!Reader

Word Count: 1.7K

Setting: AFTER the Teen Wolf timeline

Summary: After three years away, FBI agent Stilinski returns to Beacon Hills to investigate a string of strange occurrences at the high school, only to find himself drawn to a new teacher with a quiet strength and a mysterious past. As the investigation intensifies and danger lurks closer, Stiles finds that the town—and the unexpected connection with her—might just be the fresh start he never knew he needed.

It had been three years since Stiles left Beacon Hills. The last time he was home, he’d packed up a lifetime of memories, heartbreaks, and near-death experiences into the back of his jeep and told himself he wouldn’t look back. He needed out. Away from the constant looming threat of the supernatural, away from the haunting shadows of his own mistakes. The FBI was supposed to be his new chapter, a clean slate.

But now, standing in the middle of the high school parking lot with the echo of his dad’s voice ringing in his ears, it didn’t feel like a fresh start. It felt like old ghosts had dragged him right back.

“They’ve been hearing things at the school,” his dad had said over the phone two days ago. “Strange sounds. Flickering lights. Animals acting weird near the woods. People are scared, Stiles.”

Stiles wanted to dismiss it—chalk it up to Beacon Hills being Beacon Hills. But when his dad mentioned an incident with a teacher—a classroom full of students trapped in a room where the temperature had plummeted for no reason—he knew he couldn’t ignore it.

Which was how he ended up here, walking into the high school with his badge tucked in his pocket and an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

The teacher was nothing like he’d expected.

He’d thought someone who worked in this place—this town—would be frazzled or resigned, the way most people here seemed to be after years of unexplained phenomena. But when Stiles walked into your classroom, clipboard in hand, you stood at the whiteboard, mid-sentence, utterly unbothered by his presence.

You turned to face him with an arched brow, marker still in hand. “Can I help you?”

Stiles blinked, thrown by the directness. You were younger than he’d anticipated, maybe close to his age, and not at all the panicked figure he’d imagined when his dad mentioned the incident. If anything, you seemed skeptical.

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles stammered, recovering quickly. He held up his badge, stepping closer. “Agent Stilinski. FBI.”

Your eyes flicked to the badge, then back to his face, unimpressed. “FBI? Really? What does the FBI want with Beacon Hills High School?”

“It’s more of a precaution,” Stiles replied, trying to match your calm exterior. “You were here when… whatever happened, happened?”

The corner of your mouth twitched, like you were holding back a laugh. “You mean the part where I was stuck in a classroom with twenty tenth-graders and the thermostat decided to stage a coup?”

“Sounds about right,” he said, leaning against the nearest desk. “Mind walking me through it?”

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned back against the desk at the front of the room. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, Agent Stilinski, but it’s probably not here. Weird stuff happens in this town. People get used to it. I’ve only been here a year, and even I’ve figured that out.”

Stiles tilted his head, curiosity sparking. “You’re not from here?”

“Moved here last summer,” you said. “I was teaching in Seattle before this. Figured a smaller town might be… quieter.”

He barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. “Yeah, good luck with that. Beacon Hills has its own definition of ‘quiet.’”

You smirked, but there was a flicker of something else in your expression—something wary, maybe even a little haunted. “I’m starting to see that.”

The investigation wasn’t straightforward.

Stiles spent the next few days digging into police reports, chasing dead ends, and finding his way back to your classroom more often than he expected. He told himself it was because you’d been the one present during the most dramatic event—your insight was crucial. But deep down, he knew there was more to it.

There was something about you. The way you carried yourself, calm and composed, but with a sharp edge of sarcasm that kept him on his toes. The way you didn’t seem scared of him—or the things he was starting to suspect were at play here.

You fascinated him, and that scared him more than he cared to admit.

One night, he found himself standing outside the school, flashlight in hand, staring at the woods where he was sure something was watching him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he felt the familiar prickle of danger.

“Agent Stilinski?”

Your voice cut through the tension, and he whipped around to find you standing on the sidewalk, arms wrapped around yourself against the chill.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, lowering the flashlight.

You shrugged, stepping closer. “I could ask you the same thing. Thought you might need backup.”

“Backup?” Stiles raised an eyebrow, but his lips twitched in amusement.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t get any ideas. I was working late and saw you skulking around out here.”

“Well, for the record, I don’t skulk,” he replied, but the teasing fell away as his gaze drifted back to the tree line. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe.”

“And you think it’s safer for you to be out here alone?” you shot back, stepping closer. “If there’s something out there, shouldn’t someone else know about it?”

His chest tightened at your words. He’d spent so many years doing exactly this—throwing himself into danger, insisting he could handle it alone. And now here you were, a stranger, challenging that instinct with nothing but quiet determination.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice softer. “But stick close to me.”

The tension between you only grew from there.

Stiles found himself drawn to you in ways he couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it was the way you didn’t flinch when things got weird, or the way you handled yourself with quiet confidence, even when the world around you seemed to be falling apart. Maybe it was the way your wit matched his, sparring with him effortlessly, giving him something to hold onto in the chaos.

But it wasn’t just fascination. It was something deeper, something that made his heart race whenever you brushed past him in a narrow hallway or glanced his way during a tense conversation.

And it scared the hell out of him.

The break in the case came on a Friday night. Stiles was combing through old records at the station when his phone buzzed. It was you.

Unknown Number

You: I don’t know if this is important, but I think I saw something outside my house.

He stared at the screen, pulse quickening, before he grabbed his jacket and bolted for the door.

When he arrived, the street was eerily quiet, bathed in the dim glow of streetlights. You were standing on the porch, arms crossed, wearing an oversized sweatshirt that looked like it had been thrown on in a rush.

“I wasn’t sure if I should call,” you said when he jogged up to you. “But I saw… something. I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t human.”

Stiles’ hand twitched toward his flashlight. “Which way did it go?”

You pointed toward the woods behind your house, and Stiles nodded, stepping off the porch. But before he could go more than a few steps, you grabbed his arm.

“Wait.”

He turned, startled by the urgency in your voice.

“Be careful,” you said quietly. Your eyes locked with his, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the case, the danger, the unspoken questions hanging between you. It was just you and him, standing in the glow of the porch light, and the weight of what neither of you could say.

“I will,” he promised, his voice softer than he intended.

And then he disappeared into the trees.

Hours later, after chasing shadows and coming face-to-face with something that definitely didn’t belong in Beacon Hills—or anywhere else, for that matter—Stiles found himself back on your porch.

The creature had fled, wounded but not defeated, and he was sure it would be back. But for now, all he could think about was you, waiting here alone while he was out risking his life.

You opened the door before he could knock, your eyes scanning him for injuries.

“You’re okay,” you said, exhaling a breath you probably didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“Yeah,” he said, stepping inside. “Are you?”

You nodded, but your hands were trembling as you closed the door behind him. He noticed, and without thinking, he reached out to steady you, his fingers brushing against yours.

The contact sent a jolt through both of you.

“Stiles…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he said, his hand lingering on yours. “I know this is crazy. I know I shouldn’t—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, stepping closer. “Don’t talk yourself out of this.”

He froze, caught between the instinct to protect himself and the overwhelming pull he felt toward you. But when you looked up at him, your eyes full of a quiet strength that matched his chaos, he realized he didn’t want to run. Not this time.

So he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, “This is a really bad idea.”

You smiled, a soft, almost teasing curve of your lips. “Maybe. But it’s not the worst one you’ve had.”

He laughed, the sound quiet and full of relief, and when you tilted your face toward his, he didn’t hesitate.

The kiss was tentative at first, as if both of you were testing the waters, but it quickly deepened, years of frustration and fear and longing spilling out in a way neither of you could stop.

When you finally pulled apart, your breathing uneven, Stiles rested his hands on your waist, grounding himself in the reality of you.

“Guess I’m not so great at staying away from trouble,” he murmured, his lips quirking into a wry smile.

“Good thing I’m not afraid of it,” you replied, your voice steady despite the flush in your cheeks.

He didn’t know what would happen next—how the case would end, or if he could ever really leave Beacon Hills behind. But as he stood there with you, the weight of the world momentarily lifted, he realized that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to.

Because for the first time in a long time, Beacon Hills didn’t feel like a trap.

It felt like home.

[skania]

OnK Chapter 155 Akane Thoughts

Before I start rambling about the chapter, let me just confess that my hopes of Aka delivering some Chapter 51 & 52 parallels in the upcoming weeks just increased exponentially.

I know, I know, I'm probably playing myself but. In this week's episode we see Aqua and Akane go out together and starting to work together as a team.

And in this week's manga chapter, we see... Aqua and Akane go out together and (potentially) starting to work together as a team.

As if to prove that it's no coincidence, Akane is even wearing a choker in both, this week's episode and this week's manga chapter. Even though in the manga, she hasn't worn one since... well, the very chapter the anime is adapting this week.

It's like Aka's break was strategically placed just so the chapter & episode line up 😭

Granted, there's nothing to guarantee that he will keep it up in the next two weeks. Maybe this will be enough for him and he will call it a day. But since we've gotten this far and hope is free, may as well keep hoping while expecting nothing 😂

Moving onto the chapter, full disclosure: I've been half-expecting Akane getting the "Moving On"™ patented haircut because it very much is a thing in Asia, whether it be in manga or in real life. So no surprise there.

The reason she gave on the other hand...

^ My face knowing Aka just served Akane on a silver platter to every Akane hater out there 😂

The funniest thing about all this is that, hello?? The bangs are one thing, but are we supposed to pretend that Akane didn't wear her hair long as a kid? If anything, Akane cut her hair short that first time because her idol wore hers short. So why should anyone take short hair as a more genuine Akane thing than long hair??

But whatever, Aqua went back to his Love Now hair so the choice of haircut itself was obviously just Aka wanting Akane to be in sync with him. Because even if Aka recently spent 4 chapters establishing that Aqua is supposed to end up with someone else, he and Akane are the ones who continue to move as a pair.

Naturally.

So leaving the haircut itself aside, Akane is back to her original hair parting and thus (apparently) done imitating Ai.

The question here is: in what ways exactly has Akane been "imitating" Ai up to this point? Because I know there are a lot of different schools of thought when it comes to that.

As far as I'm concerned though, we have seen Akane, we have seen Ai, and we have seen Akane acting as Ai.

Needless to say, this isn't at all how Akane conducts herself in her day-to-day life lol

However, I don't think she means that she just shaped her hairstyle after Ai to be more like Aqua's ideal girl. That's fair and makes sense on paper, but if "imitating" Ai was just about making her hairstyle more appealing to Aqua, then why didn't she cut her hair after she and Aqua broke up? More than that, why didn't she cut it after she chose to support Kana's love life?

Because the timing of the haircut is key, IMO. She cut her hair short only after Aqua chose happiness and accomplished his revenge. In other words, she cut her hair short only after her goal of saving Aqua was accomplished.

To me, this implies that if Akane has been imitating Ai, it's been in ways that she thought would help her accomplish that goal.

Now, since she hardly speaks this chapter, it's hard to gauge what changes this will bring to Akane's characterization. However, there is one thing that already stands out to me:

Remember what happened when Akane thought that Kamiki killed Ai? She feared that Aqua would get his hands dirty by killing him in turn, and as such decided that she had to deal with Kamiki on her own in order to protect Aqua.

Now she knows that Nino is the Big Bad, and the first thing we see her do is... go discuss the situation with Aqua.

Akane now trusts that Aqua won't break, and so instead of acting on her own to protect him, she wants to be forthcoming with him.

Considering what I mentioned above about Aqua and Akane moving as a pair, I can't help but to think Aka may just be establishing Akane's own version of this:

And — what a coincidence — those lines also fit none other than Ai, who pretended to not love Kamiki and kept her distance from him because of how important he was to her.

Since Ai knew Kamiki was about to break, Ai put on a façade that wouldn't show her own doubts and fears. All in an effort to not burden him more, to protect him better even if she failed at it.

So I'm inclined to believe that may just be how Akane has been imitating Ai.

Aqua recently described Ai as someone who was always carefree, strong and who never cried. Needless to say, he was wrong about her, but that's the impression Ai deliberately tried to give. And what have we seen from Akane, especially lately?

Even when going against her true desires, Ai always put on a smile and remained flippant. So Akane may have been taking a page from that particular book... to be Aqua's perfect support.

His perfect ally.

I theorized before that this star here was Akane fully embracing the role as Aqua's girlfriend, but she wasn't just any kind of girlfriend. She was as supportive of Aqua as she possibly could, always trying to offer him solace, precisely because she knew how burdened Aqua was.

And throughout it all, Akane kept her own feelings and wants very close to her chest. She even intended to say goodbye to him with a smile, not realizing just how hard it would be on her.

Akane has been striving to save Aqua all along and playing any role she deems necessary to accomplish that goal (the supportive girlfriend, the well-meaning ex that gets in the way of his plans), but now that Aqua has finally been saved, she doesn't need to put on a mask anymore. Unlike Ai, who wore hers nearly until the very end.

With that reading, I can't help but think that Akane's wording was pretty clever. If she wants to be vague about her haircut being related to the "saving Aqua chapter" finally coming to a close for her, saying that she no longer needs to imitate Ai is a good way to convey it without actually saying it.

I may be completely off about all this, though. Truth is, we could sit here all day trying to figure out Akane's thoughts and Aka's intended meaning, but we all know that a lot of people will be running off with the most unflattering interpretations and they could be right for all I know. Aka's mind sometimes works in twisted ways 😂

That said, one unflattering interpretation I do want to fight against is that of Akane's feelings for Aqua just being an emulation of Ai's own. That doesn't add up, because Akane's goal from the get-go has been to help Aqua be happy.

And she had that goal even before she started imitating Ai:

Unless Aka retcons this, Akane's feelings for Aqua are Akane's own. He saved her and helped her be happy, and Akane has always been seeking to save him and help him be happy in turn.

It is possible that Akane has been trying to fill for Aqua the role of unconditional love and support that Ai would've filled for him if only she were alive. That's more or less just another way to say everything I already mentioned above.

However, even in that case, this should be motivated by her own feelings for him rather than Ai's. Not to mention, Ai's feelings for Aqua are motherly feelings and thus, strictly platonic. Meanwhile, Akane's for Aqua were paralleled to Ai's for her lover literally just a chapter ago:

So if Aka's writing is consistent, that particular interpretation should be off the table.

But that's enough time spent trying to make sense of Akane's line and Aka's intention behind it lol

Moving on, I can't help but notice what a big coincidence it is that right after we get a chapter showing that Ai and Kamiki are (in many ways) a failed Akane/Aqua, we now get a chapter where Akane cuts her hair short to differentiate herself from Ai.

Akane and Aqua may just be about to move into uncharted territory.

The first time we saw Aqua and Akane team up in Love Now, they did so as a business, fake relationship. Now, they're (potentially) teaming up all over again and being more honest while they're at it. What kind of dynamic will we see now, I wonder?

Granted, it doesn't have to involve anything romantic. This could be very well Aka setting up the stage for Aqua and Akane to end up as friends, and I'd personally be fine with that as long as it's executed well.

Regardless of the nature of his feelings though, I can't help but remember this:

Aqua once said that he will like Akane no matter what kind of Akane she is. With some luck, we may just see Aqua finally prove that he meant it.

His reaction when he saw her was so funny though. Aqua's feelings for Akane can be interpreted in many different ways, but indifference definitely isn't a plausible one lmao

Even here in this panel he's anything but indifferent. Almost like Akane just broached a sore subject

Also, it is kind of poetic that as soon as happiness is back on the table for Aqua, we see Aqua and Akane reunite on a chapter titled "Happy Ending" of all things lol

Now, onto the plot! It's nice to have confirmation that Aqua did originally intend to kill Kamiki. I'd like to know what exactly entailed his original plan, but that may be asking for too much at this point.

We still don't know what changed Aqua's mind, though. This chapter presents it as Aqua simply respecting Ruby's choice, but like I mentioned before, if that was all there was to it, then why didn't Aqua change his mind after he saw Ruby act the "I don't love you" scene for the first time? What let Aqua finally accept that Ruby's version of revenge was the right one?

On that same note, this chapter seems to confirm that Aqua has now embraced his life as Aqua Hoshino. He once discarded the naive thought of being happy, but now he seems ready to move on and getting a happy ending. Last time we saw Aqua pre time-skip on Chapter 151, his stars were still black. So, what gave?

We should still be missing a piece to solve that particular puzzle, IMO. I do think that Aka will eventually show it, even if it ends up being something as simple as "Kana True Oshi ❤️" (lmao)

Speaking about puzzles, it's hilarious how Aka makes Aqua be smart only when it's convenient to him. Just like Aqua magically could tell that his father was Kamiki just "thanks to Akane's movements", now he was suddenly able to tell that Nino was the big bad 😂 At least we're being told Akane already figured that out for herself, so that's good.

I swear though, if this doesn't all end with Aqua asking Akane what her happy ending is, I'll riot. Akane has spent the entire manga trying to save Aqua, and now that he's saved, she will be working to make everyone's happy ending possible. So Aqua better put in some effort to make sure Akane gets her happy ending too, whatever that may entail.

Things are moving super fast though, way faster than I thought they would. Now they even know about Yura, like?? Hopefully we'll at least get a few flashback panels to show how in the world they knew about her, because Aka is seriously pushing it lmao

In-before Aqua and Akane use a B-Komachi concert as bait to draw Nino into making a move so they can catch her. With everyone's help, of course 😂

I also can't help but wonder if Kamiki may pull some strings so that Ruby can have her Dome concert...

Everyone could see the Nino reveal coming after what happened with Kamiki, so I won't dwell on that. What I do find interesting though is that Nino is being presented as a fan gone wrong. She is everything a fan shouldn't strive to be. So knowing Aka, it's only natural that she will be contrasted to someone who is a true fan. Someone who genuinely wants only the best for their idol, without seeking to own them in any way.

Considering everything that has happened in the story, the two people who are most apt to fulfill that contrast are Aqua and Ruby. In Aqua's case in particular, that's a very interesting thought... especially considering his relationship with Kana and what Kana wants out of him: to be his number one idol, an idol that is an idol for him and him alone.

But we'll have to wait and see whether Aka sticks to his values or not 😂

All in all though, I'm very pleased that this chapter seems to put Akane front and center in this final arc, which is exactly what I was hoping for 😭 And I even got Miyako! I wish her relationship with Ruby and Aqua weren't so underdeveloped, because that family hug could've been one of the manga highlights for me otherwise.

I do kind of worry that Aka may pretend that now that Aqua has (more or less) embraced his life as Aqua Hoshino, there's no need for anyone else to know that he once was Goro though. Akane learning about it is the one thing I've always wanted to see in this manga, so I really hope Aka will at least let me have that much

[writingquestionsanswered]

Do you have any advice for writing with adhd? I can craft these elaborate storyline in my head, but the minute I try to write any of them down I get bored. (Or is that just regular writer block?) It's really discouraging, because I feel like my mind is moving faster then my head, and any time I try to bring any of my ideas to life it just disipates.

Writing with ADHD: 5 Game Changers for Me

Here are some things that have been game changers for me as a writer with ADHD: [Edit: everyone's ADHD is different. This is just what works for me. It may not work for you...]

Planning: It's different for everyone with ADHD, but for me it's essential to spend time planning my story before I start writing. I like to flesh out as much as possible concerning plot, timeline, setting, world, characters and arcs, subplots, and themes.

Summary, Outline, and Scene List: Three items that are critical for me to have in hand before I sit down to write are a beginning to end summary of the story detailing all plot events as far as I know, an outline loosely based on the story structure template/s that feel right for the story (for example, I may use elements of Save the Cat! and some elements of of the Six-Stage Plot Structure), which helps me navigate my plot and hit the relevant plot points. And finally, I need a detailed scene list/timeline combo which lists chapter, scene, date/time, POV character, location, and a one to two sentence summary of what happens in the scene, including the character's goal in the scene, the scene's conflict, and the scene's resolution or how it carries into a later scene.

Gamifying: When I'm struggling with a particular time period or project, it can help me to gamify things. You can do this using a game board strategy, the Yahtzee Method, making a list of bench marks that serve as "levels," race against yourself by trying to bet the previous day's goal, etc. The key to gamifying is to set reasonable benchmarks and give yourself periodic rewards. Rewards can be anything from buying yourself a boba, watching a favorite TV show episode, an hour of playing your favorite game, or going to a movie. Some people like to go to the dollar store and buy a lot of small fun things and use those as rewards. Whatever works for you! Sometimes, turning it into a game with tangible progress and rewards can keep you motivated.

Setting Up a Routine: Although I have my general daily routine, I am without a doubt more productive when I can stick to a more specific routine that includes writing time. For me that works out to writing early in the day before other distractions start ramping up. When I put on my music, sit down with some coffee and a snack, and pull up my manuscript, my brain knows it's time to get to work. That doesn't always mean the work happens, but it's much more likely I'll get something done.

Minimizing Distractions: Anything that can be a distraction when I write is problematic. For that reason, I only listen to music without words and advertising. I turn off my phone or leave it in the other room. If possible, I try to use placeholders for things I need to look up. If I absolutely have to look something up and I get distracted by headlines, interesting articles or videos, or other things, I bookmark them in a special folder and immediately close the window. That way, I know I can go back to them later (I almost never do...) And, for me, as much as I love Scrivener and the ability to organize by chapter, have quick access to character profiles and photos, toggle between scene cards and my story... it's just too distracting for me. I'll sit down to write a chapter, then decide I need to re-do my scene cards, or cast characters, or do mood boards for every location in my story.

For that reason, writing in Word works best [for me] It's simple and there's nothing to distract me. Any story references I might need while writing, such as character profiles and photos, mood boards and aesthetics, setting inspiration photos, etc. are all organized in a special folder, categorized into sub-folders, so I can go straight to the required reference.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 7

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: I think a lot of you have been waiting on this one…and stick around after the end for something special!

Song Inspo: For this chapter it’s “Can’t Wait” by Foreigner (if you listen to it, you’ll see why).

Word Count: 5,000

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut and feels. That is all.

Part 7: Until Midnight

Two weeks later, you could admit that Ben was frustrating you in a different way than usual. 

You didn’t want to like him, or be indebted to him. But he was different lately whenever the two of you were alone. Especially at night, when the two of you often met in the kitchen. 

It was the one time where he truly seemed to relax, without his men around him. Without the Soldier Boy persona he wore like a fine tailored suit. 

One night, the two of you were once again sitting together in the kitchen after a marathon of all three Hangover movies. Now you each had a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, of which you’d convinced him to try the “Chunky Monkey” so you could have your “Half Baked” brownie pieces and cookie dough to yourself. 

Ben had all but inhaled his, while you were still chipping away at half the pint.

“You still hate me?” he asked.

You paused in delving into a thick piece of brownie to look up at his bearded face, which was deceptively nonchalant. If he was asking you that, then he really did want to know.

Yet it was a harder question to answer than you would’ve thought a couple of weeks ago. You decided to level him with the truth this time.

“Like I said before, I don’t have a personal vendetta against you or anything,” you admitted. 

Ben rose a brow at you. “But you hate me.” 

You sighed. He could be so childish sometimes.

“Have you forgotten that you’re still holding me against my will?” you pointed out. “Presumably until my team can find me, and you can pick them off one by one.”

“You fuckers came at me first,” he countered. “And I haven’t touched you. Hell, I saved you.”

Yes, he had. You couldn’t ignore that fact.

But there were other reasons that he needed to be put in check.

“You’ve killed a lot of fucking people, Ben,” you said. “I can’t imagine how many of them didn’t deserve it. And before you start, collateral damage is not an excuse. It’s murder. You haven’t seemed to care about that, or much of anyone other than yourself and your own amusement.” 

There. Cards on the table.

Ben set down his ice cream on the counter with enough force to rattle his spoon. He crossed his arms at you.

“You’re pretty fucking high and mighty for someone who probably spent the last few years up Vought’s shithole,” he pointed out, shaking his head. “Doing their dirty work. Whatever I did back then, it didn’t end with me. You were part of it too.”

You frowned in annoyance. A hot retort was poised on your tongue.

Whatever he did back then? He’d crashed a skyscraper and killed nineteen people last year! He’d taken out nearly the entire cast of Payback, his old team. However justified he felt about the latter, taking a life was taking a goddamn life!

You wanted to say all that and more…but you paused.

Because he wasn’t exactly wrong, about you at least. You knew you’d done your fair share of shit. And you had taken people out, when you’d needed to.

For self-defense, to stop a criminal, to protect someone…and yes, sometimes, you’d been part of the cleanup crew. Disposing bodies and extracting supes from “unfortunate situations.”

Those times made you feel less than human for being a part of it. And it was the main reason why you’d gotten the courage to quit Vought and join Supe Affairs in the first place…

You frowned at the trail of your thoughts, but his voice soon jolted you out of them.

“Ain’t this a bitch,” said Ben. “If you could, you’d want me dead. Even though I saved you.” 

Your lips pursed. “Dead is a strong word.” 

His angry gaze on you was unrelenting.

“Asleep is as good as dead for me.”

You stared back at him in resignation. Fair enough.

You couldn’t refute that, but you also didn’t know what he wanted from you. He was implying that he wanted you not to hate him, but he wasn’t willing to let you go either.

You got up to put your spoon in the sink, mostly so you wouldn’t have to look at him anymore.

Ben rose from his seat. You felt him approach from behind. You still tensed up as his arm reached around your form to drop in his own spoon. His arm withdrew, but he stood just behind you, at your side. His hand curled around the edge of the counter.

Letting out a discreet, steadying breath, you turned towards him and met his assessing gaze…but you soon looked away.

It was too much. He was too much. Even his musky cologne was invading your senses, threatening to cloud your judgment.  

Before you could back away, Ben grasped your chin, tilting your face up to him so you couldn’t hide. He heard your pulse picking up with his sensitive ears.

“Well, well. Your heart’s just racing away, baby doll,” he said.

He smirked at the blush rising in your cheeks, despite your defiant gaze. You might’ve said you wanted to put him to sleep, but you definitely didn’t seem to hate him. 

“You know, that offer’s still on the table,” he said. Your brow quirked, and you crossed your arms.

“What offer?”

Ben’s hand slid along to frame your jawline, his thumb sweeping across your reddened cheek.

“I can help you end that little dry spell of yours,” he drawled. “Calm that pretty head and have you sleeping soundly tonight.”

Oh, he’d help you fucking sleep, he thought.

He’d help you not be able to sit on that perfect ass for a week. He’d gladly work you up with fingers, lips, and tongue until you threatened to fucking drown him. Until you were writhing at his touch and singing just for him. Until you begged him to fuck you.

But you just rolled your eyes at his offer with a huff. Maybe you didn’t believe he was serious. Oh, but he fucking was.

Overall, you were a pain in his ass. And you had been from the beginning.

You had a dangerously smart mouth for a woman. Along with a stubborn streak to rival his, and a strangely self-righteous attitude for someone who’d mucked through the bowels of Vought and played a part in that world, just like him. You weren’t so fucking innocent either.

But he could also see that you were trying to be different. You had a conscience. A family and friends and a lot of other things that Ben didn’t have anymore. And maybe never had to begin with…

You claimed to want to bring him down, but you cooked for him, hung out with him, and he could start to believe that you actually enjoyed his company, rather than pretended for self-preservation’s sake.

You were a fucking conundrum that he couldn’t totally figure out. And all the while, you didn’t seem to realize how much of a temptation you were. 

It didn’t matter if it was that sexy red dress at the club or these plain-ass jeans you were wearing. His hands itched to mold to your curves, squeeze and tease and familiarize himself until he could find out how glorious it would be to damn near suffocate between your thighs.

Your pretty blush, however, was spreading down your neck. Ben wondered how far he could make it go as he glanced down your V-neck top. His smile edged into a grin.

“I’ll admit, maybe I haven’t been the best host,” he said, injecting some charm. “You gotta be bored as all hell by now.”

You swallowed as his hand moved down the side of your neck. His fingers slid into your hair, but he kept the smooth pad of his thumb brushing across your cheek. You didn’t want to admit that it felt nice—and electrifying at the same time.

His touch was raising goosebumps down the back of your neck, tingling down your spine.

“You might be projecting,” you managed to quip. “Is the conveyor belt of prostitutes and drugs finally losing its appeal?”

You studied his face, his smirk, and you had a feeling you had deduced correctly: he was bored too. But now you knew why he didn’t want you to hate him.

He just wanted to fuck you.

That thought wasn’t so surprising. It seemed this man could jump into bed with just about anything with a pulse. But it still made a tendril of heat lick up your spine and your face flush.

You should’ve just pushed him away already…but his nearness was mucking up your good sense.

The truth was, you weren’t afraid of him. Not anymore. And maybe you didn’t hate him.

Maybe…

“Well, what’s it gonna be?” he asked you.

Your lips parted, halting on a reply.

Ben smirked. His hand tightened in your hair, and he finally began to lean down.

But your breath hitched. You instinctively pressed your hands against his chest before he could kiss you, a firm push.

“Ben,” you uttered.

He stopped, looking down at you with knitted brows. He just thought you were being stubborn now, a fucking tease even…

Until he saw the frisson of fear in your eyes.

He quirked a resigned smile. Stroking your cheek one last time, he let you go.

“All right,” he said. “Maybe next time.”

Your heart was hammering like a Phil Collins drum solo inside your chest as you made your way back to your room.

What the hell, what the hell.

He’d teased and flirted with you before, but not like this. It wasn’t totally obnoxious or disgusting, like he’d genuinely been trying to persuade you. He’d even looked disappointed when you stopped him. And he’d allowed you to stop him.

(And you resisted a shudder at the contrasting memory of Antonio.)

When you were back in your room, you released a relieved sigh. Your hands trembled on the doorknob.

But it wasn’t fear that’d made you nervous with Ben. Not exactly. It was the insane part of you that actually wanted to take him up on his offer.

Fuck, you thought, raising a palm to your still-warm forehead. I really must be crazy. Or sick. Sick in the head.

Or it had been a stupidly long time since you’d gotten laid.

“Seriously, tell me,” he’d said once, still with a deceptively light grip on your chin. The pad of his thumb brushed your full lower lip, making your breath hitch. He glanced down at your mouth, then back into your eyes.

“How fucking long’s it been since that pretty pussy’s been touched? ‘Cause in my opinion, that’s a damn shame.”

The memory caused a delicate tingle in your lower belly, pulsing between your legs. You took in a deep, calming breath through your nose.

That’s it, you thought. I’m done with this.

So you tried for a cold shower first. For the record, you locked the bathroom door before you undressed and hopped into the shower. As the water beat against your back and you dutifully lathered soap on your skin, you couldn’t help imagining his heavy hands running over your body.

Fuck. You frowned and quickly dragged yourself out of the shower.

For a few minutes, you were too antsy to get dressed. You paced your small room wearing only a towel, not even thinking really. Just frustrated beyond belief (sexually or otherwise). The truth was, you needed something, or you were going to implode. 

With a heavy sigh, you laid in bed on your side, still wrapped in your towel. You wrapped your hair up in a loose bun and closed your eyes, just taking a few moments to breathe evenly.

Your knees were folded up, almost to your chest. But you relaxed and let your thighs fall open. With a tentative hand, you decided to slide up between your thighs, just teasing the seam of your pussy.

Then with a sigh, you delved between your folds and teased yourself, to start with. Warmth grew in your lower belly, and you sighed louder when you slid a finger inside. You were wet already just with this, and your sighs turned to shallow breaths, and even a moan once heat flooded through your core, and you were getting close…

But a knock at the door just had to startle you.

“Hey, sweetheart. You there?”

Your eyes widened with a gasp, and you moved your hand back to your thigh. Oh shit.

It was Ben. Of course it was fucking Ben.

“Ah, w-wait a minute,” you replied. You scrambled out of bed to lock the door before he tried to come in.

But just your luck, he cracked it open just as you got there. You were met with his handsome face.

His brows rose, his lips then curving when he looked down at you. Or more specifically, you clad in only a towel. You tightened it up on reflex, with a hand on the twisted part at your chest.

“Excuse me,” you said in annoyance. “I don’t remember inviting you in.”

His mouth twitched at a deeper grin.

“It’s nothing major. I just had to ask you something,” he said, with an air of nonchalance that only made you suspicious.

Your lips pressed together as you rose an expectant brow.

“Okay, ask,” you said.

Ben reached for your hand, the one holding your towel together.

“Can I see this hand?”

You yelped and secured the towel with your other hand while he examined the one he held.

“What’s your problem?” you asked, with real irritation now. Ben ignored you in favor of staring at your hand, specifically the pads of your fingers. Then his gaze cut to you slyly.

He held your middle and index finger up to his nose, with an obscene inhale.

Your eyes grew wide as your heart stuttered. He did not just…

And Ben smirked.

“I think you’re the one with the fucking problem,” he said knowingly. He took a step forward, but you stepped back. Unfortunately, that just brought your back against the doorframe. Your mouth went dry when you again looked up at him.

“I don’t know what—”

He stopped you before you could deny it further.

“You think I couldn’t fucking hear you?” he asked.

You bit your lip. Oh God.

His brows ran even higher, his smirk ever deeper. His lust-ridden eyes raked over you, but they soon met yours again. His thumb ran down the inside of your wrist, over your quickening pulse point.

“I know you’re frustrated. It’s been a while, huh?” he said. “Believe me, I know the fucking feeling. But I can take care of that little problem for you. Take care of you.”

You took in a tremulous breath. His heady voice was a curse, reverberating through your chest and running straight down between your legs, warm and pulsing. He raised your chin to make you look up at him.

“You don’t have to like me for that, do you?” he asked.

It was as honest an offer as you were ever going to get. You had to give it to him though, in this, he was a good goddamn actor. He seemed to have figured out exactly what it would take to soften your resolve.

In fact, he fucking crumbled it.

You released a shuddering breath, and tugged him into your room by his shirt. With a hand behind his neck, you pulled him down into your hungry lips.

That kiss was warm and heady, fueled with a passion that only waiting and wanting could create.

Ben took the invitation to heart, grabbing your hips and already bunching the fabric of your towel. It was thin, and he felt the soft give of your curves underneath. He hoisted you up into his arms.

While a normal man might’ve struggled, you knew it was effortless for him. You willingly wrapped your legs around his waist and held his face with both hands. You broke the kiss for a second so you could brush his hair back and made sure he looked into your eyes this time.

“I don’t hate you,” you told him between panting breaths. “I should, but I don’t.”

And that was the God’s honest truth.

Ben paused at that. He roamed your face, maybe judging if he believed you or not.

Then, his mouth curved, and with one hand he reached back to slam your bedroom door shut. It shook on its hinges, but he didn’t wait for it to settle as he walked you to the bed and laid you there beneath him. Your hair fell out of its messy bun and fanned out on the pillow.

Ben gazed down at you, enjoying the sight of you all laid out for him. You were already breathing shallowly, your beautiful eyes bright with anticipation and wild desire. They were honest, and he liked that he finally knew what you were thinking.

He claimed a tight grip on your smooth thighs, parting them so he could find his way in between. He moved his way up to claim your lips next. They were plush and pliant under his.

You sighed against his mouth, diving a hand into his soft hair and running a hand down to the buttons of his shirt. He stopped you and all but tore it off himself.

You blinked in surprise, and then giggled a little at his impatience. But it allowed you to explore the new expanse of golden tan skin, down his neck, over his firm chest and muscular arms.

He relished in it for a moment—your touch. Your hands were soft and warm, and you looked to be genuinely enjoying yourself.

He smirked at that, but he grabbed your wrists before they could venture too much farther than the trail of hair leading below his belt. He trapped them against the bed on either side of your head, and you raised your brows at him with an annoyed little frown. Ben had to chuckle.

“Did I say you could touch me yet?” he said. You met him with a challenging tilt of your chin.

“Who says you get to make all the rules?” you asked. Your calf slid up between his legs, brushing insistently against his already rock-hard length. Ben let out something between a grunt and a moan, and didn’t realize that his grip on your arms was starting to get more than bruising.

You winced, with a pained sound caught in your throat. “Ben, you’re gonna break me.”

He amended his grip immediately, frowning at himself. He knew how to control his goddamn strength, even in moments like this (usually). Maybe he was too fucking excited to finally have you beneath him.

But he soothed his thumbs over your wrists and heeded the tug of your hands down to your waiting kiss. He braced an arm above your head and all but devoured you, slipping his tongue past your lips.

He kissed you like a man starving. Like you’d never been kissed in your life, and it was all you could to keep up with his demands.

Eventually he burned a wet trail from your lips to your jaw, down the column of your neck. He inhaled your floral soap, a scent that had been driving him crazy for days.

He sucked hard behind your ear, and you gasped, thought you were going to see stars.

Unconsciously you gripped at his hair, tugging more harshly than you meant to. But by the pleased sound he made against your skin, you figured he didn’t mind.

Ben soothed a heavy hand up your side and reached between you to untie your flimsy towel. And you let out a slightly shaky breath when he took in your fully naked form for the first time.

“Hmm,” his lips slipped into a grin. “I knew it. Fucking beautiful.”

You couldn’t help but blush, but you didn’t quite know what to say. Ben noticed; it wasn’t too often that he had you speechless.

Amused, he thumbed at your lower lip once more, making you smile almost shyly. (He kind of liked that too.)

And he finally touched you, brushing a hand between the valley of your breasts before palming at one of them. You sighed in appreciation, then moaned as his lips found the other one, his tongue swirling languidly around your nipple.

You arched into his touch, gripped into every groove and dip of muscle in his arms, especially when his fingers rolled and pinched just hard enough on the other nipple.

Your thighs pressed together between the cage of his legs, trying to find friction.

Ben noticed. He let one hand sooth down your belly, half pinning you down as he continued his relentless exploration. You wanted to touch him too, but right now he wasn’t letting up. Everywhere he touched and kissed and sucked set your skin on fire, and enhanced the flood between your legs.

“Ben,” you panted into his ear. If you weren’t allowed to find out what he liked yet (though you had several ideas), then you wanted him to touch you. 

“Be fucking patient,” he said with a chuckle. “I know what the fuck I’m doing.”

You had no doubt of that. But you were becoming impatient.

“Yeah? Am I gonna be as old as you before we get to it?” you teased. Ben glanced up at you, but seeing your smirk, his own grew.

“All right you little shit,” he muttered. He moved up to claim your smart-ass lips, swallowing your giggle as he took a firm grip of your hair.

His other hand, meanwhile, slid up the back of your thigh to grip a nice handful of your ass. He ground his clothed dick into your core and made you both moan.

He slipped a hand up the inside of your thigh and brushed between your legs, making you quiver with anticipation.

He smiled and glanced down.

“Finally, something I recognize in this century,” he remarked. “A nice bush.”

Your brows raised high, both in surprise and slight embarrassment. No one had ever given you that particular compliment before. But you did pride yourself on being neatly trimmed.

“What?” you still uttered.

“Women are so damn waxed nowadays. Feels like I’m fucking a mannequin,” he said.

“Oh, yeah.” You giggled as something occurred to you. “I’m assuming you encountered some bare landing strips on your tour of Brazil.”

He snorted in response. “One girl actually tried to get me on the waxing table. Something about a ‘manzilian.’”

You couldn’t help it. You pictured how confused he must’ve been at that particular offer. How damn near offended (and possibly intrigued).

And you laughed genuinely so hard that you covered your eyes as they teared up.

It made Ben smirk on reflex, feeling pleased that he achieved that kind of reaction out of you. 

“You tapped out on that one, huh?” you asked, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye.

Ben shrugged. “Wasn’t so bad, actually.”

At that, you laughed even harder. Oh, how you wished you could’ve seen that. 

Ben quirked an amused brow at you.

“You laughin’ at me, sweetheart?” he warned. He reached between your legs while you were distracted, and thick fingers slipped between your wet folds. You yelped in surprise, but then moaned in pleasure as his thumb found your already sensitive clit.

But he, in fact, knew how to take care of you. His thick digits explored your channel and rubbed persistently against that spongey part near the back, slipping in and out with ease, and circling deliberately around your clit until your inner walls squeezed around his hand.

All the while, you held on tight to his shoulders and shuddered at the warmth cresting deep inside you.

“That’s it, baby,” he said, with a clenching hand in your hair. “Squeeze the shit out of me. Come all over my fucking hand, and then I’ll consider filling you up to the fucking brim.”

With a long and keening moan, you came apart, hot and wet over his fingers. 

“Shit. That’s a good girl,” he praised with a nod. He stroked inside you a couple more times before he withdrew his glistening hand.

You held onto his other one as you panted for breath. “Fuck.”

“Fucking right,” he said smugly.

You rolled your eyes, but you still smiled as you sat up and went for his belt. You were surprised he hadn’t fully undressed himself sooner, but he sat up and let you do it.

The two of you knelt on the bed as the belt came free, followed by his pants and underwear and socks (he’d long ago kicked off the shoes). His smug smirk came back now that he was in his full glory, so to speak.

Another blush heated your face. You’d seen him like this once before, but there had been…a lot going on that time.

This time you had him all to yourself. Your canvas to explore. You started with kisses down his neck, like he’d done to you, biting and sucking though you couldn’t leave any marks on his skin.

Not fair, you thought in disappointment, but at least you were eliciting some pleased and guttural sounds the further down you went. And then you took his hard, velvety cock in your hands.

He was big enough that you were maybe a little concerned, but not enough to deter you as you teased him with your soft hands, then squeezed and caressed experimentally. He gripped your hips tight.

“Now who’s taking a fucking eternity,” he gritted out. He encouraged you to lie back and raised your hips. You found purchase on his shoulders as your eyes met with his, and after a beat, you smiled and gave a short nod.

Ben aligned himself at your entrance and, slowly as he could manage, pushed inside you. You cried out as he stretched you, filled you deep and bottoming out with mangled moans from both of you.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You feel so fucking good already.”

You managed to smile and run a hand down his chest. “Uh, you didn’t ask, but I am on birth control.”

His brows furrowed in realization. “What, the fucking pill?”

His team certainly hadn’t supplied you with that for the past month.

You shook your head. “No. An IUD. It’s fine.”

You couldn’t believe you two were having this conversation when he was literally inside you already.

“What? Thought those died out in the 70s,” he said.

“Well, they came back,” you said impatiently. “Just fuck me, Ben!”

Not one to be told twice, Ben continued by slowly pulling out of you, nearly the entire length of his cock, before pushing back in. It was torturous for him, but he knew you needed the time to adjust. By the third stroke, however, he snapped back into you more forcefully.

It elicited a gasp and pleased shudder out of you. Grinning, he picked up the pace from there and pounded into you at a relentless clip. You held onto his arms for dear life, your nails clawing fruitlessly into his skin. You grabbed his hand when he reached a particularly good angle, moaning his name.

“That’s right, crooner. Soon enough I’ll have you singing my fucking name,” he growled. “Knew I was gonna have you just like this, fucking you raw.”

You moaned in response. His words, his voice, his touch, it was all breaking you down and taking you apart, piece by piece.

Meanwhile, your voice only spurred him on. Letting go of your hand, his reached for your cheek. Then it slid down to your neck.

“You got a safe word, baby girl?” he asked, closing a firm, but playful hand around your throat.

But before he could put much pressure, your eyes flew open. Not in arousal, but in panic. Your hands flew to grasp at his wrist.

“Don’t! Please, don’t.” 

Ben looked down at you, surprised enough to pause in all his movements. He released his hand.

He’d very rarely seen wide-eyed panic in your eyes and in your voice. And you’d never said please. 

But then, even more strange, you got embarrassed.

You looked away from him as you caught your breath. Ben called to you uncertainly, perhaps for the first time using your actual name.

You took in a deep breath and sat up. But instead of pushing him away, like he half-expected, you moved so that you were both on your knees and you were straddling his lap.

Using his shoulders as leverage, you resumed the pace of dipping his still hard cock inside you, making you both groan in relief.

Ben helped you, gripping your hips to bounce you on top of him.

Soon enough, he grunted as that familiar tightening and heat of pleasure started to make his upward thrusts wild. He knew he was close…

And he snaked a hand between you to roll over your clit, making sure you were going to get there with him.

A deep tremble went through your lower belly, tightening your inner walls around him impossibly tight as you started to come. Then he followed, finally spilling up and into you.

His arms came around your waist like steel bands as you relaxed on top of him, panting for breath and holding onto his shoulders for dear life.

You gazed down into his eyes, and then his growing, triumphant smirk. It triggered your own wry smile.

And you had to wonder, What the hell did I just do?

AN: Was it as good for you as it was for me? 😏

But ok, seriously, I'm a bit self-conscious when it comes to writing smut, so I genuinely hope you enjoyed the ride lol.

(@waynes-multiverse You probably won't see this for a while, but our convo about the Brazilian wax made it into this chapter. 🤣)

Special Feature:

Check out this lovely moodboard created by @chernayawidow — specifically for this story!

I am obsessed:

She also takes requests, so just message her!

Next time:

You called his name again and took his face with both hands.

“Wherever you are in your mind right now, you’re here with me. Stay with me!” you raised your voice. His skin was getting really hot.

You gasped and had to let go of him when it threatened to burn you. His chest started to glow and hum. Your eyes widened, and finally, so did his.

Keep Reading: PART 8

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Safest with You (Ch. 18 - The Threat)

4.8k / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Peace between the Clans after the wedding is short lived.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Established relationship, petnames (pretty bird, baby, etc.), one (1) daddy, two (2) spanks, unprotected PiV, oral (m receiving, reference to f receiving), a teeny bit of ass play and a wee smidge of choking. Angst - it's back, baby!

A/N: This takes place after The Wedding (but it's not necessary to read). I need to write the next few chapters together, so it might take me a beat to post Ch. 19 but I will try my best 🥰 as always, thank you for reading!

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Dividers by @saradika-graphics 🥰

Din had never experienced the old saying “the calm before the storm” before.  He had heard of it, of course, but in his experience, there was ever only the build up to the storm or the storm itself.

In retrospect, “the calm” was exactly what the last few weeks had been.

The weeks leading up to Cassandra and Rikard Pyke’s wedding had been tense.  Security concerns increased in light of the unrest that had been rising in intensity and frequency for the months prior, complicating already intricate and complex security logistics necessitated by the union itself.  It gnaws at Din to no end that he and Paz haven’t been able to identify the culprit orchestrating all the previously thought unrelated disturbances; he’s at least glad the theory that the incidents were random has been abandoned and that even Boba agreed there had to be a common thread between all the events. 

Happily, the wedding had gone off without any major incident; the happy couple had married and celebrated joyously with both Families.  No blood had been spilt, and one could even declare that the relationship between the Fetts and Pykes has never been better.  There had been that minor scuffle at the end of the evening; Din hated worrying you unnecessarily even more than he hated lying to you, so he had told you a half truth when he said it was just a few kids who drank too much.  It was a half truth in that only half of the drunk kids in question were wedding guests - the other two had been Hutt wedding crashers.  For whatever reason, two lower level Hutt foot soldiers had decided to check out the wedding venue after most of the guests had wound down their celebrations and a few of the younger Pyke cousins had taken offense.

It had been easy enough to break up and smooth over, sending the kids to their proverbial corners - that part he hadn’t downplayed.  And since then, it’s been… quiet.

No more skirmishes.  No vandalism.  No theft.  Nothing. 

It’s as if whoever was responsible went on vacation or decided that whatever they were trying to accomplish in the first place wasn’t worth it.

At first, it had been much too suspicious to be trusted.  The Mandos remaining on high alert even when nothing out of the ordinary was being reported.  Then slowly, things started going back to normal.  Late night patrols taper off and security surveillance whittle down to a minimum.  Jimmy returns to training with Karga full-time.  Din’s schedule regulates and to make up for lost time, he takes you out to dinner nearly every night, chipping away at the long accumulated list of restaurants you want to try.  Mayfeld goes back to doing whatever Mayfeld does.

It was the calm.

Din’s humming to himself as he folds towels - checking the clock, he’s glad to see he’s about half an hour or so away from Greef coming in for the late shift, at which time he can go back upstairs to spend the rest of his Saturday night with you.  The two of you had spent a lovely morning at the same farmers’ market he had taken you to on your second date, and much of the day had been spent recreating a similar afternoon – him working while periodically popping upstairs to visit you and Al, helping you with the lasagna.  The only notable difference was that instead of letting you nap, he had made you come on his tongue twice before heading back downstairs to oversee the lazy Saturday gym crowd.

Otherwise, history was repeating itself delightfully even now with Paz coming by after his workout to check in with Din.

“Hey brother,” Paz clasps his hand on Din’s shoulder before the two men embrace, “good day?”

“Yep,” nods Din, good naturedly, “you?”

Paz’s face slips into an unserious grimace, “Was going pretty good, but just got the call to check in with the boss, so like Rhianna says: work, work, work, work, work.  You wanna come with?”

Din shakes his head, “Nah, I’m retired again, remember?  Besides, I’ve got lasagna.”

“Ooo!  Lil’ Lady made lasagna?  Save me a slice, brother!  Wait… unless ‘lasagna’ is code for some weird sex thing?  Then please don’t think of me, thanks.”

Din whips a towel at Paz’s head as the latter heads out the gym, the back of his shoulders shaking with laughter.

---

Satisfied.  That’s the word Din thinks best describes how he feels in this very moment.  His stomach is full of wine and lasagna, and he currently has his delectable dessert straddling his lap with her tongue down his throat.  When you lift yourself up to press down on Din’s mouth with your plush lips, your core grinds a little on the top of his now soft again belly and you both let out a heady groan at the sensation.  Din suspects that after the bout with Rotta Hutt, you had made it your personal mission to reinstate his softer stomach, and he happily acquiesced - eating second helpings of all your delicious cooking that seemed to constantly fill your and his apartments with mouthwatering aromas.

Brushing your tongue over Din’s, your hands go to card his soft curls through your fingers when you feel his meaty hands slide down your sides until they come to a rest on your ass, cupping your cheeks and palming them lightly while you whimper into his mouth. 

“Feel good, pretty bird?”

“Mmmhhmmmm, feels so good, Din,” you murmur as you kiss across Din’s jaw and trail your lips down his neck, tongue darting out to lick his bobbing Adam’s apple.  You feel Din’s hands tighten and squeeze hard at the feeling, and it makes you giggle - you give your butt a little wiggle and dance around in his lap as a response.

Smack.

You yelp and then immediately moan from the spank Din administers to your behind.  Din chuckles throatily and lands another hard smack to the other cheek, watching your ass ripple as he growls in your ear, “Gonna be a good girl, baby?”

You pull back so Din can see the pouty, doe-eyed expression you’re giving him, “What do you mean, daddy?”

Din’s eyes darken, “Are you gonna be a good girl, or are you gonna be a br-”

Bzzzzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzzz.

Din’s phone buzzes with an incoming text.  Then another.  And another.  It continues to vibrate, even as you reach over to the coffee table to grab it for him.

Brow furrowed, Din looks at the notifications on his locked screen and sees texts from Paz, Mayfeld, Woves, Bo, Iggy with more coming in every few seconds from other Mandos.  Each text containing just one line:

This is the Way.

Din’s face hardens and his body tenses, he sits up straight and you have to lace your fingers around his neck so you don’t slide off his lap.  The words themselves are innocuous, chosen to sound authoritative and purposefully vague and mysterious; but the text protocol being executed is deliberate and meaningful, one that Din himself implemented years ago.  It was a code red and a check-in system rolled into one.  It meant he had to go.

He gives you with an apologetic look but he finds you already watching him with an expression full of softness and understanding, “You have to go?”

Nodding, Din closes his eyes and pulls you tight against his chest, tucking your head into your favourite nook under his chin before murmuring, “I have to go.”  You hug him back just as tightly and tell your man you love him.  Tipping your head back, you eagerly accept one last tender kiss before Din gently pulls you off his lap.

As Din sends off his own text (This is the Way.), you grab a jacket for him and see him to the door, eyes worried, “Be careful, Din.”

“Always, pretty bird.  I love you.”  And then he’s off - hurrying down the stairs, taking two at a time.

---

Entering inconspicuously through the back entrance of an office building that acted as a Fett safe house, Din greets the Mandos that beat him here in the open lounge area.  Some are nursing drinks, others seemingly just waiting around.  Everyone looks to be on high alert.  Still not knowing what the alert was for, Din doesn’t ask – he would rather get the debrief straight from Paz, but he doesn’t see the Fett head of security in the room.  Koska gives him a little nod when she spots him and tilts her head towards the boardroom, mouthing, “They’re waiting for you.” Who exactly they are, still unknown to Din even as he pushes open the thick oak door. 

Paz is inside, as are Bo and Brian.  There are no other Mandos.  Everyone is sitting around the long conference table except for Paz and Fennec, both of whom stand flanking Boba’s seat at the head of the long table.  Many of the chairs are already filled by Fett Family seniors and principals and in front of every seat, even the empty ones, is a brown manila envelope.  Din sees that those already sitting have opened theirs, but the contents are unknown to him – either stuffed back into their envelopes or placed face down on the table.  As he walks towards Paz, Din notices that all the envelopes have names written on them; the handwriting is unfamiliar, but he recognizes the names of some other clan members that haven’t arrived yet.  It’s not until he’s nearly at the end of the room that he looks at the envelope in front of the empty seat to Boba’s right and reads his own name.

Cocking an eyebrow at Paz, he’s mildly alarmed to see Paz’s expression.  Normally so impassive and stoic while conducting official security business, Paz looks… nervous.  Din looks quizzically at his envelope, then at Paz, Boba and Fennec; Boba gives a slight nod of his head and Din doesn’t even bother sitting down, just reaches over the chair to grab his envelope, ripping it open.

Din reaches in and pulls out a thick stack of photos.  He goes through them, faster and faster, the top photo being filed to the back so he can see what the next picture is, his actions becoming more frantic and hurried with each photo.

“What the fuck is this?!” he roars.

You.  Every picture is of you.  You stepping off the subway.  You eating a sandwich outside your office.  You having brunch with your friends.  You walking the dog.  You’re wearing so many different outfits in the photos, they must have been taken over several days.  Weeks even.  Din thinks he’s going to be sick - someone has been watching you for weeks.

Since no one has answered, Din thunders again, “What the fuck is this?!” Several of the people sitting, bristle.  Paz looks defeated.  The epiphany that what Paz had been nervous for was Din’s reaction hits suddenly, “Paz, did you know what was in this envelope?!”

Boba, ever calm, but radiating an undercurrent of fury, suggests, “Paz, why don’t you catch Din up in private?  Please rejoin us when you’re ready.”

Paz gestures to a side door and Din follows, still clutching his envelope and the pictures of you.  He waits for the door to the smaller, empty room to close behind him before he goes in on Paz, “Brother, what the hell is going on??”

Paz sighs, “First, I owe you an apology.  You’re right - I knew what was in the envelope.  Actually, I didn’t know, but I had a really good idea.  It didn’t give me any pleasure to see you ambushed like that, brother.”

Din nods, waiting for more.

“A box of envelopes was left outside Peli’s doorstep this morning with a note on top that just said ‘For Boba Fett’.  We checked her cameras and asked around, but there was nothing usable – whoever left the box knew where all the cameras were, where the blind spots are, and they dropped it off at 5 a.m. when there was no one around.”  Paz sighs heavily before continuing.

“Peli called it in and after the box and its contents were cleared, Boba went through it in the late afternoon – he himself got an enveloped filled with pictures of Poe, Lisa and their kids.  Everyone who received an envelope got called in – there are at least 25.  All the envelopes so far contain pictures of loved ones: spouses, partners, family, kids.  All the photos recent.  Bo and Brian’s envelopes contained pictures of their girlfriends.  That’s how I was fairly sure yours had the Lil’ Lady in it.”

Din wordlessly hands over the pictures of you and Paz takes the stack, going through it with a pained expression on his face, “Recent?”

Din nods, “Who the hell did this?  What do they want?  Was there anything else in the box?  What is the fucking point of these photos?!”  Din thinks his brain is going to explode.

Paz shakes his head, “We don’t know.  That’s what we have to find out.”

“But it’s a threat.”

“Yeah.  It feels like a threat.”

Din presses the heels of his hands to his eyes.  His heart and head are pounding, a million thoughts racing through his mind.  Are you safe right now?  He shouldn’t have left you.  No, you’re at Mando’s – there’s nowhere safer.  Had you noticed anyone following you these last couple of weeks?  No, you would have told him.  That means whoever did this was a professional.  And they must have a team, if they were able to take pictures of so many targets over the past few weeks.  Targets.  Fuck.  You were a target.  A voice that Din hasn’t heard in months practically screams in his head: Because of you!! 

His rage and fear suddenly trampled by a new emotion: guilt. 

Beaten, Din looks up at Paz, his voice breaking, “This is why.  This is why… she shouldn’t be with me.  This is what I was always afraid of.  That being with me would put her in danger.  That I would put her in danger.  She’s being threatened because of me.”

Din hangs his head, that old insecurity over bringing you into his life, or rather his life into yours, resurfacing after all these months - ready to tear down the life that he and you had started building together.  How could he have done this to you?  You don’t deserve it.

Paz lays a firm and what he hopes is a reassuring hand on his best friend’s shoulder, “We’ll get who ever did this.  And we’ll keep her safe.  We’ll keep them all safe.”

Din nods, swallowing hard, but unable to peel his thoughts away from images of you.  You in the pictures.  You when he left you tonight.  You smiling at him.  Trusting him.  And then before he could stop it from creeping into his mind, a terrifying vision of you, limp in his arms, hurt.  He closes his eyes and wills himself to breathe, “She has to be safe.”

He follows Paz back into the main boardroom - ready to formulate a plan, to figure out the next steps, to do whatever it takes to bring down whoever was responsible for this transgression against the Family.  Din forces his face to wear the steely visage familiar to those in the room who know him as Boba Fett’s most fearsome enforcer, doing his best to ignore that nagging voice in his head that periodically interjects, “You know what you have to do.”

---

Something has happened tonight.  You can tell.  When you hear Din’s footsteps trudging up the stairs, it’s almost 11 p.m.  He had texted you earlier letting you know he was going to be late, but implored you to save taking Al back until he came home.  You didn’t know about the way his chest tightened when you wrote back to tell him you and Al had gone out and come back already.  As Din gets closer to the top floor, you think you can hear a weariness in those steps, as if he’s shouldering an additional weight.  Meeting him at the door, your heart cracks when you see the furrow of Din’s brow and the exhaustion in his eyes.  Something has happened tonight.

Wordlessly taking Din’s things from him and guiding him to the couch, you straddle Din’s lap and lightly trace his face with your fingers, as if trying to wipe away his worry.  His eyes are closed, his breathing even, but barely controlled.  On more than one occasion, Din has marveled at your talent for being able to soothe and calm him, often with a single touch.  But not tonight.  Tonight, no matter how much you may try, his muscles will not relax, his fists will not unclench, and the tension he carries in his shoulders will not dissipate.

You curl yourself against his hard chest, resting your head on his tightened shoulder and whisper, “Din?  Do you need to use me?  Work out some of this stress?”  Taking his clenched fist, you gently pry open his hand and lay it flat against your own chest, holding it close to your heart.

Din breathes out shakily and opens his eyes to see you looking up at him, wide-eyed with love and concern.   Fuck.  He loves you so much.  And he needs you.  You always know what he needs. 

But he can’t. 

He can’t get the image of the you in those pictures out of his mind – so innocent and unassuming; the idea that someone was looking that same you but with the intention of scaring or hurting you has Din wound up so tight, he’s afraid he might snap at any minute.  Regretfully, he chokes out, “Can’t, pretty bird.  Not this time.  This time… the way I’m feeling right now... I- I might hurt you.  I don’t want to hurt you.”

You can see how hard Din’s struggling and you want to cry for him.  Cupping his rough, tired face in your dainty hands, you kiss him softly and nod, not wanting to add to his burden.

“I think I need to go work it out in the gym, baby.  Take it out on some bags.  Then maybe catch-up on some work.  I’m still behind on paperwork for the gym because of the other stuff that was going on before,” Din sighs.

“If you want, I can take on some of the admin, like tax forms and stuff.  You know I’m good at that,” you offer, wanting to be at least some help.

Against all odds, Din smiles.  How do you do that? “That would be wonderful, sweetheart.  Thank you.”

You relax into his chest, but when Din’s hold on your waist remains tight and his breathing stays sharp, you climb off his lap and prod him gently, “Don’t be too long, baby,” letting your hand linger on his cheek for a moment longer before going to get ready for bed.

---

When you wake in the middle of the night, it’s just past 1:30 a.m. and you’re alone in bed.  Sitting up, you listen for Din but the apartment is silent except for Al’s soft snores.  Where’s Din?  You throw on a long cardigan over your lace trimmed sleep set and grab your keys, padding downstairs.  Opening the door to Mando’s second-floor landing, you hear the thump thump thump of gloves hitting a bag.  Quietly, you walk across the walkway and down the opposing side stairs, coming upon where Din’s working a hanging punching bag.  His shoulders are up, his back muscles tense and glistening with sweat; his gloved fists flying at the bag in consistent intervals, over and over and over, with a force that sends the bag nearly swinging each time.

You don’t know how long Din’s been at this, but judging from his laboured breathing and the beads of perspiration that have rolled down his back, dampening the waistband of his sweatpants, you’re guessing it’s a while.  You can feel his exhaustion rolling off his body in waves from where you stand.  Din’s so hyper focused, you don’t think he’ll even hear you if you call his name, and for a moment, you’re not sure how you’ll get his attention without needlessly startling him; but Din solves the problem for you when you see him pause in his attack, holding the bag still with his gloves and resting this forehead against the leather, breathing tired and shallow.

“Din?” you call out delicately, you’re close enough to him now that you can see the fatigue that lines his face.  It takes you a moment to put a name to the look he gives you, but when you do, your heart nearly shatters.  It’s defeat.  Din’s looking at you, but his eyes are far away, downcast and weary.  His frame, held so tight and tense, droops and deflates as he takes in your figure walking gingerly towards him, as if all the agitation and aggression that he’s been trying to work out over the past few hours simply floats out of his body, along with all his power and determination.  Your big strong man is broken and you don’t know why.

Bringing your hand to his cheek, you exhale with relief when you feel Din lean into your soft touch, eyes closing and face somewhat relaxing; he’s still here, your Din.  Silently, you take his gloved hand with your free one and lead him to the boxing ring.  Using the little stairs tucked into front right corner, you walk up to the raised platform and duck under the ropes to stand in the ring, holding your hand out to Din, beckoning him to join you.  As if in a trance, Din heeds your unspoken request; removing his gloves before meeting you in the middle of the ring, still looking at you with an expression that further breaks your heart – one of failure, resignation.  Holding his face in your hands, you bring it down to yours and press your lips to Din’s – tenderly, warily, so not to spook him.  When Din’s eyes close and you feel him melt against your mouth, you trail your lips to the other parts of him that need your attention. 

Din keeps his eyes closed and uses his remaining energy to mentally track the path of kisses that you lay across his jaw and down his throat.  You dot kisses along his collar bones and over the expanse of his wide chest; flitting out your tongue to taste the saltiness of the sweat that still clings to his hard pecs and his solid midsection.  You squeeze each arm and massage gentle circles over his muscles with your skilled fingers, working down from his flexed biceps to the raised veins of his forearms and ending at his still wrapped hands that you raise to your lips, delicately nipping at his exposed fingertips.  Din revels in your soft fairy-like touch and the heaven of your soft lips against his rough skin.

He opens his eyes only when he feels you slide his sweatpants down past his hips, eyes coming into focus to you see you on your knees before him, cardigan shrugged off to reveal barely there sleepwear that matches the sultry gaze that peers up at him.  Wordlessly, you take him in your mouth.

Hearing Din hiss above you, you work his length gently in your soft mouth, feeling him harden under the efforts of your lips and tongue.  When you feel both his hands come to a gentle resting grip in your hair, you flash a doe-eyed look at him, trying to gauge from his expression what he needs.  What you find is Din, eyes closed and mouth slack – tension and pressure finally evaporated from his body, his face burden free; you hum in pride and vow to suck, lick and tease every last remaining drop of agitation from him.  Rhythmically bobbing your head over Din’s cock, you let him hit the back of your throat repeatedly as you gently fondle his balls with your small hands until you feel them tighten and you hear Din’s heaving breaths above you.  Pulling off of his perfect dick, you see a flash of surprise in Din’s eyes as they snap open; you make sure he’s watching as you dip your hand down your sleep shorts and start to rub your clit through your already drenched panties.

When you see a dark hunger replace the look of surprise on Din’s face, you use your free hand to pull on his wrist so he’ll join you down on the mat.  Mouth latching to yours open mouthed, needy, violent, Din allows you to maneuver his strong frame easily so that he lays beneath you; you shimmy out of your shorts and panties before straddling him, hovering over his already weeping cock.  Normally both so vocal during sex, no words are exchanged between you and Din tonight.  Every question and want expressed only through looks and touch - communicating heart to heart, mind to mind.  When Din removes your top, you realize it’s the first time he’s really touching your body since you came downstairs - his touch is desperate, gripping, tortured.  You let him grab and grope your breasts, waist, stomach, arms, hips and thighs with a fervent need, as if he needs to prove, convince himself that you’re all there. 

Notching him at your entrance, you feel Din’s hand snake up the valley of your breasts and come to a rest around your neck.  Lolling your head back to give him more access, you follow the direction of his firm grip and sink down on Din’s dick; your movements guided by the pressure that Din puts on your neck, letting him pull you down until you’re fully sheathed on his throbbing cock.  Keeping pace with the flex of Din’s fingers on your throat, you bounce – ignoring the sting of pain from having taken him with no prep; no matter – your overstretch walls soon flooded with arousal as your movements quicken and your breaths sharpen, dizzy from your airway being constricted.

Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you ride Din with abandon – there's no dirty talk, praise or degradation tonight, the only sounds echoing off the walls of the empty gym are the urgent slapping of skin on skin and Din’s loud animalistic moans and grunts.  For Din, this is primal, physical, making sure you’re real and that he can touch you, hold you – you’re here, within his grasp.  Safe.

Keeping one hand on your neck, as if tethering you to him via your airway, your lifeline, Din is hypnotized by the sight of you on top of him – pretty tits bouncing, pert and perky.  You’re beautiful.  Perfect.  That you give yourself over to him so readily when you already give him so much fills him to the brim with emotion: you trust him with your heart, your body, your life.  He inches a finger towards the tight ring of your ass, pressing in past the initial resistance and feels your pussy flutter around his cock once he slips in.  Always so willing to take.  Because you trust him.  Love him.

Fuck, he loves you more.

Crying out as you come, you clench down hard on Din’s cock but don’t stop moving, determined to fuck yourself through it; Din follows shortly after, spilling himself to the look of euphoria on your face.

No words are exchanged as you gather your things and lead Din upstairs after turning off the lights in the gym.  And still none when you guide him into the hot shower, washing his tired body under the spray of the water steaming up the bathroom.  Din is barely awake – eyes shut as he lets you wash his hair, only partially registering the soft touch of your fingers against his scalp.  Melting into your sweet kisses to his lips, chest and back, he slips further towards dreamland.

Silent even as you dry him and dress him in a pair of clean pajamas, Din, exhausted from the physical exertion of trying to punch out his frustrations and the mental load of what he learned today, completely dissociates from everything except the warmth of your presence.

Only once he’s laid down on his side of his bed, head already sinking into his pillow and lips tingling from your goodnight kiss does Din speak, “I love you so much, pretty bird.  How will I ever live without you?”

All you can do is smile when you see your hulk of a man finally relaxed enough to drift off towards sleep.  You’re so relieved to have managed to put him to bed that you don’t notice he isn’t utilizing the hypothetical.

Not ‘How would I ever live without you?’ but will.

[optimisticgardenhologram]

Well, another day another crackpot theory. Here we go - for second to last day!

So we all know that one way or another Mello definitely tricked Takada's bodyguard into entrusting him with Takada during the events that turned out to be kidnapping, but I'm wondering if he may have gone a step further-- like he may have actually infiltrated their organization and gotten an actual job with them?? 

...I am aware how out there this sounds but hear me out. 

Supporting evidence:

Let me begin with just a contextual note about how out of touch Halle Lidner was with the SPK during the events in Japan. In chapter 92 Rester mentions they (Near and the others) can't contact her directly because her phone is being monitored, and that she wasn't told the SPK's Tokyo location with the reasoning it would prevent her from being controlled to act against them. Makes sense. So anytime we see her in the scenes with Near (which happens rarely) she has to sneak away from her job and essentially join their Zoom call. After the awkward dinner where Misa and Takada fight Halle doesn't get in touch with them until 4 days later because she 'never gets time to herself'. 

It's not surprising that her job is demanding, given how high profile it is and how seriously Takada's security is taken - as Rester said, it's almost impossible to get close to her, and with her practically impenetrable layers of ultra aggressive bodyguards she's better guarded than the American President.

It's interesting given these circumstances that she seems to remain regularly in touch with Mello. During the silent scenes in chapter 97 there's a very interesting section that shows:

1)  Takada's fleet of guard vehicles, and prominently at the front of which is a large two-seater motorcycle.

2) Mello observing Halle and Takada from afar, in fact it seems the location the binoculars are watching from is located in a room INSIDE the NHN building, the headquarters of where Takada works.

3) a panel where Halle's shown on the phone (presumably given the context) with Mello telling him the details of Takada's schedule/planner book. Meanwhile Takada is sitting a few feet away and distractedly talking to someone else. This is interesting because we know, as Rester said, Halle's phone records are monitored. So here either she's very brazenly using a different unauthorized phone right in front of her employer and the other guards, or she's on her work phone calling an "approved" number. On the other hand it wouldn't necessarily be weird for her to be providing Takada's calendar details and movements to other members of her guard so they can coordinate schedules.

4) The last panels in this short series, shows a non-descript apartment building and Halle on the phone again - this time showing, as we will come to realize in the chapter 104 flashback, the final conversation between her and Mello - the one where she tells him Near's planning to end the case, and he replies "I have no choice but to do this."

Ok now skipping to Chapter 98, Mello and Matt's heist.

So January 26th the scene starts out with a shot of Takada's guard fleet, again the motorcycle prominently at the front.

As Takada's steps out of her car outside the NHN building, Matt blows in with his smokebomb gun causing a huge commotion. As the bodyguards are about to usher her inside, suddenly Mello is there on the same type of motorcycle we saw riding with her fleet in the earlier panels. He says it's too dangerous to stick around the area and to go with him. Halle recognizes him and agrees and encourages Takada to get on the motorbike. She also tells the rest of the team "A" to escort the bike and team "B" to go after the car. It's very unclear in canon just how much Halle knew about this plan beforehand (if anything even), but it is somewhat surprising to me how immediately she decided to go along with him, despite knowing that whatever he had in store for Takada it wasn't truly to help her, and that by giving Takada to Mello this would probably ruin Near's plan. Though again how much she even knew about the details of Near's plan is also unknown - I don't think she knows everything given she is being intentionally kept at arms length from them so that she can't be controlled by Kira against them.

I also think it's interesting that the army of highly trained and very serious guards would allow some unknown person to get so close to begin with - even if he's sort of disguised (but not really because his face is visible through the helmet's visor) and has the same style bike, you would think they'd still be able to tell a stranger from one of their own? Like when Mello calls out offering to take her away to safety none of the bodyguards seem put off by him being there. And don't seem to have raised flags about there being a bike that's not part of their typical cohort being among them. Though their defenses being down (counterintuitively - they were focused on the wrong thing) absolutely might just be tied in to the overall confusion and chaos at the scene though. 

So Takada gets on the bike, then they (Mello + Takada plus her guards' cars) start driving away in formation together and everyone seems satisfied. And once they are away from the scene, instructions come from one of the guards who says "Ok she's safe now. Get Lady Takada into car 7"......so this is interesting because, 

1) he is addressing Mello directly...remember Mello is on a motorcyle (which is very loud) and the speaker is in a car....so logic dictates he must be using a radio/speaker system to be able to communicate with the other guards, and he obviously expects the motorcycle to hear the command.

2) Saying "get her into car 7" is in-group specific language that implies Mello should know which car is number 7 and what is the process to "get her into it".  Of course, we don't know that he just *expects* Mello to be connected to their communication system and doesn't realize if he isn't and therefore doesn't hear the order/communication. Nonetheless the guard leader/speaker *thinks* he is.

At this point, when the guards cars think she is safe, Mello suddenly cuts away into a narrow alley and only then do the bodyguards realize she's been kidnapped.

So, basically that concludes my argument for why this theory is...possible? I'm well aware there's a number of issues with it that are unaddressed here, like wouldn't the other guards think it's odd that there's a foreigner amongst them? But interestingly I wonder if her circle of protection is more diverse than one might assume and include Kira-worshippers from around the world? Since Takada's own closest guards are not all Japanese - Halle being the obvious example, the same might be true for the more distant members of her guard complement as well. And Halle, as Takada's most trusted bodyguard may have been able to vouch for him to join the crew, or at least hook him up with equipment intended for insiders-only to be able to penetrate their ranks. With Mello's good social skills and fluency in Japanese it wouldn't be surprising if he could pull it off, especially if Halle helped him.

Another flaw is wouldn't Mello be concerned about Takada herself seeing his face and recognizing him? Since he must assume since the Japanese Task Force members know his face they'd be able to describe him to a sketch artist or something. To this I just propose that Takada has an extremely large staff of security, so there's likely ones just in the background that she doesn't interact with much or at all. And she is rather...how did Near put it - "a wannabe queen" - she probably doesn't take the time to get to know or even notice who the lesser members of her security team are, and it'd probably be easy to avoid being in close proximity to her if one wanted. 

Is it more likely that Mello didn't go that extreme extent and instead just infiltrated the guard in the regular way; by observing them, getting to know their movements via Halle, and then getting the same model of bike to take advantage of the chaotic situation he and Matt created and slip in to whisk away Takada in the confusion? Yes probably. 

But I found these details captivating and love overthinking and cooking up a good weirdo (but defensible within canon material) theory. I'd love anyone else's comments -criticism welcome too, I have a thick skin- on this idea.

[cafeinthemoon]

It's a Fire - Chapter II

Chapter 2

Wordcount 4,4k

Title The Porch and the Table

Fandom Kimetsu no Yaiba / Demon Slayer

Previous chapter

1

Symbols ⭕➕🖤

Warnings: mentions of grieving and parent loss; alcohol consumption

Tagging ? (If you want to be tagged in any of my stories, just leave a comment on this chapter or send an ask or a message)

N. A.: So this chapter is a bit longer than the first, but I think I should've stopped worrying about this by now hahaha I need to concentrate on what happens in each chapter and how the events move the story forward.

In this one's case, I've cut off rhe details of her arrival at Rengoku house and jumped to the beginning of her adaptation there, which includes her interactions with the staff and, specially, with her stepson, Senjuro. Of all the elements I want to explore in this ff, their relationship is one of my favorite things, so expect a strong bond to be created between them 🥺💜

About Shinjuro's appearances: I'm trying to bring a sort of growing tension each time he's around instead of just making his unpleasant traits too evident right from the start, bc I want reader to figure out the problems in her new house little by little, then trying to deal with them and make herself as comfortable as possible until she snaps and decides otherwise (spoilers haha)

I already know how I want this story to end though I just started writing it, and I believe I'll too much fun unveiling the light and and darkness in each of these characters.

Hope you enjoy this exploration mission with me 🖤

The servant sent by your father was walking in and out your new room at that moment, to bring your belongings to it. Since he was the only person who came with you, you offered to work with him, but the man declined, stating that there weren’t many things to carry and that he would soon be done.

— You made a good work packing your things even in such a small time, y/n-sama — he commented with gentleness — It made things easy.

You laughed.

— Well, I’ve tried my best. But if you’re okay with this, I’ll leave you alone. Thank you for everything.

You entered the room and, out of his sight, checked the spot where you left your sword, a place where it’d be difficult for someone to take it from; you sighed in relief with the vision of the weapon, and left to take a walk outside. There was a few spaces where you were given permission to wander – all of them separated from the parts of the house where the deceased members of your husband’s family used to stay – so, not having much to do right now (and, honestly, not knowing what to do), you were going to use the walk as an excuse to deliberate.

The wedding happened in the morning, but now it was almost midday. Your mood was no better than earlier, but you already sensed part of you accepting your new reality. You didn’t know if it was good or not, and didn’t want to figure it now, preferring to leave your mind free to think about how to act towards the circumstances.

The Rengoku House was as large and solemn as a samurai’s residence, with a wooden, rectangular structure to mark its entry, followed by a short path that led to the front doors. The building itself was raised under the traditional architecture, with two wide wings on each side and a porch to surround its premises. On the outside it was surrounded by trees, bushes and flowers; besides, the maid who led you to your room talked about the existence of a garden, but didn’t let it clear if you could visit it or not. Whatever the case, you thought it was a beautiful and silent compound you had there, despite the sensation of sadness that lingered in each spot you’ve passed by. Another thing you observed was the low number of servants, considering the house’s size, a suggestion that the Rengoku were facing problems that were similar to the ones in your father’s house – that was the only reason you could find for them to accept the good dowry that was offered alongside your hand. It was unnerving, you thought, unable to shake the feeling that you came to live there at the worst moment possible.

You then started to consider your new life as a married woman, and came to the conclusion that you weren’t getting such life at all. As soon as you arrived, you were informed that you wouldn’t share a room with your husband: yours would be in the same corridor as his, but in opposite sides; apparently, he was a man who cherished his privacy enough to organize things in a way that many would consider uncommon, to say the least. This idea seemed correct when you were led to meet your room, because as soon as you entered the house, Shinjuro ordered a maid to take care of you and walked to the other direction, disappearing from your sight, and until that moment you haven’t heard of him. Now that you remembered this, the prudent part of you was relieved that you weren’t going to share your personal space with an individual you just met, but another one, prideful, was a little outraged by the fact that you were dismissed right in your first day as a wife. Were you that uninteresting?

As you walked to an open area, your thoughts changed to lighter directions. You were content to see that the few servants you’ve met were kind enough to give you clear instructions and answer your questions concerning locations, meals and general rules, even though you couldn’t shake the sensation that they were a bit skittish, specially when they thought Shinjuro was near, but since he hasn’t appear to cause any problems you tried not to think of it. You were also relieved to observe that they did their best to keep the house clean and organized, which included your room: though you weren’t at ease with your situation, it was good to have a positive thing to point out in it.

You were thinking about this very thing when you looked around and realized your feet led you to the house’s entry again. You looked ahead and saw you weren’t alone there: a boy, not older than fourteen, was using a broom to clean the area; he worked slowly, perhaps taking care not to raise much dust, and you noticed his concentration from your spot, meters away. But what really caught your attention was the fact that he wasn’t dressed as a servant… and, well, he could never be, for he was the living reflection of the house’s head.

You remembered your mother told you that Shinjuro had two sons, but she didn’t tell you much more; maybe she never met this one. But the same silence coming from his own father was incomprehensible.

He didn’t tell me anything about this boy. Not even his name. What the hell…?

Your throat tightened when you wondered what kind of environment this kid must have been inserted.

Before your imagination could go any further, the boy saw you and stopped working. You approached him and one look at his face made you realize that the concentration you first observed wasn’t but sadness. You also noticed that his resemblance with Shinjuro was limited to his physical looks: apart from the thick eyebrows and the flaming hair, he carried a much kinder expression, with a freshness you doubted his father has ever owned, even in his youth days.

You decided not to bother him by asking about his moods, instead opting for a gentle approach.

— Hello — you smiled; and, looking around, — It seems a lot of work for one to do by themselves.

The boy showed you a hesitant smile, and his tone matched it when he replied to you.

— I know, but I don’t mind. It’s a good way to pass the time.

A moment of silence, and you noticed he wanted to continue the conversation, but struggled to find the words.

— It looks like you want to ask me something — you encouraged him.

— Yes, I do — a note of relief was sensed in his voice, as if you just did him a favor — I just don’t know how to ask this without bothering you. So… are you my father’s new wife?

The tight in your throat returned, but you forced a smile on your lips.

This is enough embarrassing for me. It doesn’t need to be like this to him as well.

— Yes, I am. My name is y/n. My family is from the (…) land. And you must be Rengoku-sama’s younger son.

— Yes. I’m Senjuro.

— That’s a good name, Senjuro-san — and, trying to imprint a comforting note in your voice, — And don’t worry, you could never bother me simply by asking this. I’m really content to meet you. You know, it’s relieving to talk casually to someone for the first time in days. It’s been a busy week, this one.

Now, Senjuro seemed to be more at ease. Maybe his days have been busy in their own way, and speaking with a new acquaintance was a welcoming change in the routine.

— I can imagine that – he commented – By the way, do you need help with something, y/n-sama?

You suddenly waved your hands in a gesture of refusal.

— Oh, no please, don’t call me like that! Y/n will do — you laughed — And, thank you, but I’ve already organized most of the things in my room. The rest will find their place with time — you sighed — For now, I just want to breathe fresh air. Fortunately, it’s a beautiful day we have now.

Senjuro observed the sky, the vivid blue spotted with big, white clouds, and agreed. You imitated him and looked at the weather with a smile.

— It's almost midday… – and, turning to him, – You know, when I was at my parents’ home, we used to eat our lunch on the porch on sunny days. Is there any problem in doing this here? What does your father think of it?

The boy shrugged.

— He doesn’t care at all. But he hates to see leftovers on the porch.

— It’s understandable — you giggled — So, how about we have lunch together on the porch? I’m still a bit lost here, so eating at the table won’t make me feel at will, but I’d still like to have company.

— It’s okay for me — he smiled.

You were afraid that Senjuro was going to see your approach as invasive, so it was with relief you heard him accepting your invitation.

— Right! I’ll ask the maid to bring our food to my room’s porch, then.

He frowned.

— Where is exactly your room? I thought you were going to, you know, stay with my father.

Your heart skipped a beat at that question, but you didn’t let out your discomfort.

– Your father decided that I’m getting a room of my own. Don’t ask me why! – you shrugged, a low laugh escaping your mouth.

You then explained the location to him, and he replied he would go there in a few minutes.

***

Lunch time was quiet and pleasing.

You found the maid who showed your room and asked her to bring food for two to your chambers. When you explained your plans to her, at first you though she was going to argue, maybe considering the possibility of having Shinjuro scolding her for allowing his wife to make a mess right in her first day at the new house, but she just agreed and asked you to wait until she brought the bowls for you and Senjuro.

After the meal itself, you’ve spent some time sitting on the porch and talking. At the same time you spoke to him about yourself, you’ve found out interesting things about your new family from your stepson.

– So… How did you and my father meet, y/n? – was his first, natural question.

– The story is a bit long, but if you have patience I can tell you – you smiled – My parents use to know your family, or so I was told. My mother was a member of the Demon Slayer Corps. She was a (…) Rank, and came in contact with your father during work. She never explained in details how missions work in the Corps, but apparently she was given a task that proved to be more difficult than it seemed at first, so she and her group were supported by Rengoku-sama. They’ve became acquaintances since then – you took the cup of juice from the tray where your bowls were brought – She met your elder brother once, when he was just a child.

You saw a glow of excitement appearing in the boy’s reddish eyes.

– She did?

– Yes! – you laughed – And she always spoke good things about your family – your smile faded a bit with the next sentence – It was like this until she passed away.

– I’m sorry for this – he replied – You know, my mother passed away when I was little. I can barely remember her.

You put a hand on his shoulder.

– It’s difficult without them. I know.

He nodded in agreement.

Talking about your mother, even though it required remembering her absence, was the easy part of the narrative, and your heart was calm while telling it. What would come after it, however, was a different story. Still, verbalizing those events to an attentive listener like Senjuro did you some good, for you managed to leave the bitterness out of your tone.

– Unlike my mother, my father never revealed to be familiar with yours until days ago, when he told me he contacted Rengoku-sama to ask for help.

– Help? How so?

– There has been little to no protection against Oni in our lands since my mother’s death, so the people who lived in the villages around have been suffering – you explained – Things became difficult even in our house, and half of our servants were fired or decided to leave. My father thought it was a good idea to contact yours and offer my hand in marriage in exchange for his protection, and somehow your father said yes – you put the cup back on the tray, lying your hands on your lap and trying not to show the trembling in them – I didn’t know about the offer until the week when the wedding should take place, and your father and I have never met before the ceremony’s day.

That part of the story seemed intriguing to Senjuro as well. Maybe he didn’t think his father was the type of person who’d accept a contract with such terms, or he was simply caught in surprise by being informed about the wedding with a few days in antecedence just like you. Whatever the case, both of you could easily agree that this situation was embarrassing, to say the least.

– That’s why I was a bit afraid earlier, you understand? – you shrugged – It’s been probably years since the last time my father saw yours, and without my mother to support us, I had no idea what I was going to find once I arrived at your house – you giggled – So, thank you for accepting my invitation and eating with me.

Senjuro imitated your gesture and left his own up on the tray, between the bowls.

– That’s okay, y/n. I've actually had my meals alone for a long time, so it was good to have company today – he replied with gentleness – I really liked to meet you.

You were intrigued with the revelation of him eating alone in his own house, but you wouldn’t question him right now. Instead, you replied that you liked meeting him as well.

The boy stood up and nodded, thanking you for the meal. But, before leaving, he turned one more time, as if he forgot to tell you something.

– You know, when I found out my father was going to marry again, I was really afraid.

You frowned.

– Afraid? Why?

He hesitated.

– Well, I… thought he was trying to replace my mother with someone else, but I’m relieved to see this isn’t true – and, urging a shy smile to let it clear that his words had no hostility, – You’re a good person, y/n.

You gave him a smile of comprehension. Of course, the worst fear of a young boy who lost his mother so soon in his life and then his big brother was concerning the kind of people his father would decide to bring under the same roof as him. Your father never met anyone after your mother, so you never had to worry about this, but if you were Senjuro's age, you’d feel the same way.

– No one can replace your mother, Senjuro-san. Actually, no one should try, me included. But it’s going to be good if we continue to get along.

For the first time, you saw him opening a smile with no signs of embarrassment or mistrust.

– I agree with you.

***

After Senjuro left to continue his tasks, you took the tray with the bowls to give them back to the kitchen. You were planning to come back to your room and carry on with the organization of your belongings: though you said to your stepson that the work was almost done in this sense, you knew you weren’t going to finish it that day.

You were walking through the corridor, thinking of this, when a shadow appeared: someone was blocking your way. You startled and raised your eyes to find Shinjuro standing before you. No word came from his mouth; his mere look was enough to make you step back.

– Rengoku-sama – you murmured – Can I help you?

Instead of answering your question, he lowered his eyes to the tray.

– Who ate lunch with you? Senjuro?

You promptly confirmed. The man stared at you for a moment, and it was impossible to tell if he was surprised or displeased.

You tried to justify yourself.

– I paused the organizations at my room and took a walk outside. I met Senjuro-san at the house’s entry. I invited him to eat lunch with me and he said yes.

Shinjuro seemed to accept this explanation, though no contentment was detected in his expression.

– I see. I hope he hasn’t bothered you.

– Absolutely not – you frowned, confused – I don’t see any reasons for him to bother me.

Again, he seemed to approve your reply, but that didn’t mean he was happy with what he heard, and his next words made it clear.

– It’s good that you’ve shown patience towards him. He can be too soft sometimes, even talking too much.

Talking too much? That Senjuro, who was constantly trying to measure his words when asking things to you? Were you speaking about the same boy?

Well, you couldn’t understand why your husband was saying such things about his own son, but considering that he didn’t even mind telling you his name, it didn’t seem reasonable for you to take his words into account.

– Well, I was very pleased to meet my stepson – you stated, taking a step to the side to indicate you were heading to the kitchen that moment – And, to me, he spoke enough. Not much, not less.

Maybe Shinjuro wasn’t expecting your reply, or maybe he didn’t want to carry on with that conversation just like you, but he commented that “at least you two got along” and how much discomfort you were all spared from thanks to this. He walked past you and left with no additional words, leaving you with intriguing thoughts.

***

Apart from other few times when you spoke to the maid or when you met Senjuro, you’ve spent most of that day by yourself, unpacking clothes and other objects, trying to figure out the best way to keep them together in your new room. The place itself was similar to your chambers in your parents’ house, both in place and shape, which somehow made things easy, yet the whole aspect of the room, aside the conscience of not being in the house you grew up in, wouldn’t let you feel entirely at will inside it. The color of the walls, the room’s position in the building, the texture of the floor, the smell of it… Everything screamed that you weren’t at home.

Your husband’s whereabouts were a mystery and, honestly, you weren’t missing his rigid presence and stern tone. He hasn’t said a word about his routine and habits, so that you didn’t know if he left the house at some point during the day, if he spent his hours in his own room, an office or anywhere else or if you should expect to see him again before the next day; being left in the dark was unnerving, of course, but not getting much useful information from the few contact you had with that man, you’d rather not to seek for him.

Shinjuro himself was a mystery to you, too.

Now that you had time to think about this, you found yourself trying to understand his real reasons to accept this marriage. Sure, your dowry was very encouraging, but one day that money would end and you would still be there, and then what? Would he kick you out of his house and replace you for a richer girl? It was too soon to tell if he was capable of such thing, but the money excuse still sounded superficial to you: accepting someone you’ve never seen before in your house just to receive a financial benefit? It didn’t make much sense. Or did he want someone to look out for Senjuro? Well, you already let it clear to the boy that you weren’t there to replace his mother, and nothing about parenting was said in the contract. Besides, Senjuro was no longer a child; the type of education he needed was beyond the one you could ever give to him: you were a well educated woman, but your education was still a female one, so that apart some lessons in Literature and sword movements you were sure he already knew, there weren’t much you could teach him; it was better to hire a tutor or invite a relative.

You were holding a pile of folded clothes at that moment. You put it on an open drawer, sat on the floor and sighed. There you had a mission you didn’t ask for.

Wasn’t it enough to make me move to this place? Do I really need to try and unveil what goes on in this man’s head? As if he would let me...

You decided to take some rest both from your task and those annoying deliberations.

***

It was only in the next morning that you heard of him again.

That time, you decided you were going to have breakfast at the table, so you woke up early, washed your face and prepared yourself.

When you arrived at the kitchen, Senjuro was already there, filling his bowl in silence. He raised his eyes when you approached and knelt in the spot in front of his.

– Good morning, Senjuro-san – you gave him a soft smile while taking your own bowl.

– Good morning, y/n.

The meal had all the reasons to be calm and quiet, and you were glad for it. You haven’t had a good night of sleep, so the last thing you needed was tension right in the morning…

But the sudden shift in the air and the change in Senjuro’s posture let you knew you weren’t going to get what you wished: you turned your head to the entry and saw Shinjuro passing through it and walking to the head of the table without a word or a look to his son or to you. He sat and just started filling his bowl, something that wouldn’t mean anything if it wasn’t for the fact that he landed a large, already opened bottle of sake on the table.

You swallowed.

Drinking at this hour? Seriously?

You glanced at Senjuro, and the boy, as if knowing better, immediately turned his attention back to his food. You tried to do the same, but Shinjuro had another surprise, this second one directed related to you.

You saw his hand pushing a paper toward you over the table. You left the hashi aside and took the paper; it was a letter.

– A letter? To me?

– It’s from your father – was the reply – He told me he would be writing to you right after you moved to my house.

You stared at the folded paper for a while, without giving him a verbal response. When you heard that it was written by your father, your curiosity somehow died inside you, and any wish to read what was in there disappeared. You left the letter on the table and grabbed your hashi again.

The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by your husband.

– Won’t you open it?

You raised your eyes to him, not hiding the tiredness of the last days.

– No. I won’t.

Shinjuro naturally thought you were saying you were going to read it later, and the same could be said about Senjuro. So it wasn’t without confusion that they observed you giving up on the food for the second time, taking the letter and standing up.

There was an oven on the other side of the kitchen, which fire has been fed with coal. You calmly headed to it and, not thinking of how what you were doing was going to be seen by the presents, you tossed the letter in the flames.

You went back to your spot and found father and son staring at you in disbelief, each one for different reasons. Senjuro was probably shocked to see someone dismissing the words of a parent with no hesitation; you were actually content with that, for it was a sign that he has been taught good family principles. Shinjuro, on the other hand, had nothing but indignation with what he just saw: what kind of daughter treats her own father like this? Well, if only he had a father who treated him like yours, maybe he could understand.

They were waiting for a verbal explanation, of course, and you gave it to them.

– Senjuro-san, I’m sorry that you had to see this, but I won’t apologize for what I did. I just cannot – you said to the boy; and, turning to his father with a much lower tone, – Thank you for giving the letter to me, Rengoku-sama, but I ask you to do the same thing I did if more come. I don’t want to read them.

You saw the twist on his lips and knew exactly what he was thinking. Brat. Stubborn, ungrateful girl and many other unpleasing ways to describe a young woman who didn’t act as expected might have come to his mind that time, as well as the idea of a long, difficult path he was going to follow in his life beside you. You certainly didn’t want things to be this hard between you, and an ache in your heart reminded you of this, but this has already started in the least favorable circumstances; what should be expected, then?

What your husband said to you after this, however, had more to do with the practical aspect of things than with his personal opinion on ungrateful girls.

– Why didn’t you at least read it first? How could you know there wasn’t something important in it?

– There wasn’t – it was your prompt reply, not completely devoid of sadness – If my father had anything important to say, he would’ve done it before I left his house.

He frowned, a gesture that in his case would draw more attention than in any other individual, and spent a moment in silence, staring at you and measuring your words before grabbing the bottle of sake and drinking directly from it. You observed the firmness with which his hand left the bottle on the table after it, making a thump on the wood, and couldn’t help wonder that if you were a boy and he was angry, he could’ve yelled at you and even smacked you, but having you putting all your politeness in your words was enough to hold himself in place.

The rest of the meal went in uneasy silence, each of you lost in your own thoughts and you claiming to yourself the task of dissolving the connection with your father and keeping an eye on your stepson whenever your husband was around.

Chapter 3

[toriisasimp]

Chapter 1 of ?: Just Ask

An Egon Spengler x fem!reader Mini Series

Prompt: Yet another Ghostbusters press event is nearing, and once the secret is spilled of a certain scientist who wants to take you as a date, you decide to investigate for yourself.

Warnings: None!

A/N: First chapter of a mini series I’m working on. Not sure if it’s actually going to be a mini series or a full fic, but we’ll see! Egon and reader have already kind of been flirting with each other. You’ve also been working at the firehouse for a few months now. Enjoy! <3

-

It was nearing dinner time, and Janine had clocked out early for a date with Louis. You bid her goodnight with a warm smile and wave, and settled yourself behind the receptionist desk, propping up your feet and opening up one of the books you sneaked from Egon’s collection in the lab.

Finally, some peace and quiet..

You hear your name shouted by Peter, who comes stomping down the staircase with Ray hot on his tail.

“Go cool your boyfriend! He won’t listen to us!”

“..He’s not my boyfriend, Venkman.” You specify blankly, only briefly peeking over the top of your book to eye him coming around the corner and walking up to the desk.

“It sure seems like he thinks so.” Ray pipes up, folding his arms.

“What did you guys do to upset him now?” You flip the page, ignoring Ray’s comment.

“We didn’t do anything. He’s just throwing one of those dramatic fits of his where he shuts completely down and doesn’t speak to anyone, other than snapping at Ray for eating all the Cheez-Its.”

“Valid reason to be upset.” You shrug it off. You and Egon are both extremely territorial over your snacks. So much so that you end up labeling them with a permanent marker so the other boys know what they can and can’t touch.

“Not the point. The point is, you need to go up there and work your..” Venkman wiggles his fingers. “Womanly magic to get him to break. It’s getting annoying.”

“What? Not having him correct your incorrect scientific so-called ‘knowledge’,” you throw up some air quotes, “That you just spew out on a whim is annoying?”

“YES.” Ray and Peter both speak at the same time.

You huff and slide the bookmark back into your book before shutting it, pulling your legs off the desk and setting the book down before you rise up.

“It could be that he’s upset because of the gala.” Ray murmurs, more in Peter’s direction.

You pause halfway to the steps, turning your head back around.

“What gala?”

The two of them look at you like they’re a deer in the headlights.

“Whoops.” Ray grits his teeth.

“The gala at the Museum of Natural History? The one you guys got invited to? What about it?”

“You see, he was going to-” Peter starts talking, before Ray sends a fist to his gut from the side.

“Peter!”

“What?” He throws his hands up. “She’s gonna find out soon enough!”

Ray rolls his eyes and grumbles, looking away as Peter rubs the spot on his stomach before continuing.

“He was going to,” His voice lowered a few notches. “He was going to ask you to be his date. But I’m convinced he’s having some emotional conflict and mood swings because he doesn’t think you want to go with him.”

You stand there, in slight shock. “He told you this?” You perk a brow.

“He tells us a lot, kid.” Ray speaks up again, folding his arms once more and leaning against the desk with a slight tilt of his head.

“Of course, ‘bro-code’ or whatever. I get it. I’ll ask him about it-”

“NO!” They both stand swiftly.

“Why?” You stop again, at the bottom of the steps.

“That man will literally, and I mean literally, have our heads if he finds out we told you about that.” Peter pleads.

You go back and forth glaring at both of them, rolling your eyes before sighing.

“Fine, fine. I won’t ask about it.” You slowly start making your way up the steps to the next floor. “But please, give us some privacy. Do not eavesdrop.”

“That’s the spirit, go rub one out for your man!” Peter whoops, and you shake your head.

“You’re disgusting, Venkman.”

-

At the top of the steps, the soft music from a boombox on the kitchen table grows louder, and you spot Egon, with his back facing you. He’s at the corner workbench, hunched over a microscope.

You slowly approach, tugging your shirt sleeves over your hands and folding your arms. You admire him for a moment, how he’s so focused, his hands subtly turning the knobs of the machine to scope in on the slide he’s examining.

“Spengler,” You speak up, and Egon doesn’t even jump, he just murmurs your name in acknowledgement as he stays put in his hunched position.

“Are you doing alright?” You walk up to the bench, leaning against the corner, tilting your head slightly.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be alright?” He speaks again, finally rising up and turning to scribble down some notes in a nearby open notebook.

“Just checking in..” You murmured defensively, approaching even further to stand next to him. “What are you working on?”

“Logging ectoplasm samples,” He turns back from the notebook, catching your gaze for a short moment before hunching back down over the microscope. “Could you help me put them into the system?”

Egon knows how much you genuinely enjoy assisting him in the lab, and you’ve told him to always ask if he wants help.. Or just wants some company.

“Can I see it first?” You motion to the microscope.

“Sure.” He nods, stepping back and giving you space to see the slide for yourself.

You step up to the microscope, squinting one eye so you can see into the scope. The plasm is moving on the slide, the cells wiggling ever so slightly. You stand alone for a moment, before you feel Egon’s hand come to gently rest on your waist.

“What can you see?” He asks, a bit softer.

“Well, it looks like it’s doing a little dance!” You giggle, still intrigued by the slime.

“It’s Psychomagnotheric, which means it responds to human emotional states around it. Positive and negative.”

“You must be pissed or something, cause it’s moving a lot-”

“Aaaand that’s enough of that.” You feel both of his hands on your waist now, pulling you back from the microscope.

“Maan, I was just kidding!” You pout, throwing your hands up and laughing.

“Grab the computer, please.” He shoos you away, and you put a hand up, shaking your head before you spin around and snatch the chunky laptop off the workbench across from you, turning and sliding into one of the swivel chairs at the table before opening the laptop. Egon slides over his open notebook, full of listings and observations of the slime you had looked at.

You immediately get to work putting in the notes into the logging system. You feel an itch in your head to bring up the gala.

“I heard that gala at the museum is in a few days. Are you going?” You ask. Start vague.

Egon freezes at the microscope, rising up to look at you.

“Are you?” He asks in return, not answering your question.

“That depends, are you?” You shoot back, perking a brow and pausing your typing.

You swear you see a slight tint of pink on Egon’s cheeks, as he shifts and leans against the workbench.

“I’ll go if you go.” He states as casually as possible, even though his discomfort is visible.

“I was gonna go if you went.” You shrug, trying to making it as relaxed as possible.

“We could go together.” He adds, his eyes not leaving yours.

You glance down at the computer for a brief moment before looking back up at him, taking your turn for the heat to creep up to your cheeks. You silently nod.

“Are you going to wear a tux?” You ask before your brain can stop you.

Egon tilts his head, a subtle smirk playing at his lips.

“Why? Does it matter to you?”

“No, no! I’m just.. curious. If it’s black tie, then I’m just.. just curious!”

“Curious.. right. Well, I don’t go to many social events, but perhaps I’ll make an exception and see what I can find.” He keeps his eyes on you, folding his arms across his chest- the smirk still stamped to his face.

An exception?

You nod. “Sounds good. We’ll go together.” You state again, setting it in stone- sending him a smirk of your own before looking back down at the computer, returning back to your work.

Egon eyes you for a few more seconds, noticing how the light of the desk lamp hit your face.. Jesus.

He quickly turned back to the microscope before he could get caught gawking over you, returning to the task at hand as well.

Both of you continued your work, and you were first to call it a night- around 2 AM. Egon’s hand brushed over yours as you handed him back his notebook, and he bid you goodnight- watching you walk away and disappear into the sleeping quarters.

Little did you know, he was sharing your same thoughts that night- imagining what the other was going to look like at the gala. But another thought teased your mind as you fell asleep.

If the slime reacted to positive and negative emotions from humans..

What else would it react to?

-

<3

[justmeinadaze]

Take It Out On Me Part 21 (Steddie X Plus Size Reader)

A/N: Ok so I wanted to do kinda like a Scream like thing but didn't realize until I started writing this out that I'm limited by the technology of the 80s lol But I made it work with what I had lol I hope you enjoy.

There is a 2 year time jump from the last chapter.

Warnings: Daddy Steve/ Sir Eddie & Sub Fem Plus Size Reader; SMUT, of the rougher variety, they are roleplaying and she asks them to be this way and scare her, spitting, choking, slapping, spanking, threatening, brief knife play (they tear off her dress), public play (in the school after hours), handcuffs, FLUFF near the beginning and very end (aftercare is given of course <3 ), ANGST, this is a role-play and everyone has given consent especially the reader, I WOULD NEVER WRITE A VERSION OF THESE TWO THAT WOULDNT STOP IF SHE SAID THE SAFE WORD!, they do call her and threaten her over the phone, she's chased down a hallway, lots of intimidation.

Word Count: 4198

Two years had passed since the incident with Eddie’s mom and he seemed to be doing so much better. He had really been focusing in on his music and Corroded Coffin spent every other night practicing and doing whatever they could to save money for some studio time. 

Steve still worked at Family Video with Robin but he had been looking into other alternatives like opening his own business. His friend and her current girlfriend had suggested the three of them start a non-profit to help kids who were kicked out of their homes or on the run due to unfortunate circumstances. You three understand that better than most and that was one of her greatest fears when it came to telling her family about her sexuality. 

You were on your senior year at college and ready to graduate. Taking Steve’s advice (and Eddie’s adamant approval of the idea), you majored in teaching with a minor in English hoping to teach high school kids in the future. Your courses required an internship and one teacher at Hawkins High was more than accommodating. 

“Y/N! Always good to see you. How are the other troublemakers?”

“They’re good, Mr. C. I do have a favor to ask if that’s alright.”, you giggle.

As soon as Eddie found out, he was so overjoyed like a kid in a candy store. 

“Mr. C! How’s my favorite teacher?!”

“Jesus Christ. Hello, Mr. Munson. How can we help you today?”, he sighed.

He always acted annoyed but you knew he cared about the metalhead like he did all his other students. 

“Oh, I’m just here to have lunch with the love of my life. Sweetheart, get out so you don’t get too jealous.”

You laugh at his antics as the teacher rolls his eyes. 

“It’s been 5 years.”, you announce as Steve steps into the living area, drying his hair. 

“Uh, I’ve been in the shower for like 15minutes but okay.”

“No, you goof. It’s been 5 years since we got together. Well, I mean, since you cornered me in a classroom.”, you giggle.

“And fucked you till your eyes rolled. You’re welcome.”, Eddie sasses from his spot by the window. 

“Is there a particular reason you wanted us to know that? Did you want to do something, honey?”, the other man asks as he leans against the counter. “We didn’t have something planned already because I thought we decided our official anniversary was when we officially got together a year after.”

“I know, Daddy. I just…it’s 5 years. I feel we should do something to commemorate it right?”

The metalhead tosses out his cigarette and closes the window before coming over to sit beside you on the couch. 

“What did you have in mind?”

Biting your bottom lip, you head for the case of movies and grab a couple before handing them to Eddie. 

“These are all scary movies. Well except this one about the girl stalking the guy.”

“Yeeeeah. I, um, I was thinking we could try that…like role play.” Both men exchange a look you can’t read and you immediately feel yourself get self-conscious. “I was just thinking you know? Those first few times when we were together like that first night or even the night you two snuck into my room the end of junior year. That was so hot. Not to say, what we do now isn’t hot. Just that—”

A palm comes up from behind you to cover your mouth and you lean back into Steve’s warm chest. 

“You’re over thinking again.”, he grins. “I mean, we can try it. Do you want us to go that far?”, he asks pointing towards the movies in his friend’s hand. “How far is too far?”

“Don’t hurt, hurt me. No like punching or cutting my skin or anything. When I think about it, you guys doing this to me, more than anything…I want you to scare me.”

Eddie’s head ticks to the side at your statement. “Why? No. Why?”, he repeats when you shrug.

“It’s a different level of control, I guess. That first night, I wasn’t scared of you. I was scared of how you made me feel but I’ve never been afraid of you.” You smile when Steve softly kisses your cheek.

“If we do this, I think we should set some ground rules now. We already have one which is no punching or cutting. Of course, we would never do that, sweetheart.” The long-haired boy flashes you a comforting grin before he continues. “If we’re dropping into this headspace, Y/N, that means we probably won’t be asking you for a color but that doesn’t mean you can’t say them or the safe word. Promise us if at any point you feel uncomfortable you’ll use it.”

“I promise, Sir. 100%.”

“What about you, Stevie? Anything you can think of?”

“Not that I can think of.”

Eddie nods in agreement. 

“Alright, baby. Your wish is our command.”

###############

For the next week, you let your imagination run wild with what they could be planning. Everything ran like normal and nothing they did stood out to you to trigger the notion for you that the game was about to begin. You gave them free reign to choose the time and date but the anticipation was killing you. 

That following Friday, you had called to tell them you would be staying late at the school to work on some stuff for Mr. C who had to leave earlier that day to take care of his sick wife. Wearing your Walkman and listening to the mix tape Eddie had made you for your birthday awhile back, you hummed as you graded papers. 

The phone on the desk ringing abruptly startles you as you grab your chest and yank off your headphones. Thinking it may be one of the boys, you answer without hesitation. 

“Hello? Mr. Castillo’s classroom.”

“Hello there. Well, don’t you sound sweet. Is he available?”, a deep voice you didn’t recognize asked. 

“I’m sorry. He’s out for the evening. Can I take a message?”

“Oh, honey. No need to worry. I can just try again later.”

“Alright. Well, have a good night.”

“Wait a minute. If he’s gone why are you there?”

“I’m Mr. Castillo’s teaching intern but he had a family emergency so I’m just helping him get things done. Are you sure I can’t take a message or something?”

“No. I can deliver it myself. I’d rather talk to you.”

“Look, if this isn’t school related and you don’t want to leave a message I’m going to have to hang up.”

“Ooo so sassy. I love it. Sounds like you need someone to teach you, Miss Teacher. Give you a lesson on respect.”

“I don’t respect assholes. I’m ending this conversation. Don’t call again or else.”

“Or else what?”, he chuckled causing a chill to run down your spine. 

“Fuck off.” You slammed down the phone but you still felt uneasy. Dialing the apartment, you prayed one of them was home but to your dismay no one picked up. As soon as you placed the receiver back on its dock, it rung again. “H-Hello?”

“Don’t ever hang up on me again, Y/N.”, the voice growled and you quickly rose to your feet in panic at the sound of your name. 

“I-I just called my boyfriend’s. They are on their way right now so you should j-just leave.”

“Aw, sweetheart. You think Eddie and Steve can save you? That’s so cute.”

“Don’t mock me. They take care of me!” You try to control the tears of fear that threaten to fall as you remain as confident sounding as possible. 

“Oh, little one. Trust me. Your Master and Daddy can’t protect you from us.”

“Fuck you!”

“That’s the plan, pretty girl, and with that sexy ass dress you have on, it won’t be hard.”

You dropped the phone and ran out of the classroom towards the front door of the school. Tugging on it aggressively, you whined when it wouldn’t budge. The phone in the front office blared loudly making you scream. Shakily, you headed towards it, sobbing as you put the speaking to your ear. 

“Where do you think you’re going, little girl? It’s just us three tonight, baby. NO ONE is coming to save you.”

“Please…” The voice snickers at your pleading.

“Let’s play a game, Y/N. Run and hide but if we catch you we fuck you.”

“W-W-Why? If you can see me, just fucking get it over with!”

“I like the idea of you thinking there’s hope when there isn’t.”

He laughs again, making you angry. 

“No. I won’t play your game. F-Fuck you.”

The growl that flowed through had your knees weaken as panic once again flowed through you. 

“Run. Now.”

“NO!” 

The line disconnected and you stifled your sobs as you slowly tiptoed back out into the hallway. A throat clearing startled you as you turned to see a tall figure dressed from head to toe in all black, his face except for his eyes and mouth were covered. A sinister smile spread as he pulled a knife from his pocket and flashed it in your direction, taunting you as he wiggled it between his fingers. 

The man bolted forward and you ran in the opposite direction like you had never run before. Yanking open the auditoriums doors, your goal was to hide in the sound booth and lock yourself in but as soon as you ran across the stage, however, you were met with another figure dressed the same way as the other sitting haphazardly in one of the auditorium seats. 

His legs were crossed as his arms hung over the backs of the chairs with a smug grin on his face. It was almost like he was expecting you to come this way. 

Long arms tackle you from behind and you fight back as the other man wrestles you to the floor of the stage. While he tries to pin your arms down, you get in one good smack across his slightly more protected cheek before he responds by doing the same. Dizzy by the force, you allow him to get the upper hand as he turns you on to your tummy and pressed his knee into your back as he moves around behind you. 

You whimper as your arms are tugged behind your back and you hear the clinking metal before leather is wrapped around both your wrists handcuffing you in place. 

The figure in front of you all too casually stands up and walks up to the stage, kneeling down slightly so his face was level with yours.  

“Boo.”, he teases, laughing when you cringe away. Sighing, he reaches for his mask and pulls it off his face, exhaling in pleasure at the cool air. 

Your eyes quickly took note of Eddie’s features. His own eyes were dark like they normally where when you played rough but there was a coldness behind them that made the little girl inside you tremble. 

“Jesus. Do you know how long it takes for people to fully empty this building? I thought we were never going to be alone.”

You feel movement behind you again and right as you glance behind you Steve pulls off his mask as well. 

“Yeah, man, but we have her now.”

Wiggling underneath his hold, he turns you on to your back and straddles his legs over your waist.

“STOP moving, God damn it. We gave you a chance to run and hide but you didn’t want to play.”, he growled as he pointed a finger in your face. Like with Eddie, Steve’s eyes were different; darker. They both exuded a new type of confidence that had your pussy clenching between your thighs. “Nothing to say now that we’re in front of you, huh, little girl? Where did all that sass go?”

“Hm. I don’t think she’s there yet, Steven.”

“What do you mean?”

“Little girl here seems to think she’s still in some kind of control. Don’t you, babe?”, Eddie mocks making you cringe. “See. That right there.” His head tilts as his palm reaches out to grab your throat. “That little face she made. I don’t know what your boyfriends have been letting you get away with but it won’t happen here. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

You gasped as his hand tightened its grip. 

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I understand.”, you choke out as he releases you. 

They both chuckle as the man above you manhandles you back onto your stomach and tugs on your hair as he guides you to your knees. With one hand, Steve fumbles with his belt buckle and hastily unzips his pants before pulling out his cock that was now level with your face.

“Open.” You shook your head at his command, wincing when he pulled back on your hair. “I wasn’t asking. Open your mouth.”

Eddie slides onto his knees beside you, reaching under the bottom of your dress, and runs his fingers through your folds. 

“Little slut is so wet but won’t do as she’s told.”, he sighs with a condescending tone. “Open your mouth.” You don’t move or say anything even when the metalhead shoves two of his digits into your entrance. Steve’s angry eyes remain locked on yours, smirking when he sees them flutter as you try to do everything you can to keep your moans from escaping out of your mouth. 

“Open, Y/N.”

When you don’t respond, he thrusts into you faster and you feel your body quickly running towards that ledge. Just as you were about to fall, however, he stopped his movements making you whine in your throat. 

“Ready to behave?”

You did something then that you would never do with Eddie and Steve under any normal circumstances. In a defiant gesture, you spit in the long-haired boys face. After wiping it with his hand, he shifts his gaze back to you and flashed you smile that made your blood run cold (and your pussy drench around his still fingers).

“Oh we’re going to have so much fun with you, little girl.”

Eddie pumped his fingers again at a fast pace as you struggled to catch your breath. Right now, you were breathing mostly through your nose but it wasn’t enough with how he was building you up. When he stopped again, tears ran down your cheeks. Once he felt like your pending orgasm had fully dissipated, he started over but this time his thumb reached up to message your clit. 

You couldn’t stop it from happening. Your mouth opened as you let out a loud moan and Steve took the opportunity to guide his cock into your mouth. Eddie removed his fingers, making you jump as he lightly smacked you between your legs. 

Trying to move your head back, the metalhead held you in place as the other boy began thrusting his hips. 

“Fuck me. Her mouth feels so good. Hold her still.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not letting her go anywhere.”

“Shit. How do you think I-I should take her, man? I’m just dying to feel that pussy.”

“It’s up to you, dude. She’s our toy to use how we please. Little whore can handle anything, can’t you, babe?”

Drool dribbled down your chin as the boy continued to fuck your face making him groan at the sight. 

“Fuck, I need her now.” After pulling out his cock, you were pushed back down onto the stage, freezing when you felt steel touch you skin. “Don’t move.” 

You heard the sound of tearing fabric and shivered when the cold air caressed your skin as your now cut apart dress was tossed aside. Grabbing your hips, you were tugged backwards towards Steve who was now on his knees as well. 

Lining himself up, he roughly pushed his cock into your dripping cunt and you both mewled as he held you tightly against him. 

Hearing the clinking of another belt buckle grabbed your attention as you lifted your head to see Eddie sauntering towards you. 

“If you cum, when it’s my turn, I’m going to make sure that you’re sore between your legs for the next month. Do I make myself clear?”

“J-Jesus. She fucking liked that.”

His head slanted as he waited for your answer. Eddie knew you believed he was telling the truth because he saw the one thing you asked for push through your gaze; fear. 

“Yes, Sir. I understand.”

“I’m going to help keep your mind distracted.” His pants fell to his ankles as he stroked his cock a few times in front of your face. “Open.”

This time you didn’t argue or protest as you opened your mouth wide and encased your lips around him. The metalhead’s ringed hand rested behind your head as it bobbed along his length. 

“Come on, little girl. You can do better than that.” Suddenly, you felt another palm land on your hair and forcibly moved your head for you, making you gag as his cock hit the back of your throat. “You can take it all. We know you can.”

You tried keeping up with the pace they set for you but every time your head didn’t go low enough, Steve pushed you into the other boy’s lap causing you to drool and spit all over him. 

“You love this don’t you, you little whore. You like to spit.”, Eddie sneered, licking his lips while you whimpered around him. 

Steve’s thrusts started to falter, giving you sense of pride knowing he was about to cum and you hadn’t yet but your relief was short lived when he reached around and rubbed your clit with his fingers. You pushed back against their hands as your head hung in front of you. 

“No! I’m…I’m not supposed to cum. Please!”

The man ignored you as he continued till he grunted and coated your walls with his release. As he aggressively pounded into till he was empty, your own body trembled in his hold as the coil broke and you came.

Calloused fingers lifted your face from under your chin to meet Eddie’s oddly calm features. 

“Did you just cum even though I said you couldn’t?”

“I-I-I’m sorry. I tried. I tried so hard. Please.”, you cried.

Steve backed away as Eddie leaned over you to unhook your handcuffs. You took the opportunity to your advantage, resting your head in the nook between his neck and shoulder as you sobbed while continuing to apologize.

“You wanna help me, man?”

Taking hold of your hair, the metalhead walked towards the front of the stage before letting you go to jump down. Something grabbed your shoulder and your body was slammed down flat onto your back as Steve grabbed your wrists, bringing your arms above your head so he could restrain you with the handcuffs once again.

Eddie hovered over you, eyes scanning your sweaty features. 

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.” After doing what he commands, you watch with wide eyes as he spits between your lips. “Since you love spit so much, hang onto that for me. If you can keep it in there till I say, I may actually let you cum.”

Standing to his full height, he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and you whine as he guides himself into you entrance. 

True to his word, his hips slam into yours with rough abandon, your eyes squeezing shut as you focus on not swallowing the nicotine flavored salvia that currently rests on you tongue. Steve’s palms slide down your arms to your breasts eliciting a soft moan as his fingers graze your nipples. 

Eddie’s tip abuses your g-spot, overwhelming you with a feeling of euphoria that has tears falling down your face.

"Fuck! Your pussy feels too good.”, he groans as he spanks your ass, slowing his pace. “Look at me, little girl.” When you don’t move, he leans over you and lightly slaps your cheek. “Look at me.”

Your eyes flutter open and they both can’t help but smirk at your fucked out, glassy eyed expression. 

“Swallow.”

Nodding, you do it and open your mouth for him to show you listened. 

“Good girl. You wanna cum?”, Eddie coos as his nose softly caress your own.

“Please.”

“That’s it, baby. Beg me. Beg me to make you cum.”

“Mmm—please. I need you to make me cum again. I want to cum so bad, Sir, please.”

The metalhead’s mouth fell open as he thrust into you with purpose while his thumb came down to play with your clit.

“Shit. Cum with me, Y/N. I want to—mmm— fill you up as your tight little pussy clings to me.”

When you nod you head, his thumb moves faster against your nub and after a few more aggressive thrusts, you stumble over the edge right as rope after rope of his seed warms your insides.

The room goes quiet and all that can be heard is the two of you panting for air. 

“Baby girl.”, Steve whispers above you in a much softer tone than before. “Can you open your eyes for me, honey?”

When you do what he asks, you are meet with his gentle and love filled face. 

“There she is. Are you ok? Do you need anything?”

“C-Can you free my hands, Daddy?”

“Shit. Yeah, of course. I’m sorry.” 

While he removed your restraints, Eddie grabbed a bag that was in one of the auditorium chairs and jumped up beside you onto the stage.

“Drink this, sweetheart.”

“Can you help me, Sir? My arms kinda hurt.”

“Yeah, pretty girl. I can help you.”

Placing the water bottle by your lips, he guides your head back as you chug down the liquid.

“Now, did you want to shower here or at home? We can head towards the gym or—”

“I’d like to go home please. I’m sleepy.”

“I can imagine. Do you think you can walk?”

“I can carry her. Just run to the classroom real quick and grab her stuff. We’ll meet you at the van.”

#############

A small smile remained painted across your lips while the three of you sat in the bathtub as they cleaned you. 

“I don’t think she’ll be coming down from cloud 9 anytime soon.”, Eddie chuckled. “I assume we did good?”

“Very good.”

“Nothing felt over the line?”, Steve asked. 

“No. It may be too rough for an everyday thing but…for special occasions…”, you giggle. “Did I cross a line?”

“No, honey. What would make you think you might of?”

When you and Eddie exchange a look, his grin grows as he bends forward to kiss your lips. 

“You didn’t bother me, princess. It’s not like you normally go around spitting in my face. It was kind of hot if I’m being honest.”

“I just hope you know I wouldn’t normally disrespect you like that.”

“We know.” 

After comforting touches and delicate kisses, they help you out of the water and get you in comfortable pajamas before leading you to the bed. Climbing in beside you, Eddie wraps his arms around your waist as you lay your head on Steve’s chest. 

“Y/N, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Daddy.”

“What we did tonight…that’s not how you viewed us that first night 5 years ago, is it?”

“No, baby. Not even close. You were rough with me but you didn’t scare me like that. I’ve always felt safe with you…even when I thought you two were assholes. Can I ask you both something?”

“Always, sweetheart.”, Eddie soothed as he tenderly kissed your shoulder. 

“What made you two decide to make a move that night? How did you know I’d respond to you the way I did?”

“Short answer? Hope.”

Steve smiled when you giggled at his response. 

“There were so many times you could have said something to rat us out but you never did. When I first spoke to you in detention or when Stevie threatened to spank you, you didn’t tell Mr. C at all. We…we’ve never told you this but we watched you when he asked you to stay behind to put everything away.”, the metalhead elaborated. 

“You had this extremely adorable, concentrated look on your face until you came back to get your things. As you walked off the stage, you were smirking. We selfishly thought maybe it was because of us so we took a short cut to a classroom and the rest is history.”

Keening into his chest, you placed a soft kiss on his skin before lifting Eddie’s hand that was intertwined with yours to your lips so you could do the same. Steve rolled onto his side, gently moving your hair and petting your head as he watched you gradually fall asleep. 

“Hey, Munson?”

“Harrington?”

“Do you have any plans this weekend?”

“Not that I know of besides work. Why?”

“I was thinking, maybe, you and I can go look at houses. See how much they cost so we can start saving and surprise Baby Girl here. She deserves a house.”

Eddie grinned as he reached over and patted his friend’s shoulder. 

“Sounds like a plan, man.”

############

@manda-panda-monium @sherrylyn628 @eddiesguitarskills

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[mychoombatheroomba]

Firing Range

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 10

As the weeks go by, you and Leon get closer.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

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Chapter Index

Weeks went by, quick as the slash of a knife. Leon learned to think of each day as a step by step - get through each task, each lesson, then worry about the next. He didn’t give himself a chance to pause, or let the fatigue set in. Not if he could help it. What had him out of breath once, now he could weather with greater and greater ease. He could feel the change in his body; muscles hardening, his reflexes improving. His legs would carry him further, and his aim was steadier. He could feel himself being honed into something sharper, and there was some grim satisfaction in that. Even so, he preferred to focus on the other changes those weeks brought. 

Changes like the way you, on an unremarkable day, had set your tray down beside his at lunch, and didn’t look bothered when he did the same the following day. Or the way the conversations the two of you shared had slowly been growing longer. Many of those conversations were about the present - ways to improve, not just with knives, but with many aspects of STRATCOM training. Sometimes you would discuss music. Movies. Other interests. Leon clung to every piece of information you would give him, wanting to know more about you. 

And, of course, some conversations were about the past. Those ones were more painful, but no less important to Leon. 

“Is it alright,” he’d begun one night, a few days after your initial talk, “if I ask you about what happened that night?” 

You hadn’t looked too thrilled, but you didn’t look surprised, either. “You can ask,” you said, “but I may not answer.” 

“You said you weren’t in Raccoon City when you saw bioweapons. Where were you?” 

You’d blinked, braced yourself. “On base in Finland.” 

“Was it the same night you got hurt?” 

“Yes.”

“But . . . you were stabbed, weren’t you? With a knife?” 

“I was.” 

“But it wasn’t a bioweapon?” 

“No.”

“So then how did it happen?”

 You frowned, and whatever your reasons, Leon knew not to press further after you answered: “Pass.”  

A few days later, you had a question for him. 

“Do you know how the outbreak started in Raccoon City?” 

He’d been told not to speak on the matter. Why, he couldn’t say. Still, when it came to you, Leon decided that you deserved to know.

“Umbrella. The pharmaceutical company. They were experimenting with viral weaponry underneath the city.” Thinking of what he’d seen made Leon tense. Grip his knife tighter. 

“Umbrella.” You’d looked a little distant as you heard the words. “So, they . . . what, infected everyone up top?” 

“Not intentionally, I think. It was an accident.” And then he told you what he’d seen of the camera footage - the doctor, the armed men sent after him, and the broken vials of the viruses. “Rats found the vials. I think they spread it.” 

“And the men that went after the doctor. Do you know who they were working for?” 

“No, I’m not sure. He knew they were coming, though.” 

You’d hummed, thinking. “And you found all this on security camera footage? From inside the Umbrella labs?” 

“Yeah.”

“What the hell were you doing down there?” 

“I was looking for a sample of the virus. I . . .” he’d paused, choking on the memory of a woman in a red dress pressing her lips to his, and then holding a gun to his heart. “I thought it would help bring Umbrella down.” 

“Did you get it?” 

“. . . Pass.” 

You respected the end of the conversation just as much as Leon did, and just like that, the two of you had a system. An easy way out. A way to jump ship, to stop either of you from being lost in the memories. 

He told you the abstract. Zombies. Umbrella. The city being lost. 

He kept other things closer to his chest. Marvin, the glimpse into the life that could have been. Claire, the girl he’d come to respect more than almost anyone else. Sherry, the child who he’d given up his freedom for. Ada, the woman who he’d lost, not that he’d ever really had her to begin with. You didn’t need to know about them, and he didn’t need to know everyone you’d lost, either.

It felt good to have someone who understood. Someone who had been through that same hell. You didn’t pity him or what he’d been through, and what questions you asked weren’t an interrogation. Even if he wished that neither of you had been through what you’d been through, or seen what you’d seen, he was glad to have you - for company, and for help. The latter became all the more true when Krauser announced that Leon’s squad would be going through assessments. 

“Already?” you asked, when Leon mentioned it over lunch. “He’s moving fast.” 

“What’s he ‘assessing’? He wasn’t very clear,” Leon said, glad for the conversation taking his mind off the tasteless food he shoveled into his mouth. 

“Everything,” you said before taking a sip of water. 

“Everything.” Leon huffed. “Everything ‘soldier’ or everything ‘they’re going to make me retake the SAT?” 

You deadpanned in the way you usually would, raising a brow and almost - almost - letting the side of your mouth curl up into a smirk. “Fitness, marksmanship, combat. Everything he’s taught you so far . . .” you paused, considering something, “. . . and maybe some things he hasn’t.” 

“That is . . . not a whole lot more helpful.” 

“Well, giving away everything would defeat the point of the test.” 

“Right. So, if we pass, then what?” 

“Then you move to the next phase of training.” You took another sip. Your eyes didn’t break from his own. “Same as my unit.” 

The idea shouldn’t have made him as excited as it did. Advanced training meant more pain. More demanding exercises. More blood and bruises. It also meant that he would be one step closer to being ready. It meant that he would be able to manage whatever came his way. It meant, perhaps, that he would be in like company more often than just mealtimes and personal hours. That shouldn’t have mattered as much as it did. 

“So, maybe we branch out,” you offered, interrupting his thoughts as you rested your arms against the table. “Focus on more than just knives.” 

And that was how Leon found himself at the firing range that evening, holding a handgun instead of a knife. He might have hated how natural it felt to him, a few months ago. Now, it was a welcome relief. There was even some twisted excitement to it, because he’d agreed to this not only for the practice. You were at his side, holding your own gun like you’d been born with one in your hand. Part of him wouldn’t have been surprised if that were really the case. 

The two of you had headphones on, though something told Leon that both of you had long since begun to damage your hearing with the sound of gunfire. Still, any words would be muffled, so you didn’t speak. You just tilted your head towards the targets downrange. 

That was all the signal Leon needed. 

Live rounds. STRATCOM wanted the best from their recruits and didn’t mind fronting the money for the munitions. It meant that an officer stood on duty by the door, there to observe. Neither of you paid him much mind. 

There were twelve rounds in the magazine of his gun. Twelve times, as he pointed the gun forward, he squeezed the trigger. Twelve little ringing sounds as the shells fell to the floor. 

When those twelve rounds were fired, Leon felt a little swell of pride in him as he looked through twelve holes punched through the target. Not quite dead center on all of them, but damned close. 

He couldn’t help but look over at you, grinning like a bandit because, at last, he got to prove that he was good at something. If he was being honest with himself, that was part of why he’d agreed to this. He knew that you didn’t think less of him for his skill level in anything - you had never given him anything but respect. Still, it felt good to be able to show you that he wasn’t some helpless rookie. Not in every aspect, at least. 

It made the impressed look you gave him all the better. “Not bad,” Leon read your lips before you turned towards your own target, your eyes narrowing as you took aim. You were fast, firing with a practiced precision. Quick and efficient, the same way you fought. Leon watched as you tore through the target, his eyes switching between the range and the steady iron of your arms. 

When it was done, you stepped back, setting your pistol down and taking your headphones off. “Not so bad yourself,” Leon gestured down range. You’d shot about the same as he had, from the look of things, and he wouldn't have expected anything less.

“Years of practice,” you said, matter-of-factly. “You’ve got a natural talent, looks like. Or beginner’s luck.” 

“What? Don’t think I’ve had ‘years of practice’ too?” 

“Not with the military, you haven’t.” 

“That obvious?” 

“No soldiers I know have that haircut.” 

Leon, for all he had been through, all the times you’d handed his ass to him, felt himself go a little red at the comment. It must have been obvious, because you looked entirely too pleased with yourself. The grin you let slip made it worth it, he supposed. “You’ve been holding on to that one for a while now, haven’t you?” 

“Since day one,” you nodded, shifting your weight onto one leg and grabbing at the headphones around your neck. 

“Well, it’s not beginner’s luck,” Leon insisted, “I did have some training. I was going to be a cop.” 

“Of course, you were,” you shook your head, not at all surprised. “But what do you mean ‘going to be’?” 

He wasn’t sure if that night was getting easier to talk about, exactly, but Leon found the answer escaping him quickly all the same. “I really only got one day in.” 

“Ah,” you nodded, understanding as you always did. So much of what the two of you had shared about that night were the monstrosities. The why and how. Not so much what life was like before. 

“What about you?” he asked, eager to switch the subject off of his only day on the job. “How long have you been serving?” 

Before you answered, your eyes flitted off to the side like you were doing the math in your mind. “Four . . . almost five years, now.” 

Leon let out a little huff of air, his eyebrows rising. “Did you join right out of high school?” You had to have - if he was guessing your age correctly. 

“Yep,” you nodded, your answer short and stiff. 

He wondered if he’d interpreted it correctly for only a moment before he asked another question. “Never thought of doing anything else?” He almost couldn’t picture it - you working some normal job in a city, spending hours a day at a desk or rushing between tables. You seemed so natural in this life . . . but he knew better than anyone that not everyone who was here had chosen to live this way. 

You paused, eyebrows drawn together as you thought. “I thought about it,” you finally admitted, and the resignation in your voice gave Leon pause. “Not sure what I would have done, to be honest.” 

“What made you join?” 

He expected the answer he got before you even opened your mouth. “Pass.” 

Another missing piece, but if it wasn’t one you wanted him to have, then he could do without. 

“Well,” Leon breathed, “you’re a damn good soldier. Whatever your reasons.” 

You looked up at him then, something flickering behind your eyes. “That wouldn’t be flattery, would it?” Your voice was low. Why was it so low? So the officer at the door wouldn’t hear? That had to be it. 

“Not flattery,” Leon shook his head, speaking earnestly. “Just fact.” 

You huffed, shaking your head and rolling your eyes. “Alright, pretty boy-” you said it and Leon might have choked because he never - never - thought to hear those words from you, “-less talking, more shooting.” 

It wasn’t the first time he’d been called that here. He’d heard Valeria and some of the others refer to him that way - even Krauser, on a rare occasion. Always mocking, when it came to the Major. Hearing it from you . . . it shouldn’t have thrown him for a loop, but here he was, reeling like you’d knocked him in the back of the head. 

The last time he’d felt like that-

He wouldn’t let himself think of it. Not when he knew where that spiral of thoughts would lead him. Instead, he moved back to the firing range, about to slide the headphones back over his ears when your voice stopped him. 

“Tell you what,” you grinned, “we’ll keep score tonight. Whoever wins gets the knife tomorrow.” 

And whoever lost . . . “Fighting full out?” he asked, glad of the distraction - both from Ada’s memory and from the effect your words had on him. 

“Full out,” you nodded.

“. . . I don’t think I’d do very well against you unarmed,” Leon admitted, because he knew damn well that it was the truth. 

“Well,” you shrugged, pulling your headphones back on and glancing over at him with a smirk, “then I guess you’d better shoot straight.” 

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

A/N: Leon is down so bad and who could blame him?

[bobalegsanji]

Trust me

Chapter 1 ☆ Chapter 2

Late night talks between a certain cook and a swordsman.

Or, Sanji feels the need to learn more about Zoro after Thriller Bark.

Or, Zoro needs to learn more about Sanji after Whole Cake Island

Zosan. Words: 7,806.

Trigger Warnings: mentions of anxiety.

One Piece Masterlist

The rain splattering on the window calms Sanji’s heart.

He’s always loved the rain. The comforting sound of it falling to the ground, the coolness of the droplets on his skin- it’s something a lot of people take for granted, but not him.

The kitchen has been scrubbed clean from bottom to top. A few hours ago, the mess was unimaginable: all the cabinets were empty, random ingredients scattered all over the floor, at some point a half-empty bag of flour even slipped through his trembling hands. But it’s been taken care of.

Sanji looks around the clean kitchen. He’s proud of his work, as always, a clean slate always makes him excited to get started on breakfast tomorrow morning.

Or, in like, 2 hours.

Looking at the clock, Sanji sighs softly. He wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway. Nightmares have been plaguing him all his life, but something about Thriller Bark seems to have triggered something. There’s no real link between the happenings at Thriller Bark and his lovely childhood home, but for some reason, his subconsciousness (or whatever decides your dreams) has found something. Most of his nights are now spent reliving a dark dungeon, the feeling of bugs crawling up his leg and the never-ending hunger pangs he’d learned to accept as normal.

Call him a fool, but Sanji would rather spend his restless nights cleaning and baking than desperately trying to hold on to a few minutes of sleep.

Looking outside, he suddenly spots something that definitely should not be up there.

‘’Stupid, fucking Marimo,’’ Sanji mutters under his breath. His hands tremble slightly as they hold the countertop, his knuckles are white from the force with which he holds himself up.

He walks over to the window to get a better look. There he is, the green-haired idiot drenched in the rain, staring out over the night sea. The drenched bandages can be seen from a mile away.

Quickly, Sanji opens the door to the deck. ‘’Idiot,’’ he says, loud enough to be noticed, (hopefully) not loud enough to wake any of their sleeping crew members. ‘’Come inside, you bastard.’’

Zoro’s head immediately turns. His hands automatically find his swords, and, oh my god, is he really wearing those right now?  

Sanji could curse that stupid swordsman for not taking care of himself. ‘’Get the fuck inside,’’ he tries again.

The swordsman doesn’t move for a few seconds, but then slowly walks over towards the kitchen. A slight limp is noticeable at every step.

Sanji slams the door behind him. Let that idiot open it himself, if he’s so sure he can handle being out of bed already.

He gets started on heating up some water as the door opens again.

‘’Chopper gave everyone very clear instructions: do not let you out of bed. If we see you anywhere but at the infirmary, we have to drag your fat ass back to bed and wake Chopper up as soon as possible so he can check your injuries. Again.’’ Sanji says, not looking up from searching through the box full of tea. Zoro only drinks green tea, Sanji makes a mental note to buy more on the next island. They’re running low, he’s been adding it to his breakfast and lunch for the past few days.

‘’I don’t need a babysitter,’’ Zoro says, annoyed. He drops himself on one of the stools at the table with a grunt. ‘’Fuck, that hurts.’’

‘’No shit, you got beat pretty badly,’’ Sanji says. Once there are two mugs, one with a tea infuser full of green tea and the other with black tea, he turns around. ‘’I carried you back to the crew myself.’’

A slight blush creeps up on Zoro’s cheeks. ‘’You didn’t have to.’’

Sanji’s eyes fall down to the drenched bandages. The problem is, he understands. He understands the need to do everything alone: to not want to be a burden, to be determined that you can do anything on your own. But Zoro’s been hurt, and even though the way how is still a bit fuzzy, it’s obvious it happened to protect the crew. ‘’Let me have a look at your bandages,’’ Sanji says, walking over towards the swordsman while simultaneously throwing a clean kitchen towel towards his head. ‘’And dry yourself off, you’re watering the non-existent plants on the ground.’’

He should’ve been a bit more careful. Zoro’s reflexes aren’t up to speed yet. The towel hits him right in the face, the hand that was supposed to catch it lifts a second too late to grasp nothing but air.

The swordsman grunts softly, but makes no sound otherwise.

Uncertain about what to do, Sanji takes another clean towel to pat the drenched bandages dry as carefully as possible. ‘’Tell me if it hurts, and I’ll get Chopper,’’ he says.

‘’It’s okay,’’ Zoro says through clenched teeth (It’s so very obviously not, but Sanji won’t tell on him. Even though he will keep it over his head for as long as possible that he could’ve) . ‘’A little rain won’t kill me.’’

‘’I know, but what if the rain infects something? You think Luffy needs a dying swordsman?’’

Zoro doesn’t respond, and Sanji knows he’s won.

“Chopper does enough for me,” Zoro says after a moment of silently drying him off. 

“He does, so don’t try to make his job harder. Just stay in bed, eat the food I make you, accept the comfort the crew offers, and you’ll be allowed to nap on the deck all you want before you know it,” Sanji says. At that moment, the tea kettle makes itself known, and Sanji drops his towel on the kitchen counter to resume the tea. 

There’s a comfortable quietness until Sanji puts a steaming mug of tea in front of the man.

“I’m hungry,” Zoro mumbles, before taking a small sip of his tea. 

Sanji murmurs something confirming. “Onigiri?” 

Zoro nods, savouring the taste of green tea on his tongue. “Thanks. For the tea, I mean. But also this, everything, you know?”

Sanji can’t help the small chuckle that leaves his mouth. No matter how much the idiot can get on his nerves, he’s kind of cute sometimes, too. Very out of touch with his emotions, a terrible conversationalist, dumb as a rock, but slightly adorable. “Don’t thank me. You’ll get onigiri for breakfast too, is that okay? You had it for dinner last night as well.”

“That’s okay,” Zoro responds. “I don’t get sick of it.”

“I still don’t understand.” Sanji puts the tray of salmon onigiri in the middle of the table. It’s 3 am and he’s been up all night, he might as well have a snack too. He’ll make new ones for Zoro’s breakfast anyway, and there’s a non-zero chance either of them will get any sleep beforehand.” You never get tired of the same meal. I’ve found a recipe you might like. I’ll see if I can make it tomorrow.”

Zoro immediately shakes his head. “No need. You make enough I like.”

“I promise, it’s Zoro-friendly,” Sanji smiles. “I know you and your preferences well enough.”

The swordsman doesn’t respond, but then again, he never really bites the bait when Sanji focuses on his eating habits. 

After drum island, Chopper insisted on examining every single straw hat to make sure he’d be up-to-date with any medical issues. Everyone had noticed Zoro’s quirks. They weren’t problematic, per se, more confusing. He refused to eat anything but onigiri, he’d space out in loud or crowded spaces, the absurd hyperfixation on swords, and during dinner time no word would leave his mouth. 

Sanji had been worried, even though he’d never admit it out loud. Chopper had sat them all down and finally put all of Zoro’s off-behaviour in one word. Sanji’d never heard of it, the exact name had been forgotten the moment after Chopper first said it, but it had helped.

Zoro didn’t like to talk about it, he had left the room the moment he realised what Chopper was about to talk about. But everyone could see the improvements since Chopper’s revelation. He still didn’t eat different enough, according to Sanji, mostly complaining about texture and weird taste, but they’ve found recipes that work. 

Everyone’s learned to deal with Zoro when he needs them, even if he never admits it. 

“Thank you for the food,” Zoro says with a mouth full of rice.

“Don’t thank me,” Sanji responds, grabbing an onigiri for himself and ignoring the horrible table manners. “If you want me to make you anything else, anything, just ask.”

Zoro nods mindlessly, more focused on the food than on the question.

Sanji doesn’t mind. 

The silence is comforting at this hour of the night. Soon, both the tea and onigiri are gone, and Sanji starts to slowly clean up after them.

“Where are you going?” Zoro asks, a bit bewildered.

“Just cleaning up,” Sanji responds with a handful of their plates. “Have to start prepping breakfast, too,” he sighs deeply at the image of another busy day ahead of him with no sleep. 

Zoro averts his eyes, awkwardly staring at his hands on top of the table. “Can you… Can you wait a bit with that?”

A shocked sound leaves Sanji’s throat before he can help it. Zoro never asks for company, and definitely not his. “Of course. Is there any specific reason?” He tries to sound nonchalant as he puts the dirty dishes down in the sink. That is a problem for later.

“Just…” Zoro struggles to find the exact words. His hands clench and unclench repeatedly, a quirk Sanji noticed all the way back at the Baratie when Zoro couldn’t figure out what he’d like to eat. “I kinda liked sitting here with you.”

A soft smile finds its way to Sanji’s lips. “Don’t tell Chopper, but do you want some sake?”

Zoro’s eyes light up like he’s just heard the greatest idea ever.

In no time, 3 bottles are sitting in front of the two men. Zoro reaches out for the first bottle like a starved man, drinking straight from the bottle. Droplets drip down his chin and neck. Sanji allows himself to stare until Zoro puts the bottle down.

‘’Don’t drink too much. If anyone finds out about this they’ll have my head.’’

Zoro chuckles. His hand pushes the bottle nearest to Sanji closer to him. ‘’Drink up.’’

His pathetically low alcohol tolerance ignored, the cook starts to sip from the bottle. It’s Zoro’s favourite, definitely not his, but it’s fine. God knows the swordsman deserves some treats after the whole Thriller Bark fiasco (as soon as he’s recovered, though, any kind of special treatment is over) . 

‘’You know you can take your swords off, right?’’ Sanji remarks. ‘’Not like I’ll fight you at this hour of the morning, or with your injuries.’’

Zoro’s eyes wander over to the swords on his hips. ‘’Firstly, I’m not injured.’’

Sanji can’t help the slight chuckle that leaves his lips.

‘’Secondly, I like having them close,’’ Zoro finishes. ‘’Just… Doesn’t feel good without them.’’ Absent-mindedly, Zoro puts his hand on top of Wado, as if checking whether it’s still there.

‘’Tell me about them,’’ Sanji says softly, refusing to look in Zoro’s direction. It’s a personal topic, something the two of them would usually never talk about. But there’s a tug in Sanji’s heart he hasn’t been able to ignore since finding Zoro, splattered with blood and injuries so bad he was sure the swordsman wouldn’t make it. They’re nakama, and no matter how much Sanji sometimes wishes he could ignore it, he loves Zoro in some weird, fucked up way. What kind of nakama are they if they don’t even know each other’s most valuable memories?

(Ironically enough, not even the captain truly knows him. It’s something that keeps him up at night, dry-heaving and clutching his heart as he can’t stop the memories from running through his mind. But his past has another form of importance than Zoro’s possessions. And in the cook’s mind, only one of them is important enough to voice aloud)

Zoro’s eyes wordlessly scan Sanji’s face. After some time, he sighs. ‘’They’re just swords, cook.’’

They both sip their drinks, ignoring the heavy air that has suddenly laid over the kitchen like a thick blanket. 

‘’They’re not.’’ Sanji’s finger plays with the rim of his bottle. ‘’I know they’re not just swords. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but don’t lie to me.’’

A lighter clicks, and soon the familiar smell of smoke fills the air. 

Zoro takes the darkest sword out of its sheath first. Sanji recognises it as the newest addition.

‘’This is Shusui,’’ Zoro says, gently laying the sword in the middle of the table. ‘’I got her in Thriller Bark. I don’t know much about her, but she was used by a samurai from Wano.’’

Sanji nods, taking a deep drag of his cigarette. He doesn’t know much about swords. He knows how to use them, the memories of training with his sword until his arms were sore are engraved in his memory, but not much else. 

The click of the second sword being taken out of its sheath makes Sanji look up. He hadn’t noticed how zoned out he was, the cigarette is smoked almost to the filter.

He dumps the remains in an old cup filled with water the moment Zoro puts the second sword on the table.

There’s a soft smile on Zoro’s lips as he talks. ‘’This is Sandai Kitetsu, I got her in Logue Town.’’

Sanji can’t help the way he stretches out his hand. The red and gold handle is beautiful - even though he prefers not to touch any swords ever again, he can’t help but want to take a closer look at it.

To his surprise, Zoro swats his hand away. ‘’Don’t do that, she’s cursed.’’

‘’What?’’ Sanji’s eyes are big as he looks up at Zoro. Is that why he’s always so protective over his swords? 

Zoro shrugs his shoulders. ‘’I mean, you can touch it, I guess.. Just don’t use it. The user is supposed to meet an untimely death.’’ There’s an almost crazed smile on Zoro’s lips that’s usually only reserved for battles.

‘’You’re insane,’’ Sanji decides, putting his hands safely around his bottle of sake. 

‘’Maybe. But she’s saved your lives more times than I can count,’’ Zoro responds.

Sanji scoffs, ‘’that’s because you can’t count, knucklehead. You’ve never saved my life.’’ The moment the words leave his lips, he regrets them. Zoro’s still littered with injuries that prove the exact opposite.

‘’Hmmm,’’ Zoro hums, putting Sandai Kitetsu back on his hip.

‘’Wait! What about the other one?’’ Sanji asks, not able to suppress the slightly panicked tone in his voice. He wants to, needs to , learn more about Zoro. 

The swordsman stares at the table for a second without saying a word, before putting the last sword on the table. He does it so gently that Sanji would’ve known, without an explanation, how important it is to him.

He’s never talked about it to anyone but Luffy, but word gets around quickly in their crew. Hushed whispers about Zoro’s protectiveness of his swords, but this one in particular, immediately made Sanji understand that this sword is similar to his hands. They’re sacred, and everyone in the crew would do anything to protect them. 

‘’This is Wado Ichimonji,’’ Zoro says. His hand softly trails along the dull part of the blade. 

‘’She’s the one you put in your mouth,’’ Sanji says stupidly. 

Zoro nods. ‘’I got her from someone very important. And she,’’ he holds the black and white hilt in his hand, lifting it up slightly from the table, ‘’is going to help me become the greatest swordsman.’’

It’s unclear whether by ‘she’ he means the girl or the sword, but Sanji doesn’t care for the specifics. Zoro’s eyes are determined as he turns the blade around in his hands for a few seconds before putting it down and taking a sip of his sake.

‘’How did you get her?’’ Sanji asks, picking up another cigarette from his chest pocket.

A lighter clicks. Another bottle opens. 

‘’Kuina,’’ Zoro sighs. ‘’It… It was her sword. We made a promise, but she couldn’t keep it, so I got her sword.’’

‘’It’s beautiful,’’ Sanji notices. ‘’She… Did she gift it to you?’’

Wordlessly, Zoro shakes his head. The hands around his bottle tighten.

‘’She died. She was the best swordsman, or woman, whatever, the world would’ve ever seen.’’ Zoro sighs deeply. ‘’I never won from her, not once.’’

It might not be an appropriate moment, but with all the emotions and confession, Sanji can’t suppress a soft laugh. ‘’You couldn’t win? She must’ve been amazing.’’

Zoro laughs softly too. ‘’She was. She was beautiful, and funny, and the only friend I’ve ever had before Luffy.’’

‘’And,’’ Sanji starts. He doesn’t want to overstep, but it has to be said. ‘’And us, now, too. We’re your family, even though I’m not sure that we can compare to the best female swordsman to ever exist.’’

‘’Not female swordsman,’’ Zoro says, shaking his head as if trying to compose his thoughts. ‘’Just because… Just because she was a girl doesn’t mean she would’ve been the best female swordsman... She would’ve been the best swordsman. No man could’ve won from her.’’

Sanji nods. ‘’I’m sorry.’’

‘’But you’re right,’’ Zoro smiles softly. ‘’I’ve got the crew now. But I still miss her, every day.’’

With one last drag, Sanji drops the cigarette in the cup. It makes a soft splash as it hits the water. 

He’s no stranger to grief. Every meal he cooks, he feels his mothers presence nearby. The memories of falling asleep in her bed, the long walks towards the hospital wing and her soft smile are on some days the only thing that keep him upright. It’s ironic, really, because they’re the exact same memories that haunt him every minute of every day. Her loss created a void in his heart that he’s certain will never be filled. ‘’I understand.’’

‘’You do?’’ Zoro asks, almost hopeful.

‘’I do.’’ Sanji puts one hand gently on the blade of Wado. ‘’But you’ve got her with you, always, and that’s the most important thing.’’

The blade feels cold against his hand, but somewhere, Sanji’s sure he feels something more. A warmth that shouldn’t be there. It feels like a far away hug, or laughter, something he can’t quite place- but it’s comforting . He’s never believed in ghosts, but he can’t help and dwell a bit in the comforting feeling the blade gives him.

Sanji pretends he doesn’t see Zoro wiping a tear from his eyes. The swordsman clears his throat and takes a big gulp of the sake. ‘’I guess you’re right.’’

A comfortable quietness falls over them. The only interruptions are the far away sound of waves crashing against the ship and the sound of bottles clashing against the table.

After a long time, Sanji cuts through the silence. ‘’If you ever want to talk about her… I’m in the kitchen every night.’’

The laughter coming from Zoro might have made Sanji’s heart skip a beat.

‘’Don’t make fun of me!’’ Sanji says, faux-angry, ‘’I’m trying to be serious!’’

‘’I know, I know, sorry,’’ Zoro represses his laughter, but the smile stays. ‘’You’re just really cheesy, cook. No wonder the ladies don’t fall for you.’’

‘’Actually, plenty of women enjoy my company! Unlike you, you brute,’’ Sanji tone isn’t as biting.

Zoro looks Sanji right in the eyes, as if to dare him to go against him. ‘’And how do you know with whom I spent my free time, ero-cook? Been spying on me?’’

‘’I- I don’t!’’ Sanji sputters. ‘’I don’t care what you do in your free time, just… Shut it,’’ he stands up quickly, ready to disregard the now empty sake bottles in the bucket under the sink. ‘’And get the hell back to the infirmary before someone wakes up.’’

The swordsman hums. ‘’You think I have another 30 minutes left before someone wakes up?’’

Sanji turns around to look at the green-haired man. He’s still sitting at the table, two swords in the middle of the tabletop surrounded by two empty tea mugs. There’s no provocation in his voice, absolutely no indication that he’s trying to get under the cook’s skin. Just a soft smile and endearing eyes looking up at him.

‘’I think so,’’ Sanji responds. ‘’Want another cup of tea?’’

Zoro nods.

Chapter 1 ☆ Chapter 2

[dazais-guardian-angel]

Chapter 110 is 13 pages long welcome to hell!!! so in a lot of ways this is just more fuel for a theory that I've had for a few weeks now, that's only gotten stronger with each recent season 5 episode, which is that the last episode of the season is gonna end on 110, and that Asagiri/Harukawa and Bones have been collaborating to make this happen, specifically because it's a major turning point that would be the only good place to end the season on.

When we started getting especially long chapters again (like from 25-35ish pages, with the exception of 107.5, the last two being some of the longest we've ever had), at first I just assumed that Asagiri/Harukawa got freed up from some other obligations they'd been having to cause the extremely short/half chapters, like promotional stuff for the anime/Beast movie, or working on light novels. But then 109 happened, with the "supposed" death of Dazai, and heavy emphasis at the end on how literally everyone is at their lowest point right now, and I got to thinking. 11 episodes is a strangely specific number for an anime season -- why not 12, or 13, or even 10, like you'd usually see? Why have we gotten suddenly gotten two 35 page chapters out of nowhere, that's almost unheard of at this point? They're both beautiful chapters, don't get me wrong (as always), and maybe A/H simply just didn't want to cut them in halves because they felt like the full emotional impact wouldn't hit/that there were no good cutoff points in them, but you can't deny that it's surprising, after all the shorter chapters we've been getting. Why has the anime been going at such insanely breakneck pacing for the most part ever since around the Sunday Tragedy chapters, even more so than it has in the past? So much so that it feels dangerously close to overtaking the manga?

Well, maybe, just maybe, it's because..... Asagiri decided a long time ago that whatever happens in 110 is the only point that feels "season finale"-worthy enough, in an arc that still isn't anywhere close to being completely wrapped up, and so both the manga and the anime have been specifically coordinated to reach that part within 2 and a half weeks of each other?

I've seen a lot of people now think season 5 will end with 109, and as much as my sadistic side would find that hilarious, I honestly don't think they'd do that and realistically don't want it to happen; it'd be so cruel to cliffhanger the anime for years like that, and just doesn't feel like a season cliffhanger BSD would do, a series that is ultimately hopeful and uplifting. Seasons 2 and 3 had a positive, conclusive ending; the only reasons seasons 1 and 4 didn't was because they're technically not really full seasons of their own, and are more like the first cour of another "season" that also came out that same year (seasons 1 and 2 both aired in 2016, so they're more like one big season, and seasons 4 and 5 have both aired this year, so they're also more like one big season, again taking into account how episodes 12 and 50 are not satisfying finales like episodes 24, 37, and hypothetically, 61, are). I really can't see season 5 ending with Dazai and Fukuzawa's supposed deaths, Sigma being unconscious and maybe close to death, Atsushi being vulnerable and limbless again, everyone we love still vampires, and the entire world being basically doomed; that's just too depressing and not like BSD at all. However, having said that, if it doesn't end there, there really isn't any good place to end the season before that, either, that feels in any way satisfying or like a finale at all. And so, to me, that only leaves after 109: chapter 110.

I think things are really gonna turn around next chapter. Like I said, everyone is at their lowest point right now, it cannot possibly get any worse, the framing of Dazai, Fukuzawa, and sskk at the end of 109 is telling us that; this is the time for the heroes to finally start winning again, with Aya being so close to pulling out the sword, and for all the thematic reasons other people have talked about to death that I don't need to go into here again. This upcoming chapter being so short again makes a part of me wary of 110 being "the one", so to speak, I won't lie, but at the same time, it's very possible that it needs to be that short because that's all the final episode of the season will be able to reasonably fit in, since it's already gonna be VERY close if they do make it all the way to 109. And at the end of the day, I don't doubt at all that Asagiri and Harukawa can make these the most monumental and game-changing mere 13 pages ever if they wanted to; a chapter does not at all need to be extremely long in order to be an important and impactful one, even if short ones we've gotten in the past haven't felt the most important.

An additional thought I've had, though this is much more crack territory than all this already is, is that since we know from Anime Expo that a Stormbringer movie at some point is highly likely (judging from Asagiri's reaction when someone brought it up), it's possible that chapter 110 and thus the final episode will involve the long-anticipated return of Verlaine and/or Adam, or at least some other major reference to Stormbringer, that would naturally and smoothly lead into a Stormbringer movie to explain things to people who haven't read the novel. It would make a lot of sense, especially since the s4 OP has the Old World sign behind Chuuya, which might be a hint that this has been in the works ever since seasons 4/5 were first in planning with Asagiri. We also know that Dazai and Chuuya's voice actors apparently struggled to record their lines together this season, which probably relates to 101 and possibly 109, but it could be 110 too.... I could be very wrong, as I'm no expert on this kind of thing, but I kinda doubt they would bring Chuuya's actor in for just the vampire growls, and Asagiri placing heavy emphasis on Chuuya's importance this season in that one interview gives me the impression that he's talking about much more than just 101/109. But that's the least solid evidence I have, that's just mostly based on vibes I get.

So basically, I think a lot of factors -- the unusual episode count, how close the anime is to catching up to the manga with three whole episodes left, the seemingly arbitrary recent chapter lengths, and the climactic events of 109 -- can tell us that 110 might be a very, VERY big deal. Again, there's of course no way this arc is anywhere near close to being finished, with so much left to address and resolve, but since it is currently incomplete in the manga, unlike the previously adapted arcs, if the anime was going to adapt it at all, they'd have to find a place that feels satisfying enough to end this season, knowing there won't be more anime for a long time after this, and so I think they specifically planned for that, from both Bones' and A/H's sides. 10 episodes might not have been enough to reach that point, but 12 or 13 might have been too many it wouldn't have been if Bones actually decided to slow down and let the story breathe the way it needs to, but this post isn't meant to criticize the anime, so maybe 11 was just right. And maybe Asagiri and Harukawa specifically pushed to make recent chapters longer than usual, in order to make sure that the manga reached the story content in 110 the monthly release right before season 5 was to end.

Is this just copium? Absolutely. Am I going to look like an absolute clown in two days when this post ages like milk? Probably. But the evidence is There, so let me just enjoy my delusions until Sunday, okay 🥂🫡