#not exactly my best work but it's been a decade since last time I did this and was made in a sleep deprived state of Harding delirium

[pedros-mustache]

nighthawks (20)

series masterlist || previous chapter

word count: 6k+

warnings: canon typical violence and weaponry, language, x fem!reader

a/n: wow - um, hey, guys. so after my year long hiatus, i am here. hello. i truthfully to not expect anyone to flock to this story again after how inconsistent i have been. but din & scout came to me fully formed almost four years ago, and i must finish the story within. you are, of course, welcome to come along for the ride. 💛

please forgive me if this is utter shite. it has been a long time since i wrote much of anything, so i am, as the kids say, pretty mid at this.

DAY ONE-HUNDRED-TEN—LOCATION: HOTH 

The wind whips and rages, stinging your cheeks with nettles of ice. 

From the bowels of the Sunder, Din unearthed a paltry speeder, hardly big enough to hold you and him, let alone any apprehension. That barbed, scared part of you stayed behind, and there it will remain, buried beneath mounting layers of snow and the shadow of the Sunder . You are resolute now, sure in your finely-tuned senses. Your heart thumps against your ribcage: Ren-dell Cr-ik, Ren-dell Cr-ik.

By the stars, you’ll get the bastard if it is the last thing you do. 

Hoth is exactly as your father said it would be: hostile, fierce. Downright predatory. A cold unlike anything you have ever known crawls beneath your outermost layers and settles on your skin like permafrost. The wind screams as it whistles through the frozen ends of your hair. If a decade-old rage did not simmer in your gut, you might feel the urge to shiver. Even so, you have a sneaking suspicion the planet has the means and the motive to end your life before Crik even gets the chance. If the cold doesn’t finish you first, then the Wampa (Maker forbid you should stumble across one) surely will.

You twist your fingers beneath the frosted metal of Din’s pauldrons. Figures the Sunder would come equipped with a single-rider speeder. Figures you’d end up behind Din on that bike, your face against his shoulder blade, your ass out for Hoth’s taking. Your leg muscles scream, pressed tight against Din’s hips.

The speeder races across the snow-covered landscape, current destination unfolding. 

Crik’s fob blinks like a heartbeat from the sloped dash of the speeder. He’s here—on Hoth—breathing the same atmosphere, feeling the sting of the same snow. Though the fob confirms it, you can feel his slimy presence to the marrow of your bones. He is a phantom, caged in the corner of your mind, screaming in the shadows, shaking the iron bars which have kept him confined for so long. An hour more, a day longer, and the rusted door will swing open. You will stand face to face. 

And he will be the first to fall. 

Din tilts the speeder to the right, and you shift with the motion, leaning into the slant. With so few sentient lifeforms on Hoth, the options for where to begin your hunt are limited. Outpost Beta, Gamma Base—you could start at either but with rumblings of growing tension between the Rebels and the Empire, neither you or Din are sure a Rebel outpost is the best place to start. Hoth is too expansive to meander in the hopes of stumbling upon Crik, and without the aid of a heat signature, Din’s tracking tech does you a fat lot of good. You are left with the path of least resistance for now, even if it seems to you the least effective: find the closest cantina and ask around without raising suspicion. No self-respecting planet, sparsely populated or not, can get by without a cantina, and Din seems confident Hoth is sure to have at least one. You’ll start there and work your way out, carving through the snow and the ice and the bitter cold with your sheer determination and his iron fist. 

“Cantina. Three klicks ahead.” Din’s voice filters through your ear, tinny and warped by ill-used ear pieces. “Karga found it.” 

As the speeder darts across the frigid terrain, you rest your forehead against the back of Din’s helmet. You cannot afford to let your mind wander on this mission; there is precious time, precious energy, precious resources, and ruminating on previous conversations is wasteful. You push the thoughts of Mandalore, of your father’s proclamation of marriage, away. You must be single-minded, a sharp edged knife against the world and all in it.

The speeder angles upward over a rise, and you pull your head away from the chilled metal of the helmet. There, in the distance, a dark brown speck amidst the sparkling ice and snow: the cantina. It develops, blooming larger, unfurling, as the speeder draws closer. 

Your temporary destination is a brown craggy rock set in the base of a larger hill, carved into an oblong mass. Discrete, easy to miss on a ship overhead as a simple geological formation, but the slate gray door etched in the center of the rock speaks otherwise. Laid in white stone above the door, small red lights blink in alternating patterns. If you thought it meant anything, you may pause and determine if the lights communicate anything other than a siren’s call.

Din brings the speeder to a halt alongside a four legged creature tied to a post beside the door. Snow tangles and matts between the animal’s blue-hued fur, and a rusted chain at the beast’s ankle jangles as a bitter wind gusts over the hilltop. The creature swings its head as you dismount, braying woefully, revealing a mouth of sawn-off teeth. Pockets of puss and blood line the animal’s jaw where its teeth should stand upright. You look away and check the blaster at your hip. 

Din lifts Crik’s fob from the speeder, hides it within his pocket, then nods at you. “Let’s go.”

The door to the cantina slides open on a hiss, internal mechanisms excreting plumes of white-gray chemicals. You’re glad for the scarf wrapped around your nose and mouth. Chemicals aside, the cantina smells like shit. A foul odor hangs in the air, rotted flesh and spoiled meat. You cringe beneath your mask and steel yourself against the pervasive fumes as you follow Din through the scattered tables and chairs. 

The cantina’s sole room is quiet save for the sound of the wind outside and a scanner beeping behind the curved bar. A few patrons, none of any interest to you, duck their heads as Din passes. You feel them shrink into themselves, and it is just as well. You have no time for them. 

Only Crik.

Behind the counter, a lone man watches your approach. He braces both gloved hands against the bar, his brow knit in a tight frown. His eyes slide from Din to you then back again. 

“You’re not from around here.” His voice is knotted and thick, as though he rarely speaks above a whisper. 

Din looks over his shoulder, and you feel him look at you, nudging you forward with a pointed stare. Your mission, your bounty—Crik is all yours, and Din will not deny you the pleasure of taking him in by your own merit.

Pushing forward, you move to stand in front of Din. He towers over you, the breadth of his chest a comfort against your back. His hand, the one not resting on the counter, settles at your hip, fingers tucking around the grip of your holstered blaster. 

“My partner and I… we are looking for someone willing to part with information in exchange for credits.”

The bartender’s frown deepens. “Credits won’t get you nowhere here.”

You expected as much, but refuse to let the momentary disappointment show on your face. You arch a brow. “Really? The brand new cycler rifle hanging on the wall there tells me otherwise.” The bartender does not glance in the direction of the weapon, but his eyes narrow. “We deal in credits, not weapons, but we are willing to be generous.”

Tilting his head back, the bartender studies you. “What makes you think I have what you need?”

A saccharine smile unwinds the terse pout of your lips. “Call it women’s intuition.”

The bartender huffs and drops his hands from the bar counter. “You can ask, but I can’t promise I have the answer.”

“That’s fine. Give us what you can.” It is the first time Din speaks in the dimly lit cantina. He is impatient in these middling moments, but you don’t mind them. You have always enjoyed the seemingly inconsequential decisions and conversations that ultimately propel you to bringing down a bounty. It is in the series of unknowns before the inevitable downfall of your mark that you find the greatest thrill.

Cocking his head to the side, the bartender shuffles for a room adjacent to the bar. You follow, two steps, three, then pause as the man orders the straggling customers to fend for themselves. Five minutes, he says. You inhale, swallowing the lump in your throat. Five minutes.

The storeroom of the cantina is reminiscent of the storeroom in which you first met the Mandalorian. The same cramped and crowded closet in a backwater cantina. The same smell of dust in the air and spice hidden within boxes. The same man, cloaked in gray, corded with power. If you had the time, you would pause to reflect on the change in you, the change in him, these past one-hundred-ten days, but as it stands: time is running thin. 

“Before I tell you anything”—The bartender turns around from the door, leveling an accusatory finger at you—“you tell me who you are.” 

“No.” Din stands with his feet shoulder-width apart, his hands set firmly on his hips. “The deal is information for credits. That’s it.”

“But I—”

“No info, no credits.”

Any further protest sours on the man’s tongue. His lips curl upward. “Fine.” He crosses his arms, shoulders hunched inward. “What do you want to know?”

You resist the urge to glance at Din for approval. It has been a long time since you took the lead on a bounty. Since the disaster with Breeth, you have felt uncertain about your abilities as a bounty hunter. But Din stands beside you, patient in his silence, so you will your thumping heart to settle. 

“What can you tell me about this man?” 

Reading your cue, Din unearths Crik’s blinking fob from his pocket. He presses the center button, revealing a holographic image of Rendell Crik that rotates in a circle. Pale blue illuminates the chrome of Din’s helmet as the bartender studies the image.

The bartender raises a finger to his chin in thought. His eyes narrow. His lips purse. A flash of impatience tightens your chest. How long does it take to string a thought together, for Maker’s sake? You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Yes,” he finally says. “I’ve heard tell…”

Impatience gives way to intrigue. You lean forward. “And?”

“About thirty klicks from here. There’s a camp.”

“What kind of camp?”

With a smirk, the man tilts his head. In his eye, a greedy twinkle. “That will cost you.”

Thud. The bartender’s back hits the wall, and a row of jars on a neighboring shelf clang as they jostle together. Din holds his forearm against the bartender’s neck. He angles the visor of his helm so that the bartender must look down, down into the face of destruction itself.

“Answer the fucking question.”

“I told you! A camp—thirty klicks away!” 

Din leans in, his forearm pressing, pressing into the man’s neck. The bartender’s face contorts into a pained grimace. His ankles bang against the wall behind him as he struggles against Din’s grip. You hold your breath.

“That’s not enough.” Din’s voice is terse, the swipe of a whip against the ground. “You know more.”

Shaking his head, the bartender sputters. “Not much! Only rumors from the other bounty hunters!”

Din’s feet shuffle as he steps closer to the wall, pushing further into the man’s already limited space. A flush begins to rise from the base of the man’s neck. His eyes grow larger, wider, rounder as they bulge outward from the leathery flesh of his face. 

“Only what? Say it!”

The bartender will be of no use to you dead or unwilling. You see the opportunity for information begin to fade like blood in a watery pool. Your five minutes are almost up.

Stepping forward, you place a hand on Din’s shoulder. He stills, and the man’s panicked eyes dart to you. He pants against Din’s forearm, sweat like a crown upon his brow.

“Tell me what you know of Rendell Crik and the camp,” you say, tone even, gaze soft. “And my partner won’t kill you.”

/ 

The bartender was not bluffing when he said thirty klicks to Crik’s camp. 

By the time the speeder sputters to a stop behind a jagged outcrop of ice one klick away from the camp, you are sure the blood in your veins is frozen. Despite the layers covering you head to foot, a cold unlike anything you have ever known has melded to your bones, chilled the breath in your lungs, squeezed the life from your very soul. You are tired, bone weary from the frigid air and unrelenting wind. 

Gods-teeth! Hardly a few hours into the hunt and already the elements have taken their toll. Your father’s warning rings loud in your ear: Hoth?! No one survives out there. Maybe he was right. Maybe, after everything that has transpired, Hoth is too much of a risk. After all, you have rekindled the relationship with your parents. Isn’t it enough to be returned to the family fold? 

No, it’s not. So long as Jeelia’s space at the table your father carved with his own hand is empty, it will never be enough. You cannot stop now, not when you have come this far. 

Leaning against the wide base of the ice block, you lift your head from the crook of your arm where you press your forehead into the dark and frigid abyss. Frost hangs at the end of your lashes. You blink, searching for Din and his stupid helmet between the swirling colors of gray sky and white snow. Panic grips the raw edges of your psyche, and for a moment, you are in Coruscant, alone and afraid.

But he is there, as he always is, beside you. He kneels at the edge of the ice block, one hand against the ice itself, the other tight around a pair of binoculars. 

“So, what now?” 

Din twists to look at you over his shoulder. Something in your face—perhaps the chapped skin at your cheeks, the glassy look that surely clouds your eyes—makes him turn away from the camp. He hooks the binoculars to his hip. 

“First we eat something.”

You frown and sit up as Din shuffles through the contents of a pannier draped over the speeder. “I can go on. We don’t need to stop. Not when that guy said he heard from others that—” 

“Forget what he said. We got the information we needed and we made it to the camp. Anything else he said was bullshit. Don’t let it fester.” Din passes you a cloth secured with a piece of twine. “Now eat. We won’t get to Crik on an empty stomach.”

You unwrap the cloth to reveal a triangle of tea-smoked silk bread. A lump forms in your throat. You skim your thumb across the flaky crust, layers of sugared and spiced silkwheat falling from the confection. Your favorite, your mother’s best recipe. Memories of afternoons beside the hearth, your fingers sticky with fresh dough, flood your mind.

“She gave it to me.” Din’s whisper cuts through your reverie. You look up to search the impassible gleam of his helm. “Before we left Inora. She said it was your favorite and I should keep it for the moment you need it most.”

With a rueful chuff, you tear off a corner of the bread. “Is this that moment?”

“You’re doubting yourself. I can see that much.”

You wince. His words ring true, clanging against the rising fear that clutches your throat. Somewhere in the back of your mind you cannot help but feel that your future rests in the outcome of this hunt. Is it worth it—to go on after catching Crik? Could you continue to skate through the stars on a whim and a prayer and the hope that you (or Din) don’t fall to a well-aimed blaster? Would the Mandalorian come with you if you asked him to shirk the Guild, or Mandalore, or his son?

You suppose the outcome of this hunt will answer the unanswerable. 

You hesitate before putting the bread in your mouth. “Am I really so obvious?”

“Usually.” Din’s voice glows, as much a warmth to your core as any fire. 

“I can hear your smile and I don’t like it.” Grin fading, you finish the silk bread. The flavor barely registers as you consider the hours before you. “I can do this,” you say.

“I know.” Din moves from his haunches to a crouch. He pulls his blaster from the holster at his side. “Ready?”

Ghosts of your mother’s tender touch seep through the bread cloth in your hand, warming you. Ghosts of your sister’s gentle spirit tangle within the memories dancing in your mind. Your mother, your sister—they urge you onward. 

You shove the bread cloth in your pocket. “Ready.”

/

Crik’s alleged-camp sits square in the middle of fuck nowhere. It stands in contrast with the rest of its surroundings: a hastily built circle of tan buildings, each connected by long rectangular passageways, like a spider sinking in a glass of bantha milk. A flickering orange light emanates from the center of the compound, creating a halo over a godless palace. 

Clearing your throat, you swipe the sleeve of your arm under your dripping nose. No more time to waste. No more moments of silence to descend into murky pits of the unknown. You told Din you were ready—and you are. Once and for all. 

“What’s our plan?” You cock your head in the direction of the camp. “We can’t just waltz up and knock on the door.”

Din huffs in amusement. “Looks like some already tried.” 

He passes you the heavy electrobinoculars. Pressing the lens to your eyes, you swing your gaze around the corner of the ice block. The world shifts to a hazy blue, lines of numbers and text bleeding across the top of and bottom of your vision, but you are able to make out the entrance of the camp in the distance. You zoom in. 

A head on a spike. Bloated, black tongue hanging from a broken jaw. Blood frozen in thick streams that never reached the ground. Above, dangling from a watchtower, a body. Neck snapped, head bowed, indistinguishable. Swaying, gently twisting in the harsh wind.

You push the binoculars away. “So the plan?”

Din considers your question before pointing to the right side of the compound. “We go in that way. A service entrance from what I can tell. A carrier went in not too long ago. Crik seems to be stocking up for the long haul.”

Before you stop yourself, you mumble, “Not if I can help it.”

Din pierces you with a sharp look. “Now isn’t the time to get cocky.” 

“I know. I just—”

“Take the binoculars again. Look up at the guard tower.” Ever the student, you do as he commands. “What do you see?”

“Guards.” You struggle to keep the bite out of your voice. 

“How many?”

“At least four.”

“Count them.”

Irritation tightens your jaw, but you obey, pausing long enough to count each individual stalking the length of the compound. “Five. And that’s only outside.” You lower the binoculars and pass them back with a none-too-gentle slap to the hand. “Point taken.”

“Good. So we go in through the service entrance and work our way closer to Crik from there. But before we go any further”—Din wrestles with the chest plate beneath his cloak—“put this on.” 

He offers his chest plate with little fanfare. It is merely a thing in his hand which he is presenting. The flight suit beneath his armor is dark. His uncovered chest rises and falls, patient, even breaths as he waits for you to accept the offering. 

“What?” You balk, spreading your hands in a sign of rejection. “Absolutely not! That’s yours! What are you even thinking?”

“Take it, Scout.” 

“Mando, I won’t take it.”

“Yes, you will.” Din grabs your hands, forcing them to wrap around the chilled metal. The outward facing side is cold, but the inside is still warm where it rested against his chest, where it covered his heart. “You will put it on and then maybe I will be able to fucking breathe through this thing.”

You look up, and not for the first time, you feel as though you are looking onto his naked face. The chest plate weighs heavy in your hands, but Din’s words weigh heavier. The warning signs posted around the camp are clear enough: this won’t be easy. It won’t be safe either. Din Djarin will do whatever it takes to get you the justice you so deserve. He will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, too.

You refuse to look at him as you press the chest plate to your body. He leans forward, reaching around your back to fold and adjust the clasps at either side. His touch is light. His movements are unsure. Reality hangs tenuous between you, fragile like thin glass. One wrong step, and Maker, you may break. 

He pulls back, chest plate secure, and his fingertips skim the rough fabric of your trousers. 

“Thanks.” Your whisper plumes in the air. You hold your hand to your armored chest. 

He nods. And then he is moving, reaching for you, and you cannot help but reach for him too. 

Your arms clutch his pauldrons, fingernails digging into the human flesh you find there. He is real. Right now he is real, and you are safe, and you can still touch him. Moisture lifts behind your eyes, but you push it down. There’s no time; not now.

“We’ll be fine.” You close your eyes, digging your teeth into the skin of your cheek to keep the mounting emotions at bay. “We will laugh about this on the other side.”

Hands clasped against either side of your face, Din presses his forehead to yours. “I lo—”

“No. Don’t say it.” You press your fingertips to his helm, to the shape of his mouth somewhere beneath layers of steel. “After. Tell me after.”

He hesitates then nods. “Okay.” A single finger catches in your hair, and you wonder if he is memorizing you. “After.”

You are the first to move, rising from your crouch to a battle-ready stance. 

By your rough estimate, the service entrance to the compound is one klick away. Five guards patrolling the perimeter, barely any natural formations to give you cover as you cross the terrain. With Din’s reduced armor, his black flight suit may as well be a beacon in this white tundra. You could go by foot and risk someone catching sight of Din’s flight suit, or you could use the speeder and take the chance that someone may hear the engine running as you approach. 

You decide to go on foot. Between the unrelenting wind and drifting snow, you will pray to the Maker the patrolmen are shortsighted. Once you get closer to the service entrance itself, you will transition to a crawl. From there—

You’ll figure it out if you manage to make it that far.

At his behest, Din walks in front of you. He is bigger and therefore blocks more of the wind. His footfalls create an easy path for you to follow through the mounting snow. Both combined will make for a shorter trek. 

Step after step, you trudge through the shin-deep blizzard. You clutch your scarf to your mouth, breathing hard as you slog. 

“Forty yards then we crawl.” Din’s voice crackles through the earpiece snug in your left ear.

Large flakes of snow catch in your eyelashes when you glance up to the battlement. The camp widens as you draw nearer. A well-camouflaged cancer, you think. Tucked away in some remote corner of the universe, silent but deadly, growing with every passing day. Sickness oozes from every crack and crevice of the stone facade. You can practically smell it. 

He’s there—in the camp—lounging or eating or fucking—and you are here, outside, waiting to strike.

Din lowers to his stomach when the camp’s shadow falls across his boots. Though the snowfall has picked up, adding another layer of cover, you can never be too careful. You follow his lead, crawling across the ground, using your knees and forearms to propel your movement.

Snow and ice gathers in the folds of your suit; the damp, moist feeling is quick to follow. The mineral-taste of fresh snow laden with atmospheric junk sours on your tongue. You spit, shaking your head free of the snow catching and freezing to your hair.

“Almost there.”

Your forearms ache, and you can feel the warm trickle of blood at your knee. Rugged ground beneath your arms and ice at every turn threatens to push you to injury before crossing the threshold of the camp. You suck in a breath and push forward. 

Finally, the service entrance pokes through the thickening wall of snow. The hangar door stands open, and a pale yellow light attempts to pierce the unrelenting white of the landscape.

When Din stands, you too rise on quaking limbs. “The snow,” you gasp. “I think it helped.”

He checks his vambrace. “Sensors read an incoming blizzard. We got here at the right time.”

You could say something about the total whiteout surrounding you already being of help, but you save your breath.

Din holds his blaster close, gesturing to the one at your hip with the muzzle of his weapon. “Be ready,” he says. “Whoever, whatever—take it out.”

You nod. 

He hesitates, as though he wants to say something more, and you think this would be the moment he could shed his helmet and kiss you. Man to woman. Human to human. You would readily accept the moment, bleed into his kiss, meld into his body, but—

He simply nods. 

Turning, Din hugs the wall as he stalks the length of the empty hangar. You keep to his shadow, footsteps light and practiced. At the other side of the room, there is a door which must enter the sanctity of the camp itself. After skirting workbenches and mislaid tools, you reach it. Din tries the handle. It swings open.

Warmth billows from the corridor like the breath of hell. You squint against the firelight that swallows the hallway and the meeting room beyond. No time for hesitation; no time for adjustment. You squeeze your eyes open and shut and follow Din into the hallway wrapping around a communal hall.

The hall, square and narrow beneath a triangular roof, is void of life. A fire roars in the center of the room, logs piled high, flames licking out like demon tongues. You step quietly, studying the crates and barrels cluttered around the fire. No discernible features on any of the wooden boxes. Still, you doubt anyone will be feeding them to the fire anytime soon. The compound is too silent, too distracted. You feel it in the air, the false security of an incoming storm. 

Only the storm is already here.

Din’s footfalls thud in the stone hallway. You grit your teeth, praying to the gods everyone is asleep or otherwise distracted. You are here for Crik and only Crik. 

You curl your trigger finger against the blaster’s sear. 

“Hey!”

A voice—behind you. 

Twisting at the hip, you shoot before you see, but it does not matter. Din said whoever, whatever and you agree. If it takes Crik down, if it gets your sister the eternal rest she deserves, you will tear the camp to pieces with your bare hands.

Your shot hits the shoulder of a guard at the opposite end of the hallway. He grabs his wound, doubling over with a shout of pain and alarm. Din pushes past you, moving fast, his blaster holstered, his hands free. He grabs the guard before he can right himself. The guard looks up, eyes wild, mouth open to shout a warning signal. 

But you are there before he can make a sound. Your blood runs hot. This is it. It is happening, unfolding before you in slow motion. Justice tastes sweet. 

You cram the muzzle of your blaster in the slack-jawed guard’s mouth. His eyes drop to you, and he grunts, his tongue flailing against the barrel of your blaster. You shoot, you retreat, the body hits the ground as Din steps back. 

Down the hall now—away from the fire and the body, into a darker part of the camp.

Music wafts from some secret corner of the compound. Din looks at you as if to ask the question: That way? You nod. 

Your footsteps are the only sound as you follow the stonework of the compound’s hallways. The music, some lilting birdsong, grows louder, and your blood runs thicker, hungrier as Crick draws nearer. 

Another guard steps out of a dark alcove, blaster raised. Din withdraws a throwing star from a compartment in his vambrace. He flicks it outward, catching the guard’s wrist. The blaster falls, and you scoop it from the ground. Din’s fist lands against the guard’s cheekbone. He falls back, holding his face in pain. You bring the blaster grip down on his temple. 

Onward. The music pulses now, or maybe it is just your heartbeat. Your sister’s face floats before you, some ghostly image or vision that buoys you forward.

“Wait.” Din holds out his arm, and you nearly run into it.  

You stand in the doorway of a new common area. Music spills into the hall. A singer you cannot see from your vantage point sings about love. Their voice lifts over the sound of conversation, each syllable a honeyed-tenor. The song builds, words of devotion and ardor, feelings of passion and desire. You do not allow yourself to fall prey to the heightening emotion; you keep your eyes fixed on the room within. On the man with the shaved head and the scar on his cheek.

The song hits its crescendo, the singer’s voice frozen in a high note.

Din snaps his fingers. “Now.”

Bursting into the room, you shoot blindly. You counted five men when in the doorway. Five of them, two of you. You like those odds. 

Blasterfire pings in every corner. You drop, rolling across the floor to swing your leg outward against a pudgy man’s knee. He curses as he falls, and you bring your dagger to his neck. You slice without thought. Blood gushes over your hand, staining your fingers, but you press on, knocking the man to his side.

On the other side of the room, Din carves his way through Crik’s sycophants. He moves with ease, throwing his elbow, bending to a twist when a blaster shot arcs over his head. He is heading for Crik, and you are eager to get there with him.

A female Twi’lek crosses your path. She bares teeth sharpened to a point. You raise your dagger, and she lifts a shortsword, grinning.

She thrusts first, and you parry. You whirl on your heel, bringing your blade in a wide arc over your head and shoulders. The Twi’lek ducks and catches the back of your leg with the point of her sword. You clench your jaw, but do no more to let the pain show on your face. Lurching forward, you grab the back of a nearby chair. The Twi’lek pauses for breath, pauses to watch her surroundings, pauses to watch the blood that streams down your leg. 

Big mistake.

You lift the chair in your hand and swing. It catches the Twi’lek in the stomach. She stumbles backward. You do not let go. You run, pushing against the Twi’lek with the seat of the chair. She frowns, fingers grabbing for the legs of the chair for some upperhand, but you push harder, forcing her across the floor until she hits the wall with a heavy thud. You drop the chair and bring your blaster up, eye level with your opponent. 

“Fucking bitch,” she mutters. 

You can’t help but grin. “Always.”

You slam your forehead against her face. Stars wash over your vision, but you feel her nose crack against your forehead. 

Stumbling backward, you shake your head free of the immediate pain of the headbutt. The Twi’lek curses as she clutches her nose, blood dripping from beneath her fingers. She looks up at you, rage like a steel trap in her eyes. 

She bolts. Blood flows from her nose, leaking onto the neck of her shirt, flinging in a shower of droplets onto the ground. Arms pumping, she advances on you. You stand your ground, dagger in one hand, blaster in the other. 

You’ll take her down. You know you can.

You brace for impact, but the Twi’lek veers for the right. You frown, stepping back to adjust your position. Only she is up, in the air, jumping, her foot hitting off a support beam in the center of the room. She pounces, and she is flying, circling over you like a predator over prey.

Now it is you who is stumbling. You card backward, glancing from the incoming Twi’lek to Din, who advances on Crik with one of the remaining guards at his back. Crik strikes outward with a shortsword. He hits Din’s unarmored stomach, and Din stops his advance, pausing long enough to show a moment of pain. 

Your attention slips. The Twi’lek descends. The hilt of her sword lands hard on the left side of your skull.

Pain explodes over your head in radiant bursts of light and fire. You fall, shouting out as you collapse. Your forearms break the fall as you catch yourself with whatever sense you have left, but you cannot rise to your feet. A bell clangs in your head; your mind feels sluggish. It is as if you have been rendered mute and immoveable. You have become a rock, and the stream of life flows all around you. The fight continues on, but you cannot join in. 

Blood pools in your mouth. A tooth? Your tongue? Perhaps neither. Perhaps both.

Tears well in your eyes as the clanging continues. Your head feels heavy, and your stomach heaves against the pain. You wretch, and the revolt in your stomach pushes you on to your hands and knees. You vomit, and somewhere overhead the Twi’lek laughs. 

“Yes,” she says. “Definitely a bitch.”

You stumble to your feet, eyes lazy as they swing from one side of the room to the other. You are underwater, surely. You cannot hear, and you cannot see, and you cannot think. You must be drowning. This is what drowning feels like.

You mumble something around a thick tongue. The Twi’lek cocks her head, laughing still. “What was that?” she asks. “I didn’t really hear you.”

There are two of her now, twins that ebb and flow like the tide, a double of evil. You cannot determine the true twin, the one who must have come first, but you see them both, and you hate them both, and that must be enough. 

With a cry, you fall forward, your dagger pointed and at the ready. The Twi’lek catches you, but she does not catch your dagger, the one hidden beneath your sleeve. It sinks into the juncture of her neck and shoulder. You grit your teeth as you push harder, harder, until the hilt seems to disappear within her oozing and bleeding flesh.

She is silent as she falls, her eyes bouncing between yours. Blood rises to the corners of her mouth, and she gasps for breath. You drop to your knees with her as the life floods from her face. You place her head on the ground, and you hover over her, watching as her soul slips.

“Fuck-k-ing bii-tchh,” she gargles. Blood spills over her lips as she gags. 

Gasping, sucking air into your throat and your lungs and your soul, you nod. “Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, that’s never been a question.”

Her head lolls to the side. 

You look up across the room to Din. He stands face to helmet, arm in arm, with Rendell Crik. Though your heart beats wildly against your ribcage, you cannot stop. He is near, at your fingertips. He is surrounded by the bodies of his stupid, oafish lackeys, and you are here, and he is held by the most powerful man on the planet. 

You rise on shaking legs. You swipe your hand over your mouth. Rendell Crik fills your vision. You take one step forward.

A shot rings out.

The Mandalorian falls.

NEXT CHAPTER (coming soon)

[undead-potatoes]

Busted out my ancient gif making skills just so I could capture Harding and her excited little rocking animation

[formulawolff]

"keep 'em comin'" - m.v.

pairing: girl best friend!reader x max verstappen

word count: 2.3k

warnings: alcohol consumption, light marijuana usage, cussing, max munching on some cooter! (that will come later in the fic), enemies to friends to lovers, typical men behavior (being creepy in a bar), mentions of physical threats, kelly slander, THINGS ARE MESSY BETWEEN KELLY AND MAX (so if y'all don't like light infidelity/gray areas then don't read) yadayadayada (y'all already know the vibes)

a/n: hellllloooo! <3 this is my first time writing for max so if this isn't quite like him, i apologize in advance. this fic is based off of a request and i had to write about it since i've been feral for max (he finally took off that damned cap!) this may end up as a two or three part series. we'll see, we'll see!

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺

"i see the decrepit hag decided to let you out of her clutches tonight. congratulations for being able to be out and about in public without her breathing down your neck!"

the figure standing to your left scoffs, muttering a few incoherent words under his breath. he slides into the booth, propping his chin up with a hand. the other finds the glistening glass, a bead of condensation rolling down, pooling onto the rigid table.

"about that."

"what about it?" you arch a brow, lips connecting with the rim of your own drink, "max, did something happen before you left?"

he shrugs, brows pinching together as he sips on his mixed drink, a decadent yet smooth concoction of his favorite liquors blended together, "it's nothing serious."

"max," setting your glass down, you lean forward ever so slightly, his name louder than normal over the overwhelming mixture of voices and volume, "what. happened."

"oh you know," he waves a hand, careful not to meet your piercing gaze, "she's upset that i was going out to see you. that's all."

the moment max mentioned her, you knew exactly who she was.

she was kelly piquet. max verstappen's beloved wag. the woman who scooped him up the moment that clock struck midnight on his eighteenth birthday.

the woman you loathed more than anyone in the world.

but you wouldn't tell max that.

after all, you couldn't. the pair had been dating for quite some time. and although max wouldn't say it outright, you were well aware that she was not going anywhere anytime soon.

no matter how much the two fought. no matter how much she wanted to make your relationship with max as strained as possible.

your friendship with max had a rocky start. tumultuous, even. the two of you met when you were both seventeen, as your parents were mutual friends. since max was involved in racing, and you aimed to pursue professional photography, max's father suggested that the two of you get to know one another.

of course, at that time, the last thing teenage max wanted was some nerdy girl following him around. especially when there were other teenage boys involved. cool teenage boys who enjoyed to fuck around with fast machinery.

he teased you relentlessly, tormenting you whenever he could. he ridiculed your photographic abilities, scorning the prints or slideshows you provided. often times, he stated that your pictures were, "absolute shit" and your clip compilations "were not going to get you anywhere in formula one."

of course, you matched his energy. after all, you weren't going to take anyone's shit. you knew you had to advocate for yourself. you weren't going to make it in the industry if you weren't assertive.

eventually, your snapshots landed you a job at red bull. well, max did have a part to play in that.

after a couple of years, the dutch driver apologized for the way he treated you at the time, requesting a truce. the truce would consist of you sticking around as his personal media manager.

in turn, he would promote your work to the world of formula one and assist you in your way up the ladder in any way he could. he would land your sponsorships. he would chip in some cash here and there to get you more advanced software or equipment.

the only stipulation was that you had to follow him.

everywhere and anywhere he went. every event. every interview. every grand prix.

no. matter. what.

of course, with the stakes involved, you knew it was too good of a deal to refuse. with max's rise to prominence in formula one, you knew it was now or never.

so, you accepted his offer.

oh jos verstappen, what a bastard you were.

cause now, here you were in vegas, sitting across from the man you loved. well, the man you were in love with.

hopelessly and utterly in love with.

"that isn't unusual for her," you scoff, hands reaching for your purse, "i do have something that could lighten the mood!"

"and that is?" max's gaze follows your hand, making note of the delicately wrapped joint between your fingers.

"my friend mary jane!"

"you of all people know i shouldn't be smoking," the dutch driver shakes his head, yet proceeds to scoot out of the booth anyway, "i'll still come out there with you. i won't be taking any hits though."

"yeah, yeah," you wave a hand, "that's what they all say."

as you slip out of the booth, you feel max's hand connect with your lower back, almost guiding you through the throng of locals. a few of them chirp greetings to max, others chattering, creating a buzz within the air.

well, there went any sort of anonymity.

so much for keeping a low profile for the weekend.

yet, when in vegas, that was almost impossible to maintain. especially when you were a man of max's caliber.

the two of you manage to slip out, just before fans started asking for autographs. of course, max obliged to a few, signing a cap here and an arm there.

even though it was quickly approaching december, the air was mild, dipping in the low fifties. max hovers to your right, shuddering as a breeze rolls through. you curse as it quenches your flame, motioning for max to stand closer.

"can you shield me for a moment, pretty boy?"

"pretty boy?"

from the way the words tumbled from his mouth, max seemingly was not to keen to the idea of being referred to as pretty boy. yet, he inches even closer to you, providing a barrier as the lighter comes to life, igniting your delicate pre-roll.

"what else should i call you?" shrugging, you exhale, the smoke billowing into the night, "or do you prefer world champion?"

"how much did you have to drink before i got here?" the dutch driver cocks his head, his stare almost picking you apart.

"enough," you respond, lips curling into a devious grin, "don't act like you didn't like that."

"i did," he counters, "that's the issue here."

"and why is that an issue?"

"because we used to fucking despise one another. we used to tear one another apart. and now here i am, going out for drinks with you when i shouldn't be. here i am, looking forward to your texts or your snaps when i know i should be thinking about someone else.

fuck, even when i'm with her, my mind wanders to you. we're together all of the fucking time yet i crave you. i miss you when we're apart. what are you doing to me?"

before your mind can even formulate a coherent response, an individual saunters up to the two of you, drinks in hand.

it's an older man, approximately in his early or mid fifties. he's balding, as a few of the greasy hairs were poorly combed over. he was well dressed, but poorly groomed, as there was quite the scruff plaguing his feautures.

"good evening," his words are directed towards you, yet you couldn't help but notice the way his eyes were fixated on your joint, "i was wondering if the pretty lady could exchange a hit or two for a-"

"she's not accepting shit from you," max's voice is low, the driver taking another half step toward you, almost to shield you even further.

"c'mon man," the man drawls, the words slurred, "i wasn't fucking speakin' to ya. i was talkin' to her."

"and i'm talking to you," max's jaw clenches, "get the fuck out of here."

"and you are?" the man arches a brow, "surely not her boyfriend."

"actually i am," the words are forced through gritted teeth, the driver's fists clenched to his sides, "i'm her fiancé. i suggest you leave before i-"

"got it," the man exhales, rolling his eyes, "it was worth a shot. what the fuck ever man."

as he turns to head back towards the bar, you feel fingers find yours, intertwining together. max squeezes your hand gently, "are you okay?"

"fiancé?" relief ripples as you notice his demeanor crumble, "what was that all about? were you manifesting something or-"

"come on," max tugs at your hand, "let's go to another place. get a few more drinks. keep 'em comin'. keep the alcohol flowin', you know?"

"max," clicking your tongue, you frown as your realize your joint was burnt out, "what is going on between you and kelly?"

"i don't want to talk about her right now," the driver won't even look at you, keeping his focus on the glow and ambiance of the city, "we can talk about anything else but her. please. i don't even want to think about her right now. shouldn't you be relieved? why aren't you relieved?"

"because you look stressed the fuck out!" you retort, "and it stresses me out because i love you and i can't handle seeing you all bummed about some hag who is only using you!"

max freezes, your hand flying up to your mouth. heat floods your cheeks, heart thudding against your rib-cage as you realize what just came pouring from your mouth.

"did you just tell me that you love me?"

his voice is soft. dangerously low. merely a whisper, barely audible over the bustling noise of vegas.

tears well up, shame setting your body ablaze as you nod, biting your lower lip, "y-yeah. and i know i shouldn't-"

"shut the fuck up," hands meet with your cheeks, bringing you in close, "just shut the fuck up and come here."

in that moment, max's mouth finds yours. the kiss is tender, brimmed with nothing but passion, breathing life back into your lungs. it was grounding yet exhilarating, waves of euphoria crashing over.

he pulls away, forehead brushing against yours, "why haven't i done this sooner?"

"because kelly-"

"i don't give a fuck about kelly right now."

"give a fuck about me then," you murmur against his mouth, relishing the way his hands explore, roaming along your back, trailing down to your ass, "you think we should take this somewhere more private? before someone snaps a photo of max verstappen making out with his media manager?"

"that's a good idea," he nods, "i'll arrange an uber."

although it was merely minutes in the time it took between getting into the uber and making it to your hotel room, it felt like an eternity. yet, with the way max's hand gripped your thigh the entire drive, you didn't complain. the other hand held onto yours, pressing gentle kisses to your knuckles.

if only this was your everyday life.

if only things were different.

if only he fell in love with you first.

once the two of you were in the elevator, he maintained his composure, as there were other people stepping in and out. there was even a little boy, in awe that his favorite driver was staying in the same hotel as him. max was kind enough to gift him one of his beaded bracelets, a small memento from a win during the 2022 season.

if only that child knew what his favorite driver was really up to.

once that light on your keypad flashed green, his mouth was on yours, tongue gliding along your lower lip, practically begging for access. his hands were all over, tugging on your clothes, desperate to see what was underneath.

"fuck," there's a rumble in his chest as he lays on you on the bed, pinning you to the mattress.

"what?" you can't help but wriggle a little, slightly flustered by the intensity of his gaze.

"you have no idea how much i've thought about this," a dusty rose hue tinges his cheeks, "i-i almost don't know what to do now. i've thought about it so frequently that i had it down to every little detail. and now i have you here, right where i want you but i feel like i'm going to fuck this up and-"

"max," tender fingers sweep locks of hair from his forehead, "do what you feel is right."

"i just want to show you how much i love you. i need you to know how loved you are."

"i think i have an idea," the tip of your nose brushes against his, "is there anything i can do to help?"

"will you let me taste you?"

instinctively, your hips buck forward, legs spreading so that he can have access. you can feel his cock stiffen in his pants, pressing against your inner thigh, aching for some sort of relief.

"yes," you nod, "you can taste me."

"f-fuck," his jaw nearly goes slack as you guide his hand through the waistband of your panties, the pad of his index finger circling your clit, "you're this wet for me? already? my poor baby. all soaked and desperate for me."

"m-max," the way his name falls from your lips is intoxicating, "i need you."

"are you sure this is okay?" he pauses, eyes meeting with yours, "if at any moment you need me to stop, just tell me."

"you are more than okay. i promise."

fingers delicately unbutton your jeans, rolling them down your legs. in the process, you peel off your hoodie and shirt, tossing them to the floor.

just the mere sight of you half-dressed had him coming undone, his inhibitions slipping away by the second. fuck, you were so stunning. someone who deserved to be worshipped and cherished.

far more beautiful than he could have ever imagined.

situating himself between your legs, max's mouth roams, placing wet kisses all over your inner thighs, hips, and abdomen. his tongue flattens against your heated core, savoring the way you squirmed under his touch.

"you need me to taste you baby?" he coos, cocking his head.

"yes," you plead, skin hot to the touch, your clit engorged, folds slick with juices.

"hmmm," he hums, hands grasping your thighs to spread you open further.

"once i get these off of you, you're all mine. and only mine. got that?"

yet, there was one thing that happened to slip max verstappen's mind that night in vegas.

well, one woman.

the woman he referred to as his girlfriend, but the woman he was not in love with.

kelly piquet.

[anundyingfidelity]

TRAINING SEASON — Jensen Ackles

Summary: After a tumultuous relationship and a hard break up, you get trapped in between your co-star and a casual one night stand. But there's nothing you regret about.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x female reader, actress!reader.

Word count: 1,076.

Warnings: implied sex like the morning-after-sex, nudity, some sexy time but no full smut, friends to lovers, language, idk just wrote this quickly.

Notes: AU where Jensen is obviously single, and reader is like 38 in my head don't asky why I like this number, I still have no idea. And I just love, and I mean, loooveeee getting obsessed with hot men over 40, can you tell?

>> disclaimer: i totally respect the private lifes of the actors and celebrities i use for my fanfictions, and of course their personal relationships. this is only fiction written for fun and nothing more.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

Opening your eyes, you stirred on the soft bed and noticed your sorroundings. This wasn't your hotel room. Your bare body hidden under the blank, messy bed sheets reminded you of yesterday's events. You smiled.

The other side of the bed was warm. His body pressing against yours felt perfect, and you wrapped your hand on his own, which was laying on your waist, like if he didn't want to let go of you. Your mind started remembering his touch on your skin, the way he would kiss every inch of your stomach, the trail of kisses he left all over you, and his love bites around your neck and chest. The burning between your thighs and the soreness let you notice it was as good as you imagined it to be, even before it happened.

"Whatcha thinking?" he asked, raspy and soft voice booming in your ears.

"Mmm... Nothing, just how great you felt last night," you teased, turning your head to see his face directly. Bare skin, disheveled hair, and tired but loving eyes met you. God, he was beautiful. He looked so fucked out in the best way possible one could describe it.

Jensen chuckled and kissed your cheek. Still, he never let go his embrace on you. He looked at you vividly for a long time, scanning every feature of your face, like he wanted to save all of you in just an instant. Your brows furrowed for a moment.

"What?" you whispered.

"We didn't fuck this up, did we?"

A sigh left your lips, your hand ran on his hair softly. You knew what he meant. You had a bad relationship and an even worse break up months before you started working together, and Jensen became a great friend as you tried to overcome it. And it was so hard not to fall for him when it felt like you knew each other for decades. He was someone you could trust your deepest secrets, pain and thoughts. A part of you did not want to cry on his shoulder for days once you got comfortable around him, nor letting him know how terrible you felt at the time. But he never judged you. He just was there, listening and offering a helping hand expecting nothing back.

But your feelings changed in the course. As months went by, an amazing, caring and loving friendship bloomed between both of you. Since the project was a long new TV series, you used to spend a huge amount of time together as your characters appeared to be in a slow building relationship. And now, the premiere was done, but the press tour barely started, so that meant you were not getting away from each other in a good time now.

"No," you finally answered. "Of course no."

"I mean, I know what you been through, and I- I don't wanna ruin anything-"

"Jensen, is fine," you cut him off. His eyes locked on yours, concern washed all over his handsome face. "I am fine with this, are you?"

"Absolutely," he said. "I always was. I mean, I liked you for a long time now," he laughed a little, making you smile. One of his hands now carressing your bare thigh, feeling the heat of your skin.

Jensen leaned down and pecked your lips softly, his lips slowly found its way to your neck, kissing and biting the flesh, exactly how he did last night. He groaned, tasting the saltiness, and you let out a soft moan as he flipped you around. You laid on your back, him on top. His tongue tracing your skin, stopping right before your breats. God, you were getting wet again.

Unlucky for you, your phone started ringing, breaking the moment and Jensen, with a disappointed look on his face, gave you the space to run and answer. By the way you were talking, he figured it was your manager, so he hid behind the covers, admiring you from afar. When you ended the phone call, you walked to him. His eyes kept lusting over your naked figure as you looked for your clothes all over the room. He sadly knew you were postponing until you had enough alone time together.

"I keep forgetting we're still on press tour," you kissed his cheek softly once you put on your underwear and grabbed your clothes to get decent to leave. "I'll be going now, sorry."

"It's fine," Jensen smiled, standing up and putting up some pants. He followed you before you crossed the door. "I'll see you later tonight then, how about dinner?" he casually asked, leaning down. "And then we could probably take care of some other things," he whispered in your ear. You bit your lip, eager to know what he had in mind.

"That'll be amazing, surprise me!"

You gave him a playful wink, and taking your purse you left his room with a wide grin on your face. You were so glad you stopped dating trainees to build a relationship with. Jensen was a self-confident, expert man, and you were more than happy to give it a shot.

[spoilmesweetieforficssake]

Surprise Meet The Parents

So...a while ago (years, decades, possibly even centuries) I received a prompt for an age gap meet the parent's fic with Melissa and at the time I wasn't sure how to go with it and someone tossed in the idea of a surprise meet. At the time, I'd started down a different path, but since then I've looped back around and decided to try the road not taken...

I will try and link the other fic (when I find it!) and it's my New Year's Resolution to create a masterlist and move my fics across to AO3. But in the meantime, thank you all for all your lovely comments and responses to my last couple of posts (work remains crazy and I am nowhere near ready for Christmas) so although I haven't had time to reply properly to them, they have honestly helped keep my sane and smiling!

Hope you enjoy the latest offering!

Melissa frowns at the couple waving enthusiastically in your direction.  They’re not parents she recognises.  “Who’s that?” she asks, nudging you.

“Um…” you hesitate, not quite knowing how to break the news.  “That…that is my mum and dad.”

The red head eyes widen as she turns to look at you.  “You didn’t say they were coming!”

“Neither did they!”

*

The surprise visit has certainly succeeded in it’s aim.  You are very surprised.  Somehow, your parents have been able to keep a transatlantic flight a secret and appeared just in time for the final bell.  Yes, you agree with your mum, it’s a cute idea they had to be here in time for picking you up from school, just like the old days.  It’s also absolutely thrown you for a loop. 

Hugs are exchanged and with nowhere to run, introductions made.  Melissa puts on her best act, but you can see she’s tense.  You’d talked about her meeting your parents, but them turning up out of the blue at Abbott was not the plan.

Your mum suggests dinner and a chance to sit down and talk properly.  The name of the restaurant she suggests looked nice on the drive over isn’t one you’re familiar with and you automatically counter with a suggestion for an old favourite haunt of you and Melissa’s.  The red head is nervous enough without going somewhere you’ve never been with a whole new menu she’s never looked at.

Thankfully, your parents seem more than happy to go along with your suggestion.  “Great, then how about I call and book, then I can message you with the address and we can meet there in a couple of hours’ time?  Give you guys time to settle in and us to wrap up here?”

*

By the time you both finish seeing your students off, manage to ward off the questions from your colleagues over the sudden appearance of your parents and get home, it’s a rush to get ready for dinner.

Preparations are not helped by Melissa’s panic over what to wear.  You know telling her she looks good in anything isn’t going to help right now, even if it is true.  Instead, you stand behind her where she continues to root through her closet, wrapping your arms tightly around her. 

“I sorry,” you tell her, nuzzling against the back of her neck.  “I know this isn’t how you wanted to meet my parents.  And if I had a choice this isn’t how you’d be meeting them either, but they are here and I’d love for you to meet them.”

She turns in your arms, resting your foreheads together.  “No, I’m sorry.  I’m freaking out and that’s not fair.  I’ve spoken to your parents on the phone and they’re nice people, but I just…”

You shake your head.  “You hate surprises and this is a big one.  So I get it.  Hell, the first time I met your family I was sweating buckets and could hardly string a sentence together.”

At this, Melissa smiles.  “I remember.  You made promise to watch out for sweat patches and take a spare shirt in my bag just in case.”

“You also didn’t leave my side,” you remind her.  “And I won’t leave yours.”

*

It was a promise you intended to keep, but you hadn’t quite factored into this the fact you would need to use the bathroom at some point.  Dinner isn’t exactly going badly.  In actual fact, it’s been going rather well, but you can still feel Melissa tense next to you and can see how tight her smile is.  Slipping you phone off the table, you quickly type a quick note before turning the screen so she can see it.

She offers you a slight nod and you excuse yourself, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze before you go.  Your parents are good people.  You know they’re hardly likely to throw any barbs her way while you’re going, but she’s nervous, and you know she has a tendency to blurt out more than she means.  Hopefully, if you’re quick she won’t have time to say anything she would come to regret. 

Placing her hands on the table, Melissa takes a deep breath as you go, forcing herself to keep the smile on her face.  “I’m sure you have questions,” she offers when it’s just her and your parents.  “Or that I might not be quite what you expected.”

“You realise before you, all we got was photos of the city?  Or artwork her kids had done?  Random cats she meets on the street?” asks you mother.  “Since you, we pictures of her.  Smiling, happy, with you.  The city is in the background now.”

Melissa cheeks pink and she ducks her head.  She hadn’t realised there had been such a shift.  To her, with her, you were just as you had always been.  She’d asked her if she minded you sending pictures of the two of you to your friends and family.  The red head had always said as long as she looked good in them and there’s wasn’t too much cleavage she was good with it.  Afterall, much as she likes to showcase the girls, she wants to make a good impression.

Your mother leans across the table slightly, her voice low and tone gentle.  “She’s mentioned you’ve been worried about being a little older than she is.”

At this, Melissa pales, waiting for the cutting comment that’s sure to follow. 

“But,” she goes on, gesturing with her glass as she talks.  “You get to realise that when all your daughter’s favourite films and tv shows seem to revolve around female characters with at least a couple of decades on her, she might have a type.”  She leans back in her chair.  “I mean, she had Cybill on DVD as teenager, never missed an episode of Xena, not to mention the crush she’s had on Meryl Streep forever.”

The laugh has tumbled from her lips before she can stop it, and once she’s started, Melissa finds she can’t stop.  As the tension leaves her body, she can only shake her head and continue laughing.  Of all the things she thought your mother might say, your teenage taste in women were not among them.  “So you…don’t mind?” she asks when she’s calmed herself down. 

“We mind that you care about her,” your dad smiles.  He hadn’t missed the fact that Melissa had held doors for you, sorted your coat on the back of your chair, reminded you that you found the spicy mayo too spicy.  In short, she’d been a gentlewoman.  One that knew you well.  “We mind that she’s herself with you.  You realise you’re the first person she’s ever properly introduced?  Before it’s always been one of her friends let something slip, or we have to make a guess reading between the lines.  But with you she’s excited to tell us about things that you do together.  She doesn’t try and hide that you’re together like she’d done in other relationships.”

At this, she can only smile.  Yes, this may not be how she envisaged meeting your parents, but she’d be lying if she said it’s not going better than she ever could have hoped.  Whenever Jo would introduce her to someone, anyone, it was always with a derogatory comment about how hot a piece of ass she was.  Even if in private his words weren’t always so flattering.  You, however, apparently introduce her as someone you’re happy with.  Someone you share things with.  Who you share yourself with.  It’s a compliment she never realised you kept on giving her.  “I do care about her,” she says softly.  “A lot.  A helluva lot.”

“I’m glad,” smiles your dad.  “Because from what I’ve seen and heard you seem real nice, and I’d hate to have to hate you if you broke my little girl’s heart.”

Melissa holds you father’s gaze.  “I’m not perfect.  A long way from it, actually.  I’m grouchy and hot tempered, but I promise the last thing I want to do is hurt her.  She means too much to me.”  She pauses.  “That, and you’d have to join the queue in kicking my ass if I did.”

Now it’s your mum’s turn to smile.  “Long queue, huh?”

The red head laughs.  “I mean, I gotta lot of ass to kick, but that queue is already round the block.  My best friend at the front of the line.”

“Ouch,” winces your mother. 

“Yeah,” Melissa nods.  “I’ve already been warned that if it comes to picking sides my team is looking slim.  But I have no intention of it ever coming to that.”

Your mother lifts her glass, touching it to Melissa’s.  “Smart woman.”

Returning form the bathroom, you slide back into your seat, immediately feeling the shift in mood at the table.  “Everything okay?”

In answer, Melissa rests her arm along the back of your chair, her fingers gentle stroking the top of your arm.  You raise an eyebrow at the move, only to get a smile in return.  “Everything is great, actually.”

*

It’s not until later that night when you finally ask what had been said when you went to the bathroom.  You hadn’t asked on the car ride home, still riding the high of how well the evening had gone and the couple of glasses of wine that had gone along with it. 

Melissa looks up at you from where she’s propped up in bed, looking through her phone.  “What?” she asks, looking at you over the top of her glasses in a way that shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. 

“Tonight, when I went to the bathroom,” you repeat.  “You were all nervous before, then I come back and you’re all fine about it?”

“Your parents are nice people.  Why wouldn’t we get along?” she answers, her words frustratingly vague. 

You narrow your eyes at her, not buying it.  She’s not lying to you.  That much you know.  But you also know there is definitely more to this story.  “What did they say?”

She sighs, putting down her phone.  “All right, so when you went to pee, I asked if they had any questions about, well, me.  My age, that I might not be quite what they expected.”  She pauses with a smirk.  “But your mom told me that actually, I kinda was what they expected?”

At this, you frown.  Melissa is very different to your previous partners, so quite how she’s what your mum expected you’re not quite sure. 

“She told me you have a type.”  Melissa’s smirk is still firmly in place.  It makes you slightly nervous. 

This, again, is news to you.  That you have a type at all, even more that your mother seems to think you have one.  Turning out the light to the bathroom, you pause in the doorway, now not entirely sure you want to hear the rest of the conversation.    

“She seems to think from your younger viewing habits that you like older women,” divulges the red head.  “Cybill Shepherd got a mention.”

At this your cheeks flame red and Melissa’s smile only grows more devious.  She loves getting to tease you.

“So she was right?”

“Oh come on!” you exclaim.  “Cut poor little gay me some slack! between Cybill and that voice of hers, Christine Baranksi and the red head that played the daughter what hope did I have?”

Melissa’s shoulders begin to shake before she finally laughs.  Really laughs. 

You roll your eyes, but part of you can’t help but enjoy the red head’s delight at your reaction.  Turning off the light, you crawl into bed next to her.

“You’re adorable,” says Melissa as she calms down, pulling you into her arms. 

“Shut up,” you mumble into her shoulder.

“Wanna know what else your mom said?”

You groan against her skin.  There was more?”

“I hear you’re a Meryl Streep fan.”  Even without seeing her face, you know she’s grinning. 

“Oh come on!” you exclaim.  “Who isn’t?  The woman is an ever-appealing chameleon.”

The red head nods in the darkness.  “Fair,” she concedes.  “What about Xena?”

You’re glad you’ve turned the lights off as your cheeks flame red.  You’re going to murder your mother.  “I was a fan of strong female lead roles,” you huff defensively.

“Uh huh,” hums Melissa.  “So no credit to the wardrobe department?”

“You’re mean,” you mumble.

She laughs.  “No, I’m not.  I’m just enjoying this glimpse into the inner workings of your formative years.”

Taking your face from where it’s been hidden against her shoulder, you shift to press a kiss to her jaw.  You have to smile.  She’s enjoying this too much, and looking back, your teenage crushes were laughable in their less than subtle nature.  Especially given the fact you had no idea a the time.  “It might amuse you to hear that at the time, I genuinely thought I just preferred shows with strong female characters.  It wasn’t until years later I realised I fancied the absolute pants off them.”

The arm that had been wrapped around you pulls you more tightly to her.  “I’m glad you had that all figured out by the time you met me,” she smiles.  “I wouldn’t have had the patience to wait years.”

[minniesmutt]

☾ ━━━━━━ 𝐚 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

☾ ━━━ PAIRING: LEE KNOW X READER ☾ ━━━ CONTENT: GRIM REAPER! LEE KNOW, HUMAN! READER, DEATH, ACCIDENTAL OD, MENTION OF DRUG USE, MENTIONS OF DEPRESSION, MENTION OF S*ICIDE, HOSPITALS, INJURY, UNESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP, PRAISE, FINGERING, HAND JOB, UNPROTECTED SEX, BEGGING, PET NAMES (PRETTY KITTY, KITTEN, BABY), CREAMPIE, ANGST ☾ ━━━ WC: 2.2K ☾ ━━━ repost from old blog ☾ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog

     Y/n didn’t believe in an afterlife. Not until she got pulled from it. The bright light of the hospital blinded her eyes as she blinked. No one else was in the room. 

     Well, except for the guy in all black in the corner. She blinked again to adjust to the light and he was gone. She was a bit confused but concluded it was just her mind playing tricks on her. Especially when a nurse walked in.

     “Welcome back to the land of the living, Ms. L/n,” The nurse smiled as she grabbed her file and walked over to the monitor next to her.

     “How long was I out for?” 

     “Not long. Your friends neighbor works at the hospital and called us as soon as they came knocking. Gave you a bit of Narcan but you crashed just as the paramedics got there so they had to restart your heart. You’ve been stable since you got to the hospital about an hour ago. I’ll let the doctors know you're awake.”

     The nurse walked out of the room and Y/n groaned, trying to move her arms. Handcuffed. 

     She had a friend that knew people. They got some harder drugs one night. It was all fun. Music blared through the apartment. She remembered taking some and then closing her eyes. Between that and the hospital, she had no fucking clue.

     The handcuffs were confusing. Did they think it was on purpose? That she actually tried offing herself through drugs?

     “Ms. L/n, how are you?” the doctor’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. 

     “Tired,” Y/n shrugged

     “So am I,” the doctor pulled up a chair next to the bed, “Can I ask a couple of questions about the other night?”

     “I can’t guarantee I’ll remember much.”

     “That’s okay. Whatever you can remember,” the doctor answered, “Did you bring the drugs?”

     “No. I wouldn’t even know how to find a dealer. My friend knows people.”

     “Was this your first time using?”

     “Yes.”

     “I noticed in your file that you have a history of depression. Have you ever thought about—”

     “My depression is managed. Maybe once or twice a year I get a fleeting thought of ending it. But never have I thoroughly thought I would.” Y/n cut off the doctor

     “So the drugs were, just for fun?”

     “Just for fun. I accidentally took too much, I’m sure it happens.”

     “It does. You were lucky we were able to revive you. Get some rest Ms. L/n.”

     The doctor smiled at her before leaving the room. She did rest as the doctor said. Mostly since she really couldn’t do anything while she was handcuffed to a bed.

     Minho watched the whole thing. He’d been watching the whole situation since she took the drugs last. He felt bad for her.

     The friends she was with weren’t exactly the best influence. Offering more drugs to each other. He knew at least one of them was bound to die tonight. He didn’t expect it to be one of the prettiest humans he’d seen in decades. 

     He watched her confusion at the scene happening before her. Her friends screamed at her unmoving body to wake up.

     “What the hell?” Y/n asked no one, but Minho still answered

     “You're dead.” Y/n turned to where he stood behind her

     “Who are you?”

     “Death, Grim Reaper, whatever you prefer.”

     Y/n looked back at her friends still trying to wake her up, “do they know?”

     “Considering how high they are, they haven’t figured it out yet. Come on,” Minho said

     “Where are we going?”

     “Whatever afterlife you believe in. But you can’t stay here.”

     Y/n looked at the man in black and then back at her friends. What shocked her most was they were actually trying to wake her up. After they pressured her into joining them. Only ever talking to her when no one else wanted to join them

     “Why are they trying?”

     “Feel bad maybe?” 

     “For what? They never cared. No one did.”

     He’d heard that line so many times. A lot of it was lies. Everyone had one person that really cared about them. Minho felt like she wasn’t lying about this.

     “Humans are weird. Let’s go,” Minho chalked it up to that, he always did. But, he couldn’t help but feel bad for the soul.

     Rather than taking her to whatever afterlife she believed him in, he opted to take care of her soul, personally. He couldn’t explain why, but for the first time since he became a reaper, she made him feel something.

     “What’s this?” Y/n asked as they walked into his ‘home’

     “Call it home. It’s usually somewhere I just hide away when I need to be away from the other reapers,” Minho explained

     “I thought you were gonna make me cross over.” Y/n looked around the place, it was pretty nice, mostly grey and black decorations. Better than any place she had lived in.

     Minho ignored the statement, mainly because he couldn’t even pinpoint why he was doing this in the first place. And maybe the more time he spent with her, the more confused he got. 

     Time worked so differently in the afterlife, even for him as a reaper. It was hard to say how much time passed in the land of the living, but for them, it’d been a year of hiding away her soul. He still had a job but he always made sure to come back to her, even for a bit.

     He got involved with a rather, unpleasant soul who refused to believe they were dead. He’d dealt with it before, reaping them was an easy solution but the guy wasn’t easy. Minho got hit with his own scythe before he pushed the soul to the afterlife. He just needed to rest.

     He opened the door to find Y/n laying on their couch reading one of the books he had collected over the centuries. Not unusual, it wasn’t like they had any kind of technology in the afterlife to watch tv or text someone. If she wasn’t reading when he was home, it was his fault. 

     Their relationship became complicated a few weeks back. Randomly talking turned into playful flirting. Somehow it led to making out of the living room floor. 

     Y/n heard the door open and cast a glance at him, “You look terrible.” Her book was set aside as she rushed over to him.

     “I’m fine, just need to rest,” Minho assured her as she grabbed his face and looked over him.

     “What happened?” She asked, “You look drained.”

     Y/n got him over to the couch and sat him down, kneeling on the ground between his legs. “Violent soul grabbed my scythe and attacked me. I’ll be fine.” 

     “Minho,” Y/n tsks

     “Not the name,” He laughed, which was a bad idea.

     Y/n saw him grab at his torso and moved his hand, unbuttoning his black shirt to see the wound. “If you wanted me to strip, you could’ve just asked sweetheart.”

     “Have I ever told you how insufferable you are sometimes?”

     “Almost all the time.”

     There wasn’t much blood thankfully— if there was really any, to begin with. She was still trying to grasp the death thing honestly. 

     “Hey,” Minho called out and grabbed her hand from the wound that was indeed healing due to his supernatural abilities. Minho pulled her up onto his lap, her legs on either side of him, “I’m fine.”

     “Promise?” She asked

     “Don’t worry about me. It’s not like I can die again.”

     “Yeah but what if you just… disappear?”

     “I’m not gonna disappear.”

     “Promise me you won't? I don’t…”

     “You don't what?”

     “I don't wanna lose the one person that’s actually cared about me, even if we’re dead.”

     Minho leaned forward and pushed his lips onto hers. It took Y/n a moment to register what was happening. Slowly her hands cupped his face, lips melting to move with his. His hands held onto her hips and slowly rocked her against him. 

     “Swear I won’t disappear,” Minho mumbled against her lips, moving down to her neck

     “Fuck,” Y/n whined as his teeth grazed her sweet spot

     “How can you be dead but so fucking horny?” he asked as he kept kissing her neck

     “I was dead inside when I was alive but still horny,” Y/n joked

     Minho laughed with her as she pushed his shirt off his back. He took his hands off her hips to toss the fabric to the side and then slipped her shirt off her body and tossed it to the ground. 

     “Your fucking beautiful,” He pulled her back down onto his lips. His tongue slipped past her lips and fought for dominance with her as she pushed him back against the sofa. 

     His hands grabbed her breasts and massaged them as her hips rolled against his semi. Both moaned as their tongues danced together. 

     “I need you, Min,” Y/n spoke as her hands undid his belt and pants. 

     “Yeah? Thinking about fucking the grim reaper makes you that wet?”

     He pushed a hand under her bottoms and panties, fingers sliding between her folds before pushing two into her while her hand pulled his cock out and wrapped her hand around him. 

     Y/n jacked him off while he fingered her open on his fingers. Moans uncontrollably fall out of their mouths. 

     “I need to fuck you,” Minho groaned as he threw his head back

     “What are you waiting for?” Y/n asked

     Minho kicked into action, laying both of them on the floor and discarding the remainder of their clothes. He pushed his lips onto hers again, taking his cock into her hand and positioning the lips at her entrance. 

     He sunk into her slowly as he lay on his elbows, lips moving in sync with hers. Y/n cupped his face while her legs hung loosely around his hips. Being dead came with the perk of not feeling pain. 

     Minho pulled out and pushed back into her. Slowly and firmly. Centuries after dying and not feeling anything for anyone until now made him appreciate the moment. 

     Y/n moaned into his mouth as his hips deliciously rolled into her. More than sure he was hitting impossible spots no one alive could reach, ever. She couldn't help but clench around him.

     “Feel so good around me,” He spoke against her lips

     “I need you to come in me, min. Please,” Y/n begged as his head dipped to her breasts

     “Yeah?”

     “Yes. Please, Min.”

     “My pretty kitty needs the grim reapers come in her that bad?” His face picked up a bit, thrusting into her a bit faster as one hand came between their bodies and rubbed figure eights into her clit

     “Fuck yes! Please Minho.”

     “I got you kitten. Need you to come for me first. Come on, baby.”

     Minho's tongue played with her hard nipples as her legs tightened around his waist. Her hands tangled in his hair and held on tighter the closer she got. Her walls closed in tighter around him, making it harder for him to move but neither cared. It felt too good at the moment. 

    Her orgasm hit her like a train. Her back arched off the floor before her body went limp, convulsing under him as he chased his high. Only slowing down when his high finally hit. 

     Exhaustion didn't hit him. It never would, even though he was injured. “Fuck,” he groaned

     “You okay?” she asked as she calmed down

     “Yeah. Don't think being on top was a good idea though.”

     “If you wanted me on too there's better ways to ask,” Y/n giggled as he pulled out and sat back against the couch. 

     Y/n sat up a few seconds later, climbing onto his lap and cuddling into him. “Is it weird I'm in love with the grim reaper?”

     “Is it weird just fucked a soul I was supposed to cross over?”

     Both laughed at the questions before Y/n looked up at him. “What are we now?”

     “Soul mates.” Minho smiled

     Y/n glares at him as he laughed at his joke. “That was terrible.”

     “You love me though.”

     “I gue—” Y/n stopped when she felt something weird in her chest.

     “Hey, what's wrong?” Minho asked, very alert now

     “Weird pain,” Y/n whined as it came again

     “They’re trying to revive you…” 

     “What? No!” He’d never seen a soul fry real tears like he did now

     “I can’t stop it.” All he could do was watch, as much as he didn't want too

     “Why? You can do anything.”

     “You’re in limbo kitten. It’d be different if crossed over already. I can’t do anything if you're in limbo…”

     “What if I cross over?”

     “It’s too late…” 

     Minho watched her become more and more transparent as they pulled her back to the living.

     “Please, Min. I don't want to go back…”

     “I’ll be there when you die again, okay? I promise.”

     He knew how it felt for humans when they watched someone they loved die. He’d see them cry over the dead. Having Y/n pulled from him back to life was just like that. But he could wait. 

     He found her in a hospital, waiting in her room. Occasionally leaving when he sensed someone pass and brought them over before going back and watching her. Even when she slept. Hoping she felt his presence or saw him. 

     “Until death, kitten.” He stood by her bedside watching her sleep.

☾ ━━━━━━ M.LIST    TIP JAR

☾ ━━━ please support writers by reblogging and/or leaving feedback

© 2024 MINNIESMUTT. DO NOT COPY, REPUBLISH OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE

[storiesofsvu]

Decadent Desires Ch 6

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, mentions of alcohol, sexually charged conversations, teasing/banter. Smut, sex toys, minor bondage, spanking. A guest star of Anthony DiNozzo! I didn't really want to bring in a whole THIRD fandom into this but it ended up working out really nicely and I can play around with it in future chapters too! It feels like it's been ages since I've updated this so clearly the last week was a long one lol. Remember how I said I wanted to be a chapter ahead from now on with my series? Yeah that quickly did not happen. LOL. I'm gonna try to keep up with it, and I promise y'all won't wait longer than a week between chapters, I just need to hunker down and write!

Working for Heather meant that you worked insane hours that could change at the drop of a hat, but it also meant that you could essentially make your own schedule whenever you wanted. You could do most of your job from home or a hotel, as long as you had Wi-Fi you were in the clear, you spent a lot of your time gallivanting around D.C to finish whatever tasks you needed to. Shuffling your schedule around constantly meant that you were more than given the liberty to a Thursday afternoon off and that is exactly why you were meandering down Wisconsin Avenue with Tony in tow. Some of your friends questioned why you always went shopping with him, but the truth was he knew style, understood expensive taste, always told the truth if something looked bad and the entire experience was more efficient. If you went out with your girlfriends on a shopping spree you got dragged into twelve stores you needed nothing from and had to wait while they tried on countless amounts of outfits. With Tony the most that would happen would you’d have some extra browsing time at L. Priori because he got distracted by the watches.

“You got some big White House party coming up or something?” He asked, taking a sip of the coffee you’d bought him earlier.

“Huh?” You glanced over your shoulder as you picked up the small bag, “no.”

“We’ve done jewels, we’ve done shoes,” he pushed the door open for you, holding it while you crossed through the entry way and back out onto the street, “you dropped off three dresses for alterations and looked through the catalogue of what’s coming in…”

“I just want to revamp my closet a little bit, make sure I’m prepared for summer, you know how many extra garden parties I end up at.”

“And your boss is okay with that amount of cleavage?” He asked with a smirk and you rolled your eyes, “I think you’re bullshitting me.”

“I got a little carried away doing spring cleaning and tossed half my closet.” You bluffed, “I work so much I forgot I actually wore the other shit and now need to replace it.” Veering off to the side your hand tugged open the door to Jaryam and Tony followed you inside.

“When’s your next date?” He asked with a grin.

“I never said anything about a date.”

“Then why did you just drag me into a lingerie store?”

“Oh please,” you scoffed, “I didn’t drag you anywhere, you love this shit. I just want some new pieces; you’ve got the right eye for colour and the masculine fetishistic imagination to tell me which ones I’ll look the best in.”

He chuckled darkly, not bothering to disagree with you as you made your way further into the shop, he was a pace behind you, fiddling with a price tag when he scoffed and you turned back to him with a raised brow, “I’ve heard you complain about the prices in Victoria’s Secret and that’s got nothing on this, a thong for a hundred and fifty dollars?”

“It’s… about the quality.” You shrugged, “thirty dollars for a scrap of fabric that falls apart in a month made in a sweatshop isn’t a good investment.” You picked up the pair that he was looking at, reading through the tag, “something hand stitched made with quality fabric that’s going to last? Worth it.”

“Hmm.” He replied, surveying you for a minute as you put the thong back on the rack, “you know, I noticed when you picked up the coffee that you used a black card…”

“You’re really working those sleuthing skills today, aren’t ya?” You teased back with a grin, moving onto a wall of lace bras.

“It’s not exactly a difficult mystery.” He smirked, following you, “fancy shoes, nice jewels, new clothes, expensive lingerie,” you turned back to face him, an unimpressed look on your face and he practically caged you into the wall, “who’s your daddy?”

“Ew, Tony, fuck off.” You groaned, shoving at his chest as he laughed, “coffee and meals can be turned into a write off. I used Heather’s card.”

“Bah! Fine, keep your secrets. I’ll just run your financials when I get back to the office.”

Now it was your turn to laugh, “they call you a very Special Agent DiNozzo?”

“Why yes, yes they do.” He smiled, getting a little smug about it and you shook your head at him.

“Then explain to me how running my financials would let you in on whose card I’m using.” You asked, watching as he opened his mouth to give you some witty response but he couldn’t find one, gaping for a minute before he let out a defeated huff and you tugged him in the other direction, “now c’mon, I know you have a good eye for lingerie.”

“Now that, I will not deny.” He replied with a smile and you did roll your eyes as he followed you deeper into the shop.

You combed through practically every shelf in the place, trying to figure out what kind of styles you were going to settle on before Tony started to share his opinions. He reminded you how good blue looked on you when you picked up a soft pink set and suggested the lace florals over lace butterflies. You were narrowing it down between a handful of choices and he was quick to intervene when he noticed you were eliminating all the variation.

“Wait,” he cut in, swiping the one you were trying to put back on the shelf, “keep that one. Get rid of this one.” He plucked the peach set from your collection, tossing it into the return pile.

“It’s cute!” You protested.

“Exactly. Everything you’re keeping is ‘cute’, you’re playing it too safe and I know that’s not you. The lilac one is the nicest, little hint of lace for a bonus, so get it.” He started flicking through the rack you had your favourites on, “keep the teal one for the crystals, plus it matches that pair of heels you bought. The rest of this batch can go but add these to your buying list.” He picked up a lacy black and red set that was mostly see through and included a garter belt, handing it off to you, and a gorgeous deep green set. “That’ll look great with your skin,” his brow furrowed for a second as he examined it, “wait it’s not your size, you’re what?” His eyes were suddenly on you and you groaned,

“Stop staring at my tits.” You stated dryly as he turned around, grabbing another one of the green set from the shelf.

“Thirty four C, right?”

“I don’t know whether I should be impressed or grossed out that you were able to figure that out.”

“They don’t call me Very Special Agent DiNozzo for nothing.” He grinned and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m going to go try these on.” You scooped up the remaining sets, “not for your viewing pleasure! Occupy yourself.”

You weren’t surprised in the least when all of Tony’s recommendations were right and you were happy to be leaving with a variety of options. Returning from the dressing room you found him near the till looking through accessories and he shot you a cocky grin as you placed all of his choices down on the counter. You shuffled the shopping bags in your hand over to the other one,

“Can you hold this?” You asked, handing him your purse as you pulled Emily’s card from within it, passing it off to the cashier. Once the purchase was completed and the cashier was wrapping up the lingerie, she placed the card down on the counter and out of the corner of your eye you saw Tony making a move for it, managing to swipe it up before he could get to it.

“Hey!” You swatted the back of his head and he grimaced.

“Ow. That was worse than Gibbs.” He muttered.

“You fuck around and you’ll find out.” You returned but he was too busy on his phone to really pay attention.

You took your purse back from him, tossing it over your shoulder as you thanked the clerk and added the bag of lingerie to the others with your shopping and the two of you made your way back onto the street. You jumped when Tony’s fingers prodded at your side, digging into your ribs.

“C’mon… let me know something, please.” He batted his eyes at you, “I just helped you pick lingerie; I deserve to know something. Doctor? Artist? App developer? Congressman?”

“Nope, nope, nope and hard nope.” You replied with a huff and he groaned so you finally turned back to him, stalling in your steps, “what I will tell you, is that she most definitely outranks NCIS, so you can officially drop it.”

“Ohoho… a new lady friend…” It was his turn to slow in his tracks, eyes lingering in the window of the next shop, “you need any special accessories for that?”

“Tony you’re insane if you think I’m taking you into a sex toy store.”

“Meh, doesn’t really matter since you’ve already covered that step.” He grinned and your brow furrowed.

“What?”

“Swiped your phone and went through your emails.” With a laugh he tossed the device back to you as you let out a gasp, “peach flavoured lube, nice. Nipple clamps? Kinky, didn’t realize you were into that kinda pain.” That earned him a hard punch on the arm, “but that double sided dildo with vibration? Now that sounds like a real party.”

“Anothony DiNozzo!” You scolded and he let out a small whine of a scoff, gesturing toward the sex store.

“I’m the perfect person to give sex toy recommendations, c’mon.” He protested and you sighed.

“Tony. You are a straight man. What could you possibly known about sex toys for me to use with another woman?”

“One of those wand things, Hibachi?”

“That’s Japanese barbecue, but nice try.”

“The wands!”

“You’re going for Hitachi.”

“Close enough!” He exclaimed, gesturing with his hands, “the big one’s better but I think they sell smaller ones too, more portable.” He waggled his eyebrows at you and you sighed.

“Think? Tony, pull your head outta your ass. Any self respecting person with a clit already owns one of those.”

“Really?” He smirked at you and you did your best not to groan.

“I’ve got three, a mini pink, a mini green and the big one, which yes, is far superior. Can we go now?”

“Fine.” He groaned, feigning annoyance, “you dragging me to a nail appointment next?”

“No, I was gonna buy you a late lunch.”

“You were? Or is your mommy dearest gonna buy lunch.” He exaggerated the word, nearly moaning as he said it and you immediately grimaced.

“Please don’t ever do that again.”

“Yup, that one felt wrong coming out. My bad, that’s on me.”

**

Emily turned down dessert service, asking for the cheque instead as she gave the server a soft smile, picking up her cocktail once again as she turned back to you. In turn, you finished your drink, placing the glass down on the table as you stood, your hand coming to squeeze at Emily’s thigh softly as your lips brushed against her cheek.

“Give me a five minute head start, I’ve got a surprise for you.” You scooped up your phone, shooting Emily a wink as you sauntered away from the table in the direction of the elevator.

Her eyes followed you through the entrance of the lounge, narrowing in on your ass as you pushed the elevator button and the sparks began to fly through her body. It hadn’t been a particularly long week, but it was very safe to say that you had been on her mind more often than not. Images of your naked body strewn across the bed floating into her brain, making her cheeks flush while she was torturously bored with paperwork. A too long tedious conference call lead to her zoning out, daydreaming all the things she wanted to do to you, the noises you made echoing through her mind. It was almost a given that night that she had a rather self soothing shower when she got home, pulling her laptop out when she finally crawled into bed to take a look at what fun things she could buy to occupy your time with in the future weekends.

Emily settled the bill, slowly draining the rest of her cocktail until she was certain she’d given you enough time to do whatever it was you had planned before she finally left the restaurant. The key card beeped against the lock and she stepped inside the suite, letting the door swing shut behind her before she made sure it was locked. She stepped out of her heels, dropping her purse on the side table in the entry way before rounding the bed into the suite, catching a glimpse of you laid out on the bed and her lips twitched up into a grin.

“Well that certainly is a welcome sight.”

“Yeah?” You asked, sitting up and shifting onto your knees, “you see something you like?”

“I see plenty I like.” She walked up to the foot of the bed as you crawled on your knees to greet her, your hands settling on her hips as one of hers curled around the back of your neck, pulling your lips to hers for a kiss.

Her tongue easily slipped into your mouth when you let out a satisfied groan, both of you relaxing into the kiss, lips dancing with grace against each other. Her hand slipped into your hair, pulling out the pins to let it fall loose around your shoulders, pulling at it lightly. When her teeth scraped against your lip you couldn’t help but moan, your hands drifting up her body as you slowly began to unbutton her shirt. She broke the kiss to help you untuck the fabric from her pants, letting it drop to the floor behind her before her fingers began to trace the lines of the teal lingerie set, floating over the gems decorating your chest.

“You like the crystals?” You asked, small grin on your lips and she nodded.

“They’re gorgeous.”

“They’re Swarovski.” You replied with a near smirk and she let out a huff of a laugh.

“You really went all in, hey?”

“Just wanted to make sure I looked nice and pretty for you.” You shrugged coyly and she chuckled, giving you a once over.

“Well you do.” She leant down, kissing you gently before her hands nudged at your shoulders, “you’re not the only one who brought something fun, lie back princess.”

“I noticed.” You replied, a gleam in your eye as you dropped into the pillows, an arm extending to the nightstand where you picked up a silk tie, “multifaceted, curious as to what your intentions are.”

“First…” Emily rounded the side of the bed, “I want to see what’s under that gorgeous bra.” She nodded at you and you sat up, hands flying behind you to unclip it, gently tossing it to the side, “good girl.” She plucked the fabric from your hands, picking up a longer one from the nightstand before kneeling on the bed. “Give me your hands.” She instructed and you held your hands out for her, wrists gently pressed together as she began to wind the fabric around them, “is this okay?”

“Absolutely.” You replied, looking up at her with darkening eyes as she tightened the silk.

“Do you have a word?”

“I’m fond of peach.”

“Perfect.” With a wicked grin she placed a gentle kiss on your wrist before guiding you to lie back with your arms over your head and she looped the shorter piece through your bonds, securing the other end to the golden bar of the headboard. “No surprises there.” She purred as she slid off the bed, letting out a satisfied hum as her eyes dragged over your body.

“Hm?” You raised a brow, watching as she moved back to a spare chair.

“Just how pretty you look tied up like that.” Emily tossed a grin over her shoulder, “but you are going to need to roll over for the second part of your treat.”

You nearly let out a whine when her hands came to her belt buckle, eager to be able to see both what was coming next and what she had under her clothes. Instead of risking it you decided to behave, rolling onto your stomach, your arms stretching over your head as you twisted it to the side, just barely able to see Emily under your arm. She had busied herself with getting rid of her clothing, a neat pile forming on the small bench next to her bag as she pulled out the strap, swiftly stepping into it and securing it around her hips. Your mouth was practically watering already and then she reached into her bag again, pulling out a crop with a cute little heart on the end and you had to hold back a moan.

Emily could see the way your body tensed, how your hips ground down into the bed as she reapproached it and a dark chuckle escaped her lips. Kneeling on the bed behind you her hand grasped your ankle, spreading your legs further apart and you did your best to arch your back, presenting yourself to her.

“Such obedience.” She murmured, letting the crop lightly trace up your inseam as you let out an airy breath.

Emily slowly trailed the crop up and down your legs, just the slightest hint of touch that she knew you were absolutely begging for in your head. She could see the way your body twitched whenever it got close to the heat between your legs and a wicked grin took over her lips. The crop finally came up over the swell of your ass, softly circling and tracing patterns on your skin and you finally let out a whine. Since this was the first time you’d actually made a louder noise, Emily figured this was the time to both give in and start to really tantalize you now. She raised the crop, swatting it down onto your ass and you let out a low moan.

“You like that?”

“Mmhmm.” You eagerly nodded into the pillows and the crop trailed across to the other cheek, repeating the circles before coming down harder on that side and your breath caught in your throat.

“Ohh…” Your fingers interlaced, squeezing tightly, “harder, please.”

“My little princess likes it rough.” Emily husked from behind you, “somehow I’m not that surprised.”

The crop came down on the same spot harder than the first before she flicked it over your other cheek, swatting just as hard, watching the way your body reacted, jolting at the touch before grinding your cunt down onto the bed. She brought the head of the crop between your legs, pushing the fabric of your panties into your pussy, rubbing the leather up and down your folds as you moaned, arching into the touch.

“Fuuckk…”

Emily chuckled darkly, bringing the crop up before hitting your ass with more force, smirking at the louder moans leaving your lips, the way you were pulling against your bonds, wishing your hands were free. The sounds of the spanks echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls as your moans grew louder and longer, every time the crop was brought down onto your body it grew from a tingle to a pleasurable burn. Emily continued to trail the leather across your skin, occasionally her hand gently rubbing across the spot to sooth the burn, little praises and coos leaving her lips. The tingles each time she spanked you began to build, growing together with each hit of the crop until there was a fire building right under your skin, whimpers and whines leaving your lips as you buried your face into the pillows. Every swat of the crop made your entire body shiver and you were nearly about to start begging for more when she moved it back between your legs.

“You really like this, hmm?” She asked, pressing it against your cunt again, “making such a big wet spot on these nice panties.” She rubbed it harder against you, watching the way your wetness continued to soak the fabric, “you know, I’d take them off and stuff them in your mouth if you didn’t make such pretty noises…”

You groaned softly, your hips rocking back toward the touch, a little whimper leaving your throat when the crop nearly rubbed against your clit. Emily hummed softly, lifting the crop up before bringing it back down, this time onto your pussy and you couldn’t help the noise that escaped you.

“Oh fuucck…” Your head buried deeper into the pillows, your eyes scrunching shut as you felt your pussy fluttering around nothing, your clit nearly pulsing already, juices smearing across your underwear.

Emily’s hands grasped at your hips, flipping you onto your back watching as your legs instinctively fell open for her to see the growing wet spot on your panties. She brought the crop back to your cunt, rubbing it harder against you as you started to whine, resulting in another swat that brought a gasp from your lips.

“You like this even more, don’t you princess?” She asked with a grin and you nodded, “you want your pussy spanked too?” Spank. “Think you can come from just this?” Spank.

“Fuck.” You groaned, “more, please.”

“Always such nice manners.” She praised, her fingers slipping into the waistband of your thong, tugging the fabric down your legs and tossing it behind her. Her hands soothed up your legs, spreading them even further apart from each other as her thumbs dared to brush the edges of your cunt. “Such a pretty pussy. God you’re just fucking drenched already.”

Emily picked the crop back up, rubbing it through your slick folds, pressing harder as she brought it to your clit.

“Please.” You whimpered and she chuckled softly.

The first hit was on the gentle side, her eyes tracing up your naked body, watching your face for any sign of discomfort but all she found was a look of sheer pleasure. Your eyes fluttering shut, mouth falling open as breathy moans escaped them, it was all she needed to bring the crop down even harder the next time.

“Fuck.” Your body twitched off the bed, cunt pulsing as more juices dribbled out of it.

“That’s it princess.” Spank. “You’re doing so good for me.” Spank.

“Oh god…” Your hands clutched at the silk ties as your body shivered, pleasure building higher and higher with each time the crop hit your cunt.

“I know you’re close.” Spank. “Just a few more.” Spank. “Pussy’s so wet.” Spank. “Let go for me.” Spank.

“Fuck!” You cried out, your back arching off the bed, pulling against the restraints as your orgasm shot through you, pussy pulsating around nothing as your juices dripped onto the bedspread.

“That’s it.” Emily cooed, the crop gently rubbing against your cunt, smearing your wetness all around it and your thighs. “So pretty when you come for me.”

“Please…” you whimpered, “need you.”

“You want more?” She asked, gently spanking your pussy again and you whined.

“No, please! Need your cock.” You were absolutely begging, pussy fluttering, feeling so entirely empty. Despite the powerful orgasm you needed to be filled, stretched around Emily to finally feel completely satisfied.

“So needy tonight.” Emily teased, dropping the crop to the side as she climbed over you, running the tip of the toy through your folds, “this what you want?”

“Mmhmm.” You nodded furiously, “please.”

“Alright.”

Emily didn’t hesitate, knowing you were absolutely drenched she sunk her cock fully into you until her hips met yours and you let out a very satisfied moan. She pulled back just enough to sneak her hand between your bodies, turning on the vibration on the base of the toy, just against her clit and a breathy sigh escaped her lips. She rolled her hips, pulling out until just the tip was left inside you and set a steady pace, fucking you thoroughly. Each thrust of her hips had your body twitching up off the bed, pulling against your restraints as you ached to touch her, pleasure shooting through your limbs.

“Fuck.” You groaned, “feels so good.”

Each thrust of her cock the head brushed right over your g-spot, pulling louder moans from you each time as your pussy began to clench down around her. You could feel your juices smearing across both of your bodies as she fucked deeper into you, picking up the pace as she knew you were getting close again.

“Are you going to come again for me angel?” She cooed, her hands gliding up your body to toy with your nipples, pinching them and rolling them in time with her thrusts.

“S-s’close.” You moaned, your hips rocking up off the bed to meet hers with each thrust.

Your hands tugged against the silk ties again, gasping when Emily’s lips wrapped around one of your nipples, sucking it into her mouth for her tongue to flick patterns across it. The double, nearly triple sensation if you counted the vibrations hitting your clit each time your bodies met was nearly too much, your pussy making almost more noise than the ones coming from your mouth. All you could do was whimper and whine, your head too fuzzy to get actual words to come out, the coil inside you got tighter and tighter until Emily’s teeth sunk into your chest and it burst through you.

“Fuck!”

Your body trembled, the tingles shooting all the way from the tips of your fingers to the tips of your toes as Emily continued to fuck you. Her eyes fluttering shut as she let out a low swear, now focused on chasing her own release. She sunk fully into you, pressing the vibrating part of the toy directly against her clit and it gave you the opportunity to roll your hips against hers, grinding the base harder onto her. Your teeth sunk into your lower lip as your eyes scrunched shut, another orgasm bursting through you from the sensation and Emily let out a soft cry.

“Oh god.” Her hand slipped between your bodies, switching the vibrations off before she sat up.

Emily panted slightly, attempting to catch her breath as she reached out, swiftly undoing the ties and your arms were finally free to drop to the bed. You let out a soft groan, flexing your hands before Emily caught them in hers, examining your wrists to make sure you hadn’t pulled too hard and hurt yourself. Once satisfied that you hadn’t she let them drop and shifted on her knees, slipping out of you and watching your juices dribble onto the bed.

“Mmm…” you sighed, your lips curving up into a grin.

“What?” She asked with a raised brow.

“That was hot.” You replied, “kinda wish you could come inside me though.”

“Well…” she leant over you, kissing you before nipping at your lower lip, “I’m sure that can be arranged for next time.”

_____________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @five-bi-five-mind @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @hotchs-bitch @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @hopedoesntknow @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak @soverign @v3nusxsky @blackbird-brewster @mccdreamys-writes @l4yne @obsessedwjill @supercorpstan97 @asolitaryrose3 @honeyycatt @trauma-factory @lisqueen @mrs-prentiss @whitewinewithice @d33pd3sires-blog

[scary-grace]

Off-Script - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Tomura's been Dabi's stunt double for almost a decade, and he's not easily impressed, but when he squares up with you for a fight scene, he finds himself caught off-guard in more ways than one. As the shoot progresses and sparks fly between the two of you, Tomura has to decide if you're worth the risk -- or if the best sparring partner he's ever had is all you'll ever be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

This is my second fic for @threadbaresweater's follower milestone event, with the prompt 'summer blockbuster'! As usual, thank you for running this event and congratulations on the milestone!

Act 1 Act 2

Act 1

“No.”

“No?” Midoriya Izuku repeats. He taps his headset, like there’s something wrong with it instead of what Dabi just said. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t do swordfighting,” Dabi says. “It’s in my contract.”

Midoriya looks baffled, just like every newbie director who’s ever hit their head against one of the batshit provisions in Dabi’s contracts. And Dabi’s not anywhere close to done with kicking the director around. “How come I’ve got a sword, anyway? Quicksilver didn’t have one in any of the other movies. Or the comics.”

In Tomura’s opinion, Dabi should keep his mouth shut about what happens in the X-Men comics. Everything he knows about the comics and the character he plays is something Tomura had to explain to him way too many times, in detail. “We’re rebooting the Apocalypse arc,” Midoriya says. “The premise is that Apocalypse rises in every age – long enough for people to forget about him in between – and the same characters have been fighting him the whole time, reincarnated over and over again. Only this time it’s different, because four of those characters have been chosen as Horsemen, and they’re fighting for Apocalypse, not against him.”

“Great. Why is there a swordfight?”

“In the original arc, technology provided a boost to the anti-Apocalypse forces,” Midoriya says. “By setting it in the Iron Age, we’re taking that advantage away. That’s why everyone has weapons. Including Quicksilver.”

“Cool.” Dabi lights up a cigarette. “I’m still not doing it.”

“But –”

“That’s what I pay him for.” Dabi jerks a thumb at Tomura. “Talk to him.”

Tomura’s been Dabi’s stunt double for basically all of Dabi’s career. Most stunt doubles stick to stunts, but over the years, Tomura’s role has expanded from stunts to include anything Dabi doesn’t feel like doing. Swordfighting isn’t a stunt. It should be well within Dabi’s skills. And it is – he just doesn’t want to do it. Which means that Tomura’s up.

Midoriya looks at Tomura hopefully. Tomura levers himself up off the wall and rolls his shoulders. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”

Midoriya follows him to costume and makeup, yapping the whole way, trying to figure out what he did to upset Dabi so much. Tomura thinks about explaining that it’s not Midoriya’s problem and Dabi’s just like that, then decides against it. Midoriya’s the one who decided not to recast Quicksilver, and Dabi isn’t exactly known for being easy to work with. He made his own bed. Tomura’s not here to tuck him in, and he’s not here to make excuses for Dabi. He’s here to do stunts. That’s it.

Quicksilver’s costume isn’t skintight, which makes it miles better than any of the other Quicksilver suits Tomura’s had to wear since Dabi was first cast in the franchise. It’s his first time in the outfit, so he asks the costumer about it. “There was no Lycra in the Iron Age,” Magne explains as she stitches one last panel into place. “The director wanted historically accurate materials. And the SFX team threatened to quit if they had to edit any more bulges out of the shots.”

That’s a relief. Whenever a new movie in the franchise comes out, the fan blogs make lists ranking all the bulges, which is awkward at best and career-threatening at worst, given the one time a list used a shot where Tomura was doubling Dabi and ranked it higher than Dabi had ever placed on his own. Midoriya is deeply weird, even as far as directors go, but Tomura will take the wins where he can get them.

He tunes back in to what Midoriya’s saying as Magne screws around with his hair to mimic Quicksilver’s signature look. “Who am I fighting again?”

“Psylocke. You read the script, right?”

Sure, Tomura read the script. The script isn’t the problem so much as the fact that the actress playing Psylocke quit last week. “Did you find a new one?”

“Of course!” Midoriya brightens up creepily fast. “Right, you should meet her! She’s – um –”

“Up at the site already,” Magne says, spraying Tomura with hairspray without warning him first. “She was pretty quick to costume. I didn’t even have to put her in a wig.”

Midoriya beams. “She’s great,” he says. “We’re lucky we found her on such short notice.”

“Who is she?”

Midoriya says a name Tomura’s never heard in his life. Magne hasn’t heard it, either. “Come again?”

“She’s on the newer side,” Midoriya says. His smile’s looking a little insane. “Are you ready yet?”

“Just a sec.” Magne sprays Tomura again, then attaches three motion-capture dots to his forehead. “There we go. All set.”

Tomura stands up, but he doesn’t get clear fast enough to avoid Magne’s customary ass-slap. “Break a leg,” she says.

“Thanks.” Tomura slinks out of the costume tent, already in a mood.

They drive to the site in one of the various beat-to-shit Jeeps Midoriya inherited from the person who directed the last X-Men movie. Midoriya drives, which is bad all on its own, but halfway there, Tomura realizes there’s someone missing. “Don’t we need Aizawa on this?”

“Aizawa’s choreographing the first big fight scene. Most of the actors haven’t done real swordfighting before, so it’s taking a while.” Midoriya’s grip on the steering wheel goes white-knuckled in a way that makes Tomura wonder if he should be bailing out of the car. He’s pretty sure he can do it without getting a single bruise. “Even if it’s just for a few tracking shots before we cut away to you – sorry, Dabi – chasing Psylocke, it needs to look good.”

That’s fair. Tomura hates a lazy background shot, on the rare occasions when he watches a movie. Midoriya glances at him. “I know you said you read the script, but – give me your take on what’s going on in the scene.”

Tomura’s heard Midoriya ask people that before. Correction: He’s heard him ask actors before. “I’m not an actor.”

“There’s not a ton of dialogue in this scene. The physical aspect has to tell the story,” Midoriya says. “So?”

He’s not going to let this go. Tomura decides to get it over with. “During the main fight, Psylocke lifts the artifact everybody’s fighting over and runs. Quicksilver goes to catch her, but she uses her mutation to slow down time around him, which puts him on the same playing field as she is. They fight, he pulls her mask off, and figures out she used to be on his side. Then she cheap-shots him and escapes with half the artifact. Did I get it?”

Midoriya nods, but he’s frowning. “Quicksilver and Psylocke are foil characters in this interpretation of the story. He’s Magneto’s son and she’s part of a family of heroes. When they recognize each other, it should be a shock – they’re not just seeing a friend who’s now an enemy, they’re each seeing the person they should have been. So the back half of the fight should, like, reflect that.”

Tomura doesn’t do emotional turmoil. “You want Dabi for this.”

“That was the plan,” Midoriya says. He sighs. “Just – do your best, okay?”

Tomura was doing high-wire stunts while Midoriya was still in high school. He doesn’t need hyping up for a swordfight he can do in his sleep. But just because he can do it in his sleep doesn’t mean the actress Midoriya pulled out of a cattle call will be any good at it. “Does Psylocke 2.0 know what she’s doing?”

“That’s why I picked her.”

Huh. Tomura crosses his arms over his chest and slouches in his seat for the remainder of the ride.

The site is up on a bluff, in a stretch of forest thick enough that barely any sunlight gets through. “This is supposed to be a nighttime scene, but thanks to the tree cover we can fake it,” Midoriya explains as he parks the Jeep and scrambles out. “Hey, guys! Over here!”

The crew looks like they’ve been waiting a while. Tomura knows most of them after spending the last seven years on the sets of various X-Men movies and hanging out at C-list afterparties. Of the group, he really only gets along with Spinner, who handles props. Everybody else is just someone else to be irritated with when they inevitably start bossing Tomura around. He props his feet on the dashboard and waits for something to happen.

“Psylocke! Quicksilver! Over here!”

Midoriya’s beckoning to him. Tomura forgot about Midoriya’s habit of using character names during shoots, and he thought Dabi was just using it as something to bitch about until right now. It’s annoying as hell. Tomura gets out of the car and skulks over, but someone else gets there first. Midoriya’s talking to her as Tomura approaches. “I know the script says you’re shooting with Dabi, but he, um, doesn’t do swordfights, so he sent his stunt double instead.”

“Oh.”

“It’s not you,” Midoriya says hurriedly. “He’s just having an off day.”

“An off year,” Tomura corrects. Midoriya jumps, steps aside, and gives Tomura his first look at you.

He sees right away what Magne meant about your hair – you match Psylocke’s design from the comments in length and color, even if the texture’s wrong. You’re a little shorter than the original actress, and you don’t look like an actress, even though the makeup artists already got to you. Actresses in big-budget films look a lot like each other, because they’re all wearing the same makeup and getting the same plastic surgeries, and they’re all the same kind of hot. You look way too much like a person. Like you should be behind the camera, not in front of it.

As Tomura sizes you up, he’s well aware that you’re doing the same thing to him, probably having the same thoughts. But you smile and hold out your hand to shake. “Hi. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Tomura shakes your hand for lack of anything better to do. “Go see Spinner for props,” Midoriya instructs, “and think about how you want to do this. Maybe get in character also? I’m not sure how many takes we’ll get before the light changes.”

“Got it,” you say. “Spinner is –”

“The guy with the swords,” Tomura says. It’s hard not to roll his eyes, and it gets harder when you fall into step beside him. Spinner is waiting for you both behind the props table. “Hey.”

“I was expecting Dabi,” Spinner says, picking up a sword. When Tomura reaches for it, Spinner chucks it to one side and lifts another. “I was gonna give him that one, but you’re better than he is, so I can trust you with this.”

Instead of the kodachi, he’s holding out a tachi to Tomura. “See how you like the balance on that. And for you, Psylocke – one katana, coming right up.”

Tomura keeps one eye on you and your sword while he’s testing the balance on his. You’re not being stupid with it, at least not yet. Holding it properly is the lowest possible bar, but Tomura’s met plenty of actors who can’t even manage that, and at least your grip looks solid. You walk a few steps away to practice sheathing and unsheathing it, and Spinner elbows Tomura. He nods in your direction. “What do you think?”

“What rock did Midoriya find her under?”

“I think she’s a stage actor,” Spinners says. Great. “Mainly musicals. She’s never gotten cast as anything bigger than an understudy.”

Tomura would facepalm, except he’s holding a sword. “Still,” Spinner says speculatively, “the director’s not a total moron. He must have seen something he likes.”

“Yeah. He likes not having to blow the costume budget on a wig,” Tomura says, probably a little too loudly. He sees your shoulders stiffen, and you turn to face him. You don’t look like you’re going to cry or anything, but Tomura’s been wrong about that before. “What?”

“I was just going to ask if you wanted to practice, or if we’re doing it blind,” you say. Before Tomura can answer, you make the decision. “I say blind. It’ll look more authentic if we’ve never fought each other before.”

Tomura likes that idea, if only because the chaos will mask his total lack of acting skills, but he was counting on a practice round to test your actual abilities. Still, it’s your funeral. “Fine by me. I’m not going to go easy on you or anything.”

“I’m glad,” you say, and smile. Tomura already saw you smile once, but it was nowhere close to being this spooky. You have to be doing it on purpose. “I wasn’t planning to go easy on you, either.”

Tomura should say something – maybe along the lines of ‘we just got off on the wrong foot, don’t cut my fucking head off’ – but before he can, Midoriya orders everyone to places. He must have given you instructions ahead of time, because you vanish into the trees, leaving Tomura to follow Midoriya’s hyperspecific directions for hitting his first mark. “We’re just going to roll,” he says, as Tomura steps out of frame and braces himself to run. “I’ll call cut once things go sideways.”

Things go sideways in choreographed fight scenes all the time. Things going sideways in an improvised fight is a guarantee. “Right.”

“Psylocke, are you set?”

“Set,” you call out from somewhere.

Midoriya takes a deep breath, like he’s the one who’s about to start a fake fight. “Okay. Action!”

Fake-running and skidding to a stop isn’t Tomura’s specialty or anything, but he can make it work. He hits the mark Midoriya specified, raises his hand to the hilt of his sword without drawing it, and takes a look around. Right here and now, there’s no reason for Quicksilver to think that someone’s about to attack him. Even Psylocke using her powers to slow him down could just be a tactic to ensure her escape. She’s basically already escaped. All Quicksilver has to do is wait for her grip on time to slacken, and then –

A twig snaps behind Tomura and he throws himself forward into a roll, pivoting as he gets to his knees and drawing his sword in the same moment. You put a lot of strength and a lot of momentum into your first strike, and if this was a real fight, Tomura would be injured or dead. As it is, you checked yourself at the last second, and you take your time settling into your next attack, giving Tomura just a second or two to plan out his own.

No attack yet. His wingspan is wider than yours and the blade of his sword is longer, which means the first step for Quicksilver to avoid a katana through the neck is to get out of Psylocke’s range. You’re not screwing around, so Tomura won’t, either – he picks up a handful of leaf litter, throws it into your face, and gets to a safe distance, remembering at the last second to make it look even sort of stylized. It’s a movie, after all.

You’re taking it seriously. The suddenness of your first attack has Tomura on edge, and the lack of any direction or choreography means he’s got no idea what you’re going to do. They won’t be in the back half of the fight until he pulls your mask down, and haphazard grabs look stupid on camera. He needs to get your mask on the first try, and between now and then, he needs to put on a show.

Tomura strikes at you, and you duck, pivot, halfway inside his guard before he can reverse the strike. But you’re in too close to use your katana effectively – on purpose – and Tomura aims a punch at your torso, hoping you know how to fake a hit. You do. You exhale sharply, jerk backwards, and Tomura separates from you again.

Who the hell are you? Where did you come from? Why are you going this hard? It occurs to Tomura as he parries your counterstrike and returns a few of his own that these are the same thoughts Quicksilver would be having if any of this was real. Now that Tomura’s introduced hand-to-hand combat into the equation, you start using it, too, throwing a high kick that brushes ever so slightly against Tomura’s jaw. Tomura snaps his head sideways to make it look good, then lurches backwards in response to a fake punch to the solar plexus. He’s holding his own, and he’s in control of the fight, but to the camera and everybody else it’s going to look like Psylocke is handing Quicksilver his ass.

And you should be. Tomura underestimated you, then insulted you, and now you’re making him pay. But as interesting as the fight’s getting, it’s a movie, not a grudge match. Tomura shortens his attacks and you step in closer, close enough for him to grab your mask. Or it would be, if your face was where it’s supposed to be. Instead you’ve gotten all the way inside Tomura’s guard, stepped across him, and grabbed his shoulder with your free hand – and now you’re throwing him over your hip to the ground.

You’ve got the physical strength to pull it off – Tomura can feel it – but he gives you some help anyway, making the resulting fall look even harder than it’s supposed to. He lands flat on his back with you poised above him, pinning him down with your katana at the ready. Now would be a great time to grab the artifact, since it’s hanging on a loop around your neck, but Tomura’s got his orders, as stupid as they are. He reaches up, seizes the mask over your mouth and nose, and pulls it down.

You really can act. Tomura watches your expression shift from startled to shocked to something else, and you recoil backwards away from him. Tomura’s slow to rise, because Quicksilver’s supposed to be shocked, too. Dabi’s going to have to deal with whatever character choices Tomura’s making here, and he’s going to be pissed. Tomura doesn’t care. If Dabi wanted to have a say over what this fight looks like, he should have done it himself.

You’re pulling your mask over your face, pressing it down. You’re so busy with it that Tomura almost gets away clean with grabbing the artifact from around your neck. You catch him at the last minute and pull it back, and it splits cleanly between his hand and yours. You take one artfully reckless swing with your katana and Tomura ducks back just a little farther than he needs to. Which is when you turn and run, booking it out of frame and towards the far edge of the woods.

Some camera guy – Iida, Tomura thinks – chases after you. Tomura’s off the hook, but he holds still anyway. He’s gotten yelled at more than a few times for moving before the director’s officially called cut. But Midoriya isn’t calling cut. He keeps not calling it. Tomura can hear him, though. He’s muttering to himself.

“Hey, boss-man!” hollers the unit director – Togata, or something. “Want to call a cut?”

“Oh, oops! Cut! Definitely cut.” Midoriya sounds like he couldn’t give less of a shit. When Tomura turns to look at him, he’s got a notebook and he’s writing furiously. And mumbling again. Tomura’s worked with a lot of directors and more than a few weird ones, and once he rules out the hand fetishist and the guy who wanted the fight scenes to include real knives and real blood, Midoriya’s definitely the weirdest.

You come back from wherever you ran off to, and you don’t seem to think Midoriya’s as weird as everyone else does. “Are we waiting for notes?”

“Huh?”

“After we run a scene in a stage show, we get notes,” you say. You’re not quite breathing hard. Neither is Tomura. “Do you not do that around here?”

“Nah,” Togata or whoever says. “Usually the director just hollers at whoever screws up and makes everybody do another take.”

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Who screwed up? Was it me?”

“You certainly took some liberties with the scene,” Iida says. “The original intent –”

“You want original intent, don’t tell us to improv,” Tomura says. The fight with you was maybe the most intense fight scene he’s ever done. When Midoriya inevitably nixes it, Tomura wants a copy. He addresses you. “It wasn’t you. Somebody on the sound side probably fucked up.”

“Excuse me?” The sound tech – maybe Jiro? – looks like she wants to club Tomura to death with a boom mic. “I fucked up? If you two hadn’t gotten all –”

“Midoriya,” Togata sings out, patting Midoriya on the shoulder. Midoriya jumps. “Hey! Good to have you back! Should we get set for another take?”

“No.”

Mirio looks confused. He’s not the only one. “Are we taking this one back to the drawing board?”

“No.” Midoriya shuts his notebook and looks up, his eyes shining in the crazy way movie people get when they have a really wild idea. “That was the take. We’re done.”

“What?”

“That was it.” Midoriya’s grinning. “It was perfect.”

Now you look weirded out. Finally. “No notes?”

“We need some close-ups, but –” Midoriya grabs his radio and hollers for somebody to put Dabi in his costume “ – you guys did a great job. Like, even the timing – it’s going to be so easy to use those beats for close-ups, and all the character stuff – you were so in sync it was scary, but emotionally you were each totally on your own journey, and it looked –”

“Hey, take a breath. Don’t faint,” Jiro instructs. Midoriya sucks down some air, and Jiro turns to you. “You did your first fight scene in one take. Congrats.”

Spinner lifts the sword out of Tomura’s hand, then takes the two halves of the artifact from both of you. Tomura’s done here for now. He’ll hitch a ride back on the Jeep that brings Dabi up and find a place to nap. Hopefully. He feels a little too keyed up to take a break right now.

You’re still standing there, looking sort of dazed. It annoys Tomura for a second, until he remembers that you’re used to understudying in musicals, not shooting superhero movies. “Hey,” he says, and you startle. “That was a solid fight. You’re better than I thought.”

“That’s not hard,” you say. “All I had to do to be better than you thought I’d be was to not impale myself or anybody else.”

“I haven’t seen you work before today. Sue me,” Tomura says. “You know what you’re doing. That was a really good fight.”

You shrug. It pisses Tomura off. Fishing for compliments always does, and Tomura hates it – but instead of telling you to grow up, he tries to hit you over the head with it for real. “You might not know your head from your ass yet, but I do, and it was a good scene. I haven’t had a fight like that in –”

Years? A decade? Tomura doesn’t think he’s ever been in a fake fight that felt real without actually feeling unsafe. “That’s the best one I’ve done in a long time,” he says finally. “You’re a real actress now. That modesty shit isn’t cute.”

You shrug again and make your way over to where Midoriya and Iida are talking. You’re probably going to ask Midoriya if you did something wrong, and he’ll get weird and reshoot the whole thing. Or he won’t, and he’ll think you’re insecure, which drives most directors up the wall. The fight scene was good on the first take. That never happens. Excuse Tomura for wanting to enjoy it.

“Shigaraki,” Spinner says from behind Tomura, and Tomura looks at him. “That’s not how you talk to girls.”

“Huh?”

“You, like – negged her. A lot,” Spinner says. Bullshit. Tomura knows what negging is. He knows he wasn’t doing it. “You told her she sucks, and then you told her she doesn’t suck as much as you thought she did. And then you trashed her whole career before now –”

“When did I do that?” Tomura’s done with this. “I said she knew what she was doing.”

“Uh, yeah. She took you to the cleaners on camera,” Spinner says. “And I hate to be the one to say this, but you looked really into it.”

What does he mean, into it? Tomura was doing his job. If he doesn’t get into it, he has to do extra takes. “So, like I said,” Spinner continues, “if you want to talk to girls and have it go anywhere, you have to give actual compliments. Not just tell her you’re surprised she wasn’t worse.”

“That’s not what I said,” Tomura growls. He doesn’t like anything about this conversation – not what Spinner’s implying, not what Spinner’s telling him to do. “Since when do you give me advice about girls?”

“Since I’ve gone on a date in the last six months,” Spinner says without blinking. “When was the last time you went out?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Dabi spent the last six months in rehab. You could have gotten out there,” Spinner says. Tomura glares at him. “All you did was work out and play League.”

“That’s what I was busy doing,” Tomura says. “I don’t need lessons on talking to girls.”

“Sure,” Spinner says. “Give her a real compliment next time. It’ll help.”

It’ll help with what? Tomura doesn’t know what Spinner thought he saw, but whatever it is, it wasn’t there. Tomura doesn’t date actresses. Or actors, in spite of what a bunch of Dabi’s fans seem to think is going on between the two of them. And even if Tomura was going to date an actress, he wouldn’t date somebody like you – somebody new to all of this, somebody naïve, somebody whose confidence can barely survive a single hit. Maybe you’ll be the kind of actress Tomura would date if you make it through this shoot alive. The fact that no actress would ever date Tomura doesn’t matter at all.

Even if this is the only blockbuster you ever do, he’ll get to fight you at least one more time. There’s another fight scene between Quicksilver and Psylocke later on in the script. As Tomura leans against a tree waiting for his ride to show up while you talk way too earnestly to Midoriya, he finds that he’s already looking forward to it.

[olderthannetfic]

TW Suicide. I talk about suicide from a religious perspective, and religion is not kind with suicide.

I might be reaching but I think religious Asian countries might be more proship-friendly than western countries??

Let's see a few cases. Japan. I'm not sure how religious Japan is, but they have very strict values and traditions. There are so many how-tos and even the language has levels that you can only use to certain people, otherwise it's rude. They can't express queerness so freely that yaoi/yuri is the best outlet they have, and they got called rotten for it.

Japan is notorious for being very proship friendly. There was even a huge "what is proship and why should you block those with 'proship DNI' in their bios" thread over on Twitter and it was so widely shared by Japanese users. At that point, even antis took off the "proship DNI" off their bios (such cowards lol).

The people in my religious (Muslim) country and its neighbor, Malaysia and Indonesia, even the minors, are so proship-oriented that I only ever saw exactly one person with "proship DNI" in their bio. And their posts tell me they're the more "liberal" people of the country. You know, the ones that the older people are using as examples of "Look at that girl. She's been poisoned by the western values, she's showing so much skin. Don't be like her". Now I obviously will just laugh at older people who says such things but hear me out.

The people who are actually practicing religion to the point where nothing sexual is allowed, who WILL screech at sex (both vanilla and kinky) in fanworks should they ever join, won't touch fandom with a ten-foot pole. This leaves us with the absolute freaks who thinks "I'm religious, I believe in God that other people call fiction, but I can't have sex until I'm married and masturbation is haram, so smut fic is actually a great way to let off tension! No one real is having sex so it's a green area. I'm not masturbating, I'm just reading. Sometimes they excite me, most of the time not! Halal mode."

Also, murder and suicide is a sin. A huge sin. If you tell someone to kill themselves and they actually did, the religious guilt would be MASSIVE. I can't imagine an actually correctly-practicing religious sending death threats and not be haunted by the promise of a sin. A sin that involves other people is much harder to forgive (it requires forgiveness from the hurt people, and that's impossible with suicide. They can't forgive you if they're dead) than a sin that involves yourself (masturbation. All you have to do is regret and never do it again. Which is why suicide is seen as unforgiveable. You can't undo it).

So, it sometimes makes me wonder that in the west, MAGA catholic conservatives shares a lot of values with fanpols. But in religious countries, the actually rigid religious ones aren't in fandom, so the fandom is filled with people who aren't evangelical purists.

This incoherent yap might be reaching, but hey, a new perspective to US-Europeans or non-religious people. It's just kinda funny to think about. Since you are very well-spoken and critical (I think so from your replies to the asks!), what do you think?

--

Well... I think there are a lot of specifics here that are hilarious in how you've framed them. (The situation with queer people in Japan has evolved a lot over the last couple of decades. That isn't at all how I'd describe politeness levels in language, and I think your assumptions based on how politeness works in Japanese are ludicrous. Catholicism isn't the big, powerful flavor of Christianity in the US, so it's not where the majority of the nutbars ruining politics come from. Etc. Etc.)

But back in the 90s in US fandom in English, slash was the domain of freaks, and the puritywankers were openly homophobic and did not hang out in the same spaces.

Yes, I do think that part of the rise of the current flavor of antis has to do with somewhat wider acceptance of queerness combined with an overall anxiety-inducing and uncertain situation. They're not secure enough to chill the fuck out, but they wrongly believe that our battles for queer rights here are done and/or that they can be won by throwing the freakier members of the community under the bus.

[trombonechurchill]

Cutting Out the Middleman

Taylor Kelly/Lucy Donato, 1,154 words, rated T

Deep down, she thinks both she and Buck knew they were fighting against the current, that their broken edges were causing more cracks the tighter they tried to hold things together. And she's relieved, in a way. Taylor's never been good at lying to herself and she has to admit that's what she'd been doing for a long time now.

Probably since the second Buck kissed Lucy, really.

For the @9-1-1-kinkmeme prompt: What it says on the tin. After she and Buck break up, Taylor decides she wants to find out what was so great about kissing that hot flight medic. Lucy's happy to demonstrate.

Read here or on AO3

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

Taylor should be out celebrating. She just broke the story of the decade about a serial killer amongst some of the city's finest and yet she's here; haunting the same old badge and ladder doing a postmortem of yet another relationship crash and burn. Taylor Kelly, coming to you live from the smoldering wreckage of the last several months of her life. And she can't even really be all that mad about it.

Deep down, she thinks both she and Buck knew they were fighting against the current, that their broken edges were causing more cracks the tighter they tried to hold things together. And she's relieved, in a way. Taylor's never been good at lying to herself and she has to admit that's what she'd been doing for a long time now.

Probably since the second Buck kissed Lucy, really.

"What was it you said to me? 'I'd hate for things to get messy again'? I think you might have jinxed us with that one." As if summoned by some sort of karmic retribution, Lucy Donato swings herself into open seat next to Taylor at the bar.

Taylor fixes her with a tight smile, holding up her glass in a mock toast.

"If you're here to warn me off the 118, you can save your breath, I've learnt my lesson."

"The 118 can look after themselves, I am here to drink," Lucy says, enforcing the casual words with an easy sprawl of her legs. Out of the usual straight laced LAFD uniform or bulky bunker pants, Taylor supposes she shouldn't be surprised at the tight play of muscle under Lucy's jeans as she knocks her knee against where Taylor's are tucked up by the bar. Buck had insane thighs too, it must be a firefighter thing, she muses, taking another sip of her whiskey and polishing off the glass.

Lucy orders herself one of the beers on tap as Taylor considers her over the rim of her lowball glass, watching the smooth line of her throat as Lucy takes a long pull.

"Look, I'm not your enemy, I may have not liked how you did it, but I guess if the story had to come out, I'm glad it was you," Lucy says, apparently catching how Taylor had been eyeing her. She needed to work on her covert surveillance if she was being that obvious. Or maybe cut back on the drinking.

Taylor orders another lowball.

"I didn't say that you were," Taylor says simply, tilting her head and watching as Lucy's eyes follow the fall of her hair as it shifts over her shoulder. Time was, Taylor wasn't so sure if that was true. She didn't like it, playing the jealous girlfriend; feeling small and trapped and found wanting. Wondering what it was about her that pulled Buck across that line.

"You don't need to, your face is doing a lot of the talking for you," Lucy says back with a shrug, taking another long drink but punctuating the comment with a smile. Taylor does her best to school herself back into a neutral expression but she thinks maybe she's starting to get an inkling of what that thing may have been now.

"And what, exactly, do you think my face is saying?" Taylor raises a single polished eyebrow, an expression she's well perfected over the years, and feels a coil of satisfaction as Lucy turns fully to face her, giving her her full attention. Her eyes feel like a heavy weight on Taylor's skin as they trace across her face, down her cheek, her lips, back to Taylor's eyes. Taylor holds her stare.

"I think it's saying that there's something you want to ask me," Lucy says after a moment.

"That's presuming a lot." "Hey, I'm just calling it how I see it." Lucy's grin is charming, Taylor reluctantly admits, she can see the appeal. And Taylor's not blind, she could tell Lucy was attractive even sweaty and covered in soot, but it's different now, having those dark eyes turned on her, the full weight of Lucy's easy confidence and attention.

"So. What is it?" Taylor blinks, caught out staring for a second time tonight. "That you want to ask me," Lucy prompts again.

"I want to know why he kissed you," Taylor says, pleased to see that seems to have stumped Lucy at least for a moment.

"You know, I didn't expect you to actually come out and say it." Lucy scrubs at her chin, abashed but apparently not entirely ashamed for being called out about kissing someone else's boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend.

"I've found it's always better to be direct about things."

"Yeah, I'm getting that. For the record, I didn't know he had a girlfriend until after we kissed. It was all in good fun," Lucy says, still watching Taylor closely.

"No, I figured, which means something about you was worth it," Taylor surmises, leaning in closer. "If I could just figure out what…" Lucy's eyes land on her lips again and Taylor smirks in triumph.

"I'd be happy to demonstrate, you know, for science or whatever," Lucy says slowly, setting her glass aside.

Taylor's barely moved her own before she's stepping forward, high-heeled shoe placed firmly between the v of Lucy's legs as she shifts into her space. With Lucy sitting down, Taylor's just tall enough to be able to tilt Lucy's face up, nails carding and catching in the hair behind her ear as she pulls her to face her.

Lucy's mouth is warm and Taylor feels heat bloom in her stomach as she wraps a strong arm around her waist and pulls her closer, her other hand coming to rest with surprising gentleness to tilt Taylor's face and deepen the kiss.

Taylor chases the taste of hops and saliva as she presses in closer, her own lips already whiskey warm and tingling as Lucy's tongue brushes over the seam of her lips as Taylor opens her mouth for more.

For a breathless moment, it's all Taylor feels, the slick slide of Lucy's mouth, the hot brand of her arm across her back and gentle fingers against her cheek. She sees a flash of dark eyes watching her under long lashes before Taylor finally pulls back, wiping at the corner of her mouth where she's sure her lipstick's smudged and clearing her throat.

"Well, I suppose I can see what all the fuss was about," Taylor says belatedly, forcing herself back and out of the loose loop of Lucy's arm as she drops back into her seat.

They're both quiet for a moment, drinking in easy comradery even as Taylor can see Lucy watching her from the corner of her eye.

"You know," Lucy starts after a beat, "I'm happy to try it again, you know. If you needed to collect more data or something."

Taylor grins.

"I do like to be thorough," she agrees, leaning back in.

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

Guilty As Sin - Andy Barber x Reader

A/N: This is my entry to @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420 's Cum Together Extravaganza! As soon as I saw the prompt 'The one who (almost) got away' I knew I had to write something for our favourite lawyer!

Summary: Someone from Andy's past walks back into his life after over a decade, after keeping his longings locked will he finally admit his feelings?

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: FLUFF! The insinuation of Masturbation! FLUFF!!!!!​

Masterlist

Andy let out a big yawn as he leant back in his chair and raised his arms above his head to stretch out his back. He glanced at his watch to see it was almost lunch time yet it felt like 5 pm. He’d stayed up late last night to work through the evidence for this case, something he was slightly regretting now. But if it meant the victim got the justice they deserved then a little lack of sleep would be worth it, he’d sleep when it was over.

He grabbed his mug from the desk taking a large sip of his coffee which he may as well just pump straight into his veins at this point when there was a knock at his door. “Come in” he called out as he set his mug back down.

Lynn, his boss walked in holding a folder “I’m guessing you didn’t get much sleep last night?” she said knowingly, brow ached. 

Andy gave her a lop-sided smile “Sleep is for the weak, what can I do for you? Is that another case?” he asked nodding to the file. 

“No, I’m just here to let you know the new ADA will be joining you on this case, it’s gathering more and more media attention so I want my best team on it and I don’t want you working yourself to death on it” Lynn explained with a knowing look. 

Andy arched a brow in confusion, he didn’t realise they were looking for another ADA, let alone hired one “new ADA?” 

Lynn nodded “Just transferred from New York, they’re very good with a record that rivals yours”

Andy hummed “Well that’s good but I don’t need the help on this case, I’ve got it covered,” he said with a shake of his head.

“This wasn’t a request” Lynn said as someone else knocked on Andy’s door “That’s her” Lynn moved back towards the door before Andy could protest. 

Any protests he did have though died in his throat when he saw exactly who the new ADA was. It was like seeing a ghost and falling back into a time wormhole all at the same time. 

“Y/N,” he said before he even realised he was speaking, shooting up from his seat like he’d been electrocuted nearly knocking over his coffee. 

“Andy, long time no see” You smiled warmly back at him. 

Andy grinned back at you as he stepped out from behind his desk to walk over to you. He instinctively went to hug you but it had been over a decade since he’d seen you which made him hesitate. 

He stopped just short of you instead and pushed his hands into his pockets to stop himself from reaching out  “You could say that again”

“You two know each other?” Lynn asked, brow arched. 

“We went to law school together” you explained, still smiling at Andy, not looking back at Lynn.

“Yeah Y/N was my only competition for the top of the class” Andy smirked unable to take his eyes off you.

“There was no real competition though” you chuckled with a knowing look up at Andy.

“I guess that’s why you ended up being a big shot lawyer in New York” Andy grinned. 

Andy couldn’t believe you were here. When you parted ways at the end of law school he didn’t expect to ever run into you again and it killed him. You had been his best friend, he honestly didn’t think he’d gotten through law school if it wasn’t for you. You pushed each other to do better, creating a healthy competition which neither of you cared about winning. 

After spending so much time together it was only natural that Andy developed feelings for you but law school was so intense that you’d both said that dating anyone would be a dangerous distraction. So Andy kept his feelings hidden and buried in the hopes that once you graduated he could confess his feelings. 

Fate was a cruel thing though as when you graduated you landed a big job in New York while Andy decided to stay in Boston. Andy had selfishly wanted to ask you to stay but he knew he couldn’t let you pass up this opportunity for just him. So he once again buried his feelings and let you go. 

The relationship he wanted with you remained in his mind. Over the years he tried to move on, he had partners but none of them captured his heart like you did. They were doomed from the start. Every time he thought he was over you, your name would appear on the news after winning another major case and he’d slip back into that maze that was his mental relationship with you. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that on his loneliest nights, he would often picture himself with you, his desire crashing over him like waves. 

When it came to you, he was guilty as sin. 

“Well I’ll let you catch Y/N up on the case once you two finish catching up,” Lynn said with a pointed look “I hope this means no one will be staying up late on this case anymore” 

You shrugged your shoulders “Sleep is for the weak” 

Lynn rolled her eyes as she walked out muttering “I’ve got two of them now” 

Both you and Andy laughed “Let me get you caught up” Andy said gesturing for you to take a seat. 

Despite Lynn’s wishes you and Andy did end up working into the evenings together. But it was mostly because you were spending too much time catching up and acting like it was old times again. Currently, you were at Andy’s house pouring over the evidence while dining out on Chinese takeout. 

“So how come you decided to come back here? Getting too famous in New York?” Andy smirked as he dug through his chow mein. 

You snorted leaning back in your chair, you shook your head “No… I mean was I well known? Maybe” you smirked  “But that wasn’t the reason” Andy arched a brow in silent question “I wanted to become a lawyer to get the little guys justice, help victims, but in New York, I just ended up doing loads of fraud and corporate based crimes” you explained “I mean it felt good to take down these big rich guys who thought they were untouchable but it didn’t feel like I was actually helping the little guy” you sighed “I asked my boss for those sort of jobs but he said I was better suited to these corporate cases and I should leave the other cases to those who wouldn’t get emotionally invested AKA the men”

Andy frowned “That’s bullshit” he said, he didn’t even know who your old boss was but the anger he felt made him want to hunt him down and give him a piece of his mind. 

You shrugged “Yeah so I handed in my notice and looked to transfer back here” you said with a small lopsided smile. 

Andy pursed his lips, ever since you walked back into his life he wondered why you had chosen to come back. He hoped that he was at least part of the reason. He’d put off asking you for so long that it was impossible not to ask now. 

He plastered a smirk onto his face “Did you miss me?”

You chuckled quietly “I did actually” you admitted before taking a deep breath “It kinda felt like this was the place I needed to come back to”

Andy nodded, looking down at his food to hide the hope that was blossoming on his face “Well this place is definitely better with you in it” 

You snorted shaking your head “Nah I bet you found someone else to compete with” you smirked.

Andy shook his head “There’s Neil, stay away from him by the way” he pointed over to you with his chopsticks “but he’s pretty lousy competition, even after I taught him everything I knew” 

You chuckled “Noted,” you said before pausing for a moment “but there’s no one else? No… Mrs Barber to be that you’ve yet to introduce me to”

Andy shook his head “Nope, just me myself and I” he told you. 

You arched a brow “I’m surprised. I thought you’d have girls fawning over you once law school was over” you admitted.

Andy gave you a bashful smile “No, I mean I’ve dated but nothing that’s stuck… guess I’ve been holding out for something, someone else” Andy admitted quietly hoping you didn’t pick up on the hidden meaning. 

You just nodded understandingly “it’s been the same for me, except the thing I’m holding out for has only ever happened in my head”

Andy’s brows pinched together “What do you mean?” he asked. 

You let out a long sigh as you put your container back down on the table and cleared your throat “Well this confession wasn’t one I was planning to make before drinking copious amounts of alcohol but I guess there’s no time like the present” you sighed “I had a massive crush on you in law school and I was kinda hoping that once we graduated that something would happen” 

Andy blinked in surprise, his lips parted as he took in that information and tried to make sense of it “But- but when you got the job offer you said there was nothing keeping you in Boston” Andy recalled. 

It was a painful memory that he wished he could forget but never could. He regularly went back and wondered what he could have said differently to change your mind only to decide that he didn’t want to change your mind. 

You huffed quietly “I think I was just protecting myself by lying… and part of me, well part of me hoped that you’d say you were a reason to stay” you admitted. 

Andy sat back in his chair in shock. You had wanted him to say what he’d wanted to say. All of this time you both wanted the same thing and neither of you was brave enough to say it. 

“I wanted to” he admitted quietly.

Your brows rose slightly in surprise “You did? Your voice was full of disbelief “Why didn’t you?”

Andy sighed “Because I didn’t want to be the reason you missed out on a great opportunity, I didn’t want to you regret it years down the line and hate me for it” 

“My only regret is not having you” you said quietly. 

Andy put his food down as he stood up from his chair and walked around the table to crouch down next to you “Well… you can have me now if you still want me because I’ve been in love with you ever since you wiped the floor with me first week of law school” he smirked.

You laughed as you recalled that day “I promise my flirting technique has improved since then” 

Andy laughed and shook his wondering how on earth you both were so blind all this time “So do you want me?” he asked.

You nibbled your lower lip and nodded your head “I’ve always wanted you Barber”

Andy grinned as he cupped your cheek and kissed you deeply and passionately to make up for all the years wasted. Still not quite believing how the one who got away became the one who almost got away.

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Masterlist

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[eternal-love]

AUSTIN AND ME

“For the last time.”

“Wife to the ‘king’. Icon to the world. Destined for more.”

Summary: At 18 years old, she fell in love with Austin, at 20 years old, she became his wife, by 22, she was his doll. In which Cynthia’s life changed drastically after falling head over heels with a man that promised her the moon and the stars. She takes us down the memory lane of what could’ve been— the perfect marriage.

Inspired by the book: Elvis and Me by Priscilla Presley.

I do not condemn any of the portrayals I decide to do about certain people, it’s just fanfiction. And it would be divided in parts.

English isn’t my first language so I’m trying my best!

This one is for my girl @lovemyselfyay hope u like it girl!

The months following my birthday were hectic, with my advanced pregnancy, I was alone once again on my last trimester as Austin was away filming two movies, Dune Part Two and The Bikeriders. I found myself alone but I wasn’t lonely, because I had Lori with me.

Our lives has changed since ELVIS came out, he was an actor on the rise, finally getting the fruits of what he had been working on for a decade. I was an actress but he was more popular than me. I hadn’t worked since 2019, three years. And with a baby, I doubted I would go back any sooner.

By the time he was back home, it was November. And I didn’t expect to go into labor— at home.

I had never been so scared before. We had talked about possibilities of me having a birth at home but I was terribly scared. Even though I had a midwife, a doctor and Austin. It wasn’t an easy birth. I called the midwife a bitch, I think I even gave her another check with the subject ‘sorry for cursing at you, miss’

And after hours of labor, the baby was finally born. I was scared, emotional, in pain, sweaty, and the first thing they did was hand my child to Austin. I glared at the doctor.

“It’s a boy! Look, baby, a boy. Oh, and he has my face!” Austin was enthusiastic, maybe even more than he was when Lori was born.

Once I saw my boy, I held him close to me, the bundle in the blanket, oh, yes, he looked exactly like Austin. Nine months carrying him just so that he ends up looking like his idiot of a father.

But I loved my boy, his light blond hair, his blue eyes. His father’s copy. The same beautiful nose. I chuckled as I held him close. I felt happy.

I received a ton of congratulations from good friends, as well as many visits by Austin’s celebrity friends. I wasn’t in the mood to receive that many people but I tried to tell myself that they did it with their best intentions at heart.

Lori was a bit jealous, she had been crying nonstop at nights, Austin had to hold her and tell her:

“Mommy isn’t replacing you, she’s just taking care of your little brother. Don’t you love him?”

And she would cry louder, she still thought we would forget about her. So every morning, I tried to be the one waking her up. Even though I was sleepless thanks to Sean. I would color with her instead of sleeping once Julian was asleep, or take time to try and bake with her.

Christmas was a few weeks away and we were going to spend it at his grandparents home. They wanted to see Lori and Sean. Wanted to make them experience the Christmas Austin experiences as a kid.

So, we went Christmas shopping. I was one month postpartum but I felt hay I had to look god to be by his side. Because he looked amazing, so I went all out. And Thank God I did. Because some people took photos of us.

But I was more focused on getting everything on Lori’s letter than my facial expressions.

“I swear to God. I have never seen so much pink in my car.” Austin complained as he placed some bags on the backseat. The back of his seat was filled with stickers, Lori’s work. “And they don’t come off.”

“You can thank Lori for that.” I said as I sipped my drink. Getting into the passenger seat.

“You’ll wrap all the gifts, right?” He asked me once he got inside the car. I glared at him. I was taking care of a newborn and a four year old. “Got it. So princess wrapping, right?”

I chuckled and nodded. I was happy that this time I wouldn’t have to cook, or do much.

“We shouldn’t spoil her so much.” Austin said as he drove. “I mean, we got her too many presents this year.”

I didn’t answer, as a child, I was used to getting so many presents. My entire living room would be filled to the brim with presents for my sisters and I.

“Not sure in the right person you want to tell that.” I said, looking out the window. He scoffed.

I had my hair done up all 60’s beauty queen style, I had made the effort and as always, he started sticking his fingers onto my teased hair.

“Stop it.” I tried to slap his hand. Laughing.

“Stop it.” He mimicked my voice as he kept sticking his fingers into my bouffant.

The car then stayed silent after he stop, at a red light, he spoke.

“Callum called me to congratulate me. He said that— he was happy for us. He’ll make sure to make time to visit.” Austin said awkwardly, gripping the steering wheel.

Your friend and wife’s side lad con you on the birth of your child wasn’t something any man wanted.

“Really? He could’ve texted me.” I said, but I regretted immediately.

Yes, tell your husband that you wished your ex-lover would have texted you! Great thinking, Cynthia!

“So, does your grandma like Cinnamon Rolls?” I tried to change the topic to my baking.

“She does. She does.” He nodded, his face now serious.

“It’s over between Callum and I. You don’t have to worry anymore.” I said, looking down on my lap.

“That’s good.” He nodded, his hand rubbing his chin and then clenching his jaw.

Then everything went quiet, only the music he had on played in the background. I was now regretting saying anything at all. Again, someone should’ve slapped my mouth as a child.

The Christmas Day I was all day running around like a chicken without its head. Getting the things ready, my desserts, the kids. I had to bathe the kids, had to dress Lori, dress Sean.

In the end, I did myself. I kept my bouffant, did my makeup, keeping it light. I couldn’t go all out, it was in his grandparents house. And I wore a pink plaid dress, white flats. He wore his usual clothes, a white tshirt, a leather jacket, straight denim jeans and his black cowboy boots.

Once we arrived, he took charge of getting everything inside while I took the kids inside. Lori was so excited while Sean was asleep in my arms.

“Oh, my dearest loves!” Austin’s grandma opened the door, Lori rushing towards her and pulling her in for a hug. “I missed you too, sweetheart. I want to see your brother too!”

The white-haired woman looked at the bundle in my arms. The tiny boy in the blanket moving his head a little, his mouth open.

“Look at you, you’re shining!” Grandma said, making space for us to come in.

We settled down and his grandpa came to greet us, he had been busy with the turkey and the rest of dinner.

They were very loving towards the kids, never I can I complain about them. They did what they could and they loved my kids to the bone.

After helping us unwind, I sat on the old couch, smiling down at Sean.

“You look stunning, dear. Are you sure you just had the baby?” Grandma asked me, smiling at my boy.

“I’ve been holding up lately. Austin got me a cook and a maid.” I smiled.

I had to admit, Austin stepped up this pregnancy because he knew he would be away filming.

“You did good, sweetie.” Grandma patted his leg, Austin smiled with his lips closwd.

“But seriously, Cynthia, you look stunning.” Grandpa complimented me, the old man pushing his glasses up his nose bridge, as Lori sat on his lap.

“Thank you.” I smiled at the man. I enjoyed getting compliments, even more now that I just given birth, my hormones made me believe I was the ugliest girl alive.

“He looks just like Austin. I remember when we first saw him. He was this tiny red thing, he looked like a shrimp!” Grandma joked, laughing.

“I’ve seen pictures. He was so red!” I laughed. For whatever Austin’s faults were, he was a cute kid once.

“I was flushed, alright? Enough laughing.” Austin pouted. He took Sean from my arms, Sean looked very small on his hands.

We were staying the night of Christmas Eve, so after I was finally able to tuck Lori in bed after promising that if she fell asleep, Santa would come to put her presents under the tree. Lori had her own room at Austin’s grandparents house, since she was the only great-grandchild that ever stayed here.

Austin and I had our Sean into his portable crib, as we were in his childhood bedroom, in bed, he was all over me, his lips on mine as his tongue made his way into my mouth.

“So sweet…” he muttered on my lips.

The last thing I wanted was to have sex, but could I ever say no to Austin’s lip? No, I couldn’t refuse him.

“So pretty and all for me now…” He muttered again, chuckling and his thumb caressed by stomach.

I had been self conscious lately. I was trying to get rid of the baby weight, but Austin seemed to like it. He never commented on it. I remembered the time I was pregnant with Lori, starving myself because I thought he would want me always small and lean. He didn’t.

I couldn’t believe we could be fighting minutes before and now we were making out. I hated him but I loved him. I didn’t know what to think. I just hated how many times he had hurt me but I couldn’t stop loving him. Even after I had screwed around another man, no one could compare.

At about 12 AM, we went to the car to take our all the presents and put them under the tree. Austin ate the cookies and poured the milk down the sink.

“Look at this. We’re spoiling her too much.” He whispered as he walked backwards, looking at the present-filled living room. Yes, Lori was definitely the daughter of celebrities.

“She’s been good. And she deserves it. So she doesn’t think we’re forgetting about her and replacing her.” I said, crossing my arms. I yawned.

“Let’s go to sleep. I just know she’ll wake up at seven am.” Austin said, his hand on my lower back as he guided me to the bedroom.

We laid together at bed, I couldn’t sleep without Sean by my side. So I placed him between us. The tiny boy cuddled with me, Austin hugged Sean’s little body.

I was falling asleep after him, he looked so beautiful, they did. A part of me felt guilty for ever thinking of leaving him.

I was being selfish towards myself. That man had hurt me many times. But I couldn’t help loving him.

The next morning, Lori came to wake us up at eight am. Excitedly she pulled my feet and I woke up startled, Austin too, she even pulled Sean’s tiny feet, poor baby, he started crying after she scared him up.

“What is it, baby? Huh?” Austin asked her as he picked her up.

“Presents! Santa!” Lori smiled, nuzzling her face into Austin’s neck.

Once she saw the living room, she yelled excitedly, I watched as she opened her presents one by one, I held Sean on my chest, I couldn’t wait until he was old enough to enjoy Christmas too.

“I got you this.” Austin told me, he held a small box and opened it in front of me. A beautiful ring.

“Austin, you didn’t have to-“ I said, I was very excited. A new ring, from him! I didn’t know how to feel but my heart softened, I appreciated the thought so much. Very much.

“I has our anniversary date carved on the inside. So you have me with you anytime. Like you already do with the locket.” He caressed my cheek with his thumb before kissing my lips softly.

Afterwards I sat down to see Lori putting together some of her toys while I was playing with my new ring, just watching Lori made me smile. She was the reason I stayed with Austin, she was the reason I had out up with so much. She was the reason I was still trying to make things work with Austin.

And I thought. I really thought that things were starting to work out once more. Specially once we had breakfast all together.

After the breakfast, I was in the bedroom, tidying everything up. Until Austin’s phone vibrated a shit ton of times. I didn’t mean to be nosy but I was just curious so I grabbed it. Text messages from Kaia Gerber.

‘Merry Christmas baby💋’

‘I hope we can see each other so I can give you my present ;)’

‘I’m sure Cynthia wasn’t able to give you one anyways.’

I thought I could trust him once more. But I had forgotten how secretive and how low key he could be. I thought they were just mutual friends. I had been pregnant with his second child this whole time.

This was the last time I was trusting him.

Motherfucker.

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep8 Musings - Loustat (SPOILERS) Pt2: Reunion

You don't know the HALF of what Lestat feels for Louis, to let YOUR grimy arse steal his man, just for LOUIS's happiness. ANYTHING for Louis.

Am I the only one who felt left hanging? We BEEN knew it didn't make sense, but what's your POINT, exactly? If Louis misremembered Lestat whispering, it's just par for the course about the odyssey of recollection. But if Lestat DID do telepathy, is that evidence of...what? That the vampire bond works differently than what's been explained? That he COULD read Lou's mind? AMC, this is AGGRAVATING.

Your goose is COOKED, my guy.

The copium & denial pack Louis was smoking as he laughed was 🤌

That's right, start sweating!

Master manipulation; cuz he certainly would NOT have, as we soon find out. ANYTHING for Louis. (Dang, Imma have to take back some of what I said about Lestat's character development not having started yet.)

I was shocked. I was NOT expecting this plot twist. I was ready to throw Lestat out with the rest of the TRASH, in the DUMP. Well dang. Guess I'll only leave him rotting in a TINY landfill.

I nearly SCREAMED--@nashvillethotchicken and I were talking about Loustat as Bobby and Whitney ages ago! I cannot BELIEVE AMC threw in a New Edition reference in the year of our lord 2024; y'all are diabolical AF, Rolin, STOP IT.

I wonder if AMC used Hurricane Odette cuz the OG script was set in pandemic!2020, so it would make sense that a year later Louis would head back to NOLA during 2021 when Hurricane Odette last hit.

That looks like NOLA's Pontchartrain Hotel--lemme find out he bumped into the Mayfairs when Rowan & them were in town, LOL.

Lestat got more aliases than the KGB; meanwhile Louis just sprinkles his long AF unique AF name all over the place. 🤦 But I guess it's ok, since the tour guide never mentioned him & Claudia by name. (Not Tom Anderson in another finale, LOL.) Louis so offended the tour guide said he ran a voodoo cult. XD

Fall of the House of Lioncourt-Melmouth.

You're gosh darned right! THEE Louis of Troy is in the building!

You love to see it. "A wearisome fledgling; all the millennials are--" not Lestat making PALE PROXIES of rat-catcher extraordinare LDPDL out of millennials. 😭

Lestat, if you don't get your crazy arse outta here with that bloodstained wooden keyboard Imma ROTFLMFAO.

NO JOKE, I effed up my friend's whole set when I started screaming "Siri, Pause," cuz my friend's Siri started freaking out and effed up the volume! XD

HERE WE EFFING GOOOOOOOO

(Best scene all season, fight me on this)

You know this was TEARING Lestat up, cuz of what happened in 1973--I gave Louis to you so you could do BETTER by him than EYE did, and instead it's NICKI ALL OVER AGAIN.

Imma smack him--this is NOT the time to be self-loathing, Lestat!

NOLA is my home--and the SAINT is not a city--I'm gonna cry.

He did. He just forgot, when reality settled in and the allure/nostalgia/glamour wore off. "I tried to make nights awful for you." Not the whole time, Louis. Y'all actually were happy b4--even Claudia said "the easy times" stopped after Florence died; and esp. after Charlie died. Lou can't be blamed for grieving his mom's death, and he definitely can't be blamed for Lestat & Claudia falling out after Charlie. Everything that happened after that--the 7 years of depression--was ALSO Lestat's fault. "I wanted you to suffer, cuz I was suffering;" I'm glad Les just waved that aside and said they BOTH wronged e/o.

He's not suicidal anymore then! He has nights in front of him to look forward to! So Lou can finally "learn to live honestly" with HIMSELF.

And Lestat dove RIGHT ON IN with that! He's been carrying that with him for DECADES, worried about Louis & what happened.

I LOVE that Les' language changes (the way his voice CRACKS and goes so TINY, oml)--he asked Lou in 1973 if he was "ill," and if something had happened TO him; so as to not spook/trigger or blame him--but he can ask more candidly now in a (relatively) "healthier" 2024 if Lou tried to hurt/kill himself; and get a more candid/honest answer. CLOSURE, y'all, I'm gonna cry.

GOOOOOOD. Don't EVER forget your daughter. Y'all need to have a Claudia Memorial; to KEEP remembering her, as she was in all her vampiric splendour, the good times AND the bad times.

I KNOW this hurt Louis to his effing core. The way Jacob cried FIRE!

I'm so glad Lou hugged him--YES YOU WERE, Uncle Les. And you KNOW it; you FELT that bond b/t y'all, even if she never looked at you. The distance b/t y'all was in name only, cuz a little Black girl couldn't have TWO daddies in 1917 and have one of them be white on top of it. I AM YOUR MAKER, sure, but you were her BLOOD FATHER, and she loved you, which is why she hoped you'd help her.

ANOTHER ROUND IN THE STORMY ROMANCE OF YOU TWO. 😭👏

What are these magical off-mic speeches/pep-talks Louis keeps giving people in Season 2?!? THE PEOPLE WANNA KNOW, gosh darnit!

DRATS.

I get why Jam said they thought the Loustat ending was "satisfying." It was nice, even though I'd've preferred to see Lestat in the Dubai penthouse at the end. :\

I LOVE THIS, AMC, thank you! ❤️

[lesbicosmos]

day 4 of @painlandweek !!

day 4 prompt: domestic au

summary

2061. charles and edwin have been together for over seven decades. they've been best friends AND lovers for nearly four decades. their non-lives are good. edwin reads about a certain comet passing close to earth soon, and both are determined to go out and watch it

notes

title from space girl by frances forever

this was inspired by one reblog on tumblr of a post about halley's comet saying the boys both could have seen it when they were alive. i saw it and the idea just came to me and Would Not Leave (it may have just been an excuse to make edwin a bit of a space nerd. apologies i’m projecting my nerdiness onto this traumatised edwardian boy)

also on ao3!!

you know the galaxies of my heart

Forever was such an unfathomable concept. The passage of time was so much different when there was no limit to how long you were going to be around. It also felt different depending on the people you surrounded yourself with. The first thirty-four years Charles and Edwin spent together seemed to have flown by in a flurry of mysteries and laughter. Since they were both dead, there was no visible aging to represent how much time had passed, so they very well could have lost track of what year it was. Then they met Niko and Crystal, and everything slowed down. The two of them had limited time, they aged, they needed to sleep every day. The pace of their afterlives seemed to slow to better match theirs – though it still felt like it passed faster than it had when they were alive, and they didn’t like that. Niko and Crystal’s lives began passing quicker than either of them could prepare for, and by the time it had only felt like a couple of decades for the ghosts, in reality nearly forty years had passed. The girls were older, while the two of them still looked exactly the same as they had the day they had died. They also didn’t like how much change came with the passage of time. The girls didn’t join them every time they had a case now – they couldn’t race around London as quickly as they had been able to in their youth. They were still vital members of the agency, of course, but it was different now. It was like Charles and Edwin were going back in time to their first few decades together whenever they were on a case just the two of them. It was odd, but it was predictably nostalgic.

On the days they didn’t have Niko and Crystal around, and they didn’t have any cases to work on, they would spend their time simply existing together. That had always been so easy for them, and had barely changed when, a while after they met the girls, their relationship had taken a romantic turn. It wasn’t exactly the same – they did much different things in their free time than they had when ‘best mates’ was all they were – but all in all, not much had changed. They’d been comfortable around each other and devoted to one another since the very beginning. The last forty years had just included a lot more physical and emotional intimacy than the thirty that had come before.

It was one of those quiet cosy days. The sight was one that often occurred on days like these, and had done for many decades by now: Edwin lying on the sofa – he could actually fit now, they had invested in a new, larger one since they moved offices back in the 2030s – with a book in one hand, the other in Charles’s hair as he curled up beside him. Charles’s eyes were closed. They couldn’t sleep, but they agreed this, just existing in each other’s space, was rest enough. Edwin was around halfway through the 2061 Night Sky Almanac, currently reading about the many comets that would be visible later in the year. He loved looking up into the night sky, admiring the vastness of the cosmos. It was one of the only things that had barely changed since his time – only now there was much more light pollution, so it was harder to truly see its beauty.

As he turned the page, he gasped softly. Whether for hearing the gasp or for feeling Edwin’s chest rise, Charles opened his eyes.

“You okay, love?”

It had been nearly forty years, and still that nickname managed to send a comforting warmth through Edwin’s body.

“Yes. Just reading this…have you heard of Halley’s comet?”

“Yeah?”

“It only passes within visibility of Earth approximately every 76 years or so, and it’s passing by this year!”

“Oh, brills! When?”

“In a few weeks. Then it will be visible for several weeks after that.”

“We’d better make plans then,” Charles said, kissing Edwin’s cheek.

“You know,” Edwin smiled. “I saw Halley when I was alive.”

“Really?”

“May 1910. I was just ten years old, at the time. My science teacher at St. Hilarion’s was quite an eccentric fellow, was always interested in the stars. He’d taken our class out into the courtyard one night to watch it. Most of the boys merely messed around, of course. They were ten years old at a private boarding school, they didn’t care for comets, they just took it as an excuse to get out of study time. But it always intrigued me. I think I was the only one who saw it in the end, a dot of bright green amongst the stars in the sky. It was beautiful. I spotted it another couple of times through my bedroom window before it passed, too.”

“Woah.”

“Yes, Charles,” Edwin chuckled. “It was very woah.”

“I nearly saw it too.”

“Of course, it would have passed nearby in… ’86, too, wouldn’t it?”

“Yep. It was one of the school holidays so my friends had organised to go out into one of the fields nearby and camp out – well, a few of their girlfriends had. They’d invited us to go with, but none of the other guys were really that interested. I was though, I thought it was wicked. And although the guys were twats, even at 13, their girlfriends were pretty nice. I was good friends with a couple of them.”

“But you didn’t go in the end?”

“No."

“How come?”

“Why d’you think?” Charles let out a scoff, one Edwin had come to recognise whenever Charles’s father had been mentioned in the past.

“Oh.”

“He would’ve let me go if it was the guys, but ‘cause it was the girls…he really didn’t like me having friends who were girls. I never really got why, ‘cause he was always asking if I had a girlfriend, but now I’m pretty sure it was some homophobic bullshit, he didn’t want me interested in ‘girly’ things. So, he grounded me. Locked my bedroom door from the outside so I couldn’t sneak out. I could pick locks by that point, so I could’ve got out if I wanted, but I was just too scared of him finding out. And since my bedroom was in the basement, I had no windows, so I missed it. And then it was cloudy every night for the rest of the time it was meant to be visible, typical London.”

“I’m sorry your father didn’t let you go.”

“Nah, I got over it. It wasn’t the worst thing he did.”

Edwin knew that too well. He was almost glad he and Paul Rowland had never met before the latter died. Knowing everything he’d done to Charles, to Charles’s mother…he wasn’t sure what he would have done in the presence of that man.

Edwin hugged him tighter.

“Well, we’re going to see it this time. I promise.”

They had closed the agency for the night. Nothing was going to distract them from their plans. Over the last month, the plans had morphed from simply going out to watch the comet to turning it into a proper date. In all fairness, most of what they did together was as close to a ‘proper date’ that the boys could get, whether they planned it that way or not. They couldn’t eat or drink, so their ‘dates’ usually consisted of simply being together, without any talk or worry about the agency or a case. It was their time to simply be in each other’s company.

They’d found the spot they were going to go to. With their office being in the middle of London, they stood little chance of seeing the comet with all the light pollution, so had decided to travel. They were going to go to a field atop a hill in the countryside – one where they had been before whilst on a case. They had some vague knowledge of the area; including a cottage nearby that had a full-length mirror in the hallway.

“Ready?” Charles asked, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and offering his arm to Edwin.

“Ready,” Edwin replied, taking it.

Charles looked him up and down, admiring the boy he loved, the boy he’d seen every inch of over the last several decades, both physically and emotionally. While he had kept his everyday outfit practically the same since the day they had met, tonight Edwin had forgone the bow tie, instead having undone the top few buttons on his shirt, leaving his collarbones on show. He also didn’t have his usual jacket, instead settling only for his sweater vest. His hair was different, too; it wasn’t slicked back like usual, instead falling naturally, his slight curls tucked behind his ears. Whenever they were alone, Charles always found a way to run his hands through it, which always messed up its usual style, so Edwin had begun planning ahead for times like these.

He looked beautiful. Charles told him as such.

“Thank you my dear,” Edwin smiled. “So do you. As always.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Make me,” Edwin teased.

“As much as I would love to do that, we have a once-in-a-lifetime comet to go and see.”

Edwin resisted the urge to point out that once-in-a-lifetime meant nothing to them since they were dead and had forever, but he was eager to see it tonight and wasn’t entirely keen on having to potentially wait another seventy-six years.

“Point taken,” he sighed, and reached his hand out to the mirror, focusing on their destination. “Right, let’s go.”

They stepped through the mirror together, arms still linked.

The cottage was owned by a living couple, neither of whom could see the dead, so the boys exited the house without any trouble. Charles reached into his backpack and took out a lantern – a lantern, Edwin noted, that was identical to the one he had brought for Charles in the attic the night they met, identical to the lantern Charles had carried through Hell and left there. Edwin smiled at the sentiment, took Charles’s hand, and soon they arrived at their intended comet-watching spot. They’d been there to stargaze a couple of times since the case that made them aware of the area, but this time it was even more special.

Charles crouched on the ground, taking the bag off his back and opening it.

“You know,” Edwin chuckled. “You really didn’t have to bring the blanket. Or the pillows. We won’t be able to feel the difference.”

“It’s about the principle, mate.”

Only Charles Rowland would be able to turn ‘mate’ into a romantic nickname, and keep it that way for several decades.

‘You’re still my best mate, that’ll never change,’ he had explained the first time Edwin had questioned it after they were officially together – although that felt odd in itself since they’d always been together. But they supposed there hadn’t really been words invented to accurately describe the two of them. ‘Besides, it could also be short for soulmate, y’know.’

Edwin couldn't argue with that.

Charles pulled the blanket out of the backpack – it was a large handmade one, knitted in blue and red with a design in the middle: two traditional cartoon ghosts, one wearing a bow tie and the other with a gold necklace and earring. To no one’s surprise, it had been a gift from Niko back when she had found out it was the boys’ 40-year anniversary of knowing each other. That had meant it had also been 40 years since Charles’s death, but that was never the main reason he remembered that date.

He laid the blanket out on the ground before reaching his arm into the bag again, rummaging around until he found the pillows he packed. He only noticed Edwin’s raised eyebrow and endearing smile when he finally looked up after taking several out.

“What?” Charles asked, arranging the pillows around one side of the blanket.

“Your dedication to our inconsequential comfort really is charming.”

“What can I say? Charming is my middle name,” he grinned, and laid down on the blanket.

“We both know you don’t have a middle name, Charles.”

“Shhh. Come on, sit down.”

Charles shuffled over slightly, expecting Edwin to take the space next to him. Instead, he decided to sit right on top of him, straddling his waist.

“Jeez, alright, give a man some warning would you?” Charles smirked.

“I’m so very sorry,” Edwin said, smirking back, clearly not sorry at all.

Edwin cupped Charles’s face with his hands, leaning down to capture his lips with his own. Charles’s hands were on Edwin’s waist, holding him steady as he kissed back.

“You know love,” he breathed when they parted, keeping their foreheads touching. “You’re gonna struggle to see the sky from up there.”

“Well luckily for us, it’s not quite dark enough to see it yet. Although…” Edwin looked across to the lantern, still switched on and glowing bright yellow an arm’s length away from them. He reached out to grab it, switching it off before returning it to its spot on the grass beside the blanket. “Wouldn’t want interference from any light pollution, would we?”

With that, Charles rejoined their lips, his hands moving under Edwin’s shirt to touch his ribs. Edwin gasped slightly at the touch, breaking the kiss. In that time, Charles moved his own mouth from Edwin’s to his jaw. Edwin tipped his head back slightly and Charles mentally thanked Edwin from an hour ago for leaving those top few shirt buttons undone, moving down to kiss his neck and collarbone.

“Charles…” Edwin said softly, and Charles felt the vibrations against his lips.

Charles moved away slightly, looking up at him.

“Yeah?”

Edwin launched himself forward to kiss him again, catching Charles so off-guard he fell backwards into the pillows. ‘See, comfort,’ he thought, but didn’t have the willpower to say it out loud, or in fact do anything other than kiss back fervently.

“I love you,” Edwin mumbled against his lips, manoeuvring himself so that they lay flush against each other, wrapping his arms around Charles’s waist as they kissed.

“Love you too,” Charles giggled.

They may have been together for nearly forty years, and had a tendency to act like a couple who had been married for even longer, but they were still just teenagers in love at heart. And since they would never age, that would never change.

Eventually, Edwin broke away from the kiss, instead burying his head in the space between Charles’s neck and shoulder, sighing contentedly. Charles tangled a hand in his hair, threading his fingers through the loose curls. Once again, he thanked Edwin’s forward-thinking when he got ready.

They lay there for a while, Edwin occasionally pressing a kiss to the side of Charles’s neck. Charles just stared up at the sky. They had definitely chosen the right night; there wasn’t a cloud in sight. As he cast his eyes over the vast expanse above them, Charles’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, the stars becoming more and more visible as the sky grew darker and darker.

Then, he spotted something.

“Hey, Edwin,” he whispered, removing his hand from Edwin’s hair to his shoulder. “I think I can see it.”

Edwin shuffled off Charles, turning onto his back and lying beside him so he could look up. Sure enough, amongst the tiny lights of the stars, there was one slightly bigger, slightly greener glow, with a slight short tail of the same green fading out to one side.

“That’s it,” Edwin said, joining his and Charles’s hands in the space between them on the blanket. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Charles replied, awestruck. “Although, I expected it to be faster. It barely even looks like it’s moving.”

“Well, remember it is very far away. Even at perihelion, it is still nearly fifty million miles from us.”

“Woah…”

“If I remember correctly,” Edwin explained, “Halley’s average speed when it is this close to Earth is around one hundred and twenty-three thousand miles per hour, which sounds very fast – and is – but at such a distance, it’s barely anything from our perspective.”

“That’s insane.”

“It is, rather. I’m very glad I got to see it again.”

“I’m glad I saw it with you,” said Charles, moving to rest his head on Edwin’s shoulder.

“If it’s not cloudy next week, would you like to come again? It should be visible for a while as long as the weather is forgiving.”

“That’d be brills.”

“We could also ask Niko and Crystal if they’re free. Maybe we could camp out, like you were going to back in ‘86. I know we aren’t exactly your teenage friends but it’s unfair you missed out on that because of your father.”

“We should definitely invite them. And for the record, I’d much rather do this with my three favourite people ever than anyone I was friends with back then,” Charles said, pressing a soft kiss to Edwin’s jaw.

Edwin hummed, kissing the top of Charles’s head in return.

They didn’t return to the office until well after the sun had risen. They would have fallen asleep in each other’s arms if it were possible, but since it wasn’t, they spent the night looking up into the sky. Edwin pointed out constellations he could remember, and Charles came up with new names for the ones he thought sounded stupid.

(“How is that a swan? It’s just an X!”

“Use your imagination, Charles!”

“I dunno if it was just imagination the people who named these were on, Edwin.”)

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Edwin asked after they’d been quiet for several moments, eyes still fixed on the endless expanse above them.

They’d moved now so that Edwin was lying beside Charles with his head on his shoulder, Charles’s hand gently stroking up and down his arm.

“Yeah,” Charles replied, but when Edwin looked up at him, Charles’s eyes weren’t on the stars.

They were on him.

Edwin chuckled softly, turning his head to look up again to hide his blush – which wasn’t really there anyway. Charles just smiled.

The stars reminded Edwin of the two of them. Most of them were probably long-dead, but from this perspective, for people who could see them, they shone so brightly it was as though they were still alive. He also couldn’t help but make the connection between the stars and his own feelings for Charles. They had burned so brightly for so long, and after he’d truly realised what they meant, they only grew brighter still until, in the moment he was most vulnerable, they exploded out of him; a supernova on that staircase on the journey back from Hell. But the difference is: supernovae are star deaths, and that was far from the death of his feelings for his partner. Forty years on from that fateful moment on the stairs, it was as though they glowed brighter than ever before. Charles’s did too, the two of them orbiting around one another closer than they ever had, a binary system that would break all the rules of the universe if it meant they could burn as bright forever.

[scarlettriot]

Okay, listen, I don’t need annnyone telling me how half baked an idea this is but it’s living rent fucking free in my head right now so I’m throwing it in a post (as opposed to in @twisteddaydreams1135 DMs like I have been).

A/B/O stuff. Alpha Kiri and Beta Reader. I write Beta’s a little differently so if you end up not liking it, it is what it is.

No real warnings here. It’s a lot of fluff and comfort honestly.

A Drabble that ended up being about 2K words… my bad.

No editing or proofing. Again, my bad.

Alpha Pro Hero Red Riot who co-owns and agency with Dynamight. Red Riot who’s in his 30s and not married or even mated. He works himself into the dirt because it keeps his mind occupied. Handles everyone’s paperwork. Picks up all the extra shifts at the office. His friends and coworkers can’t remember the last time he took a vacation, if ever!

But, Kirishima never complains. His pack his happy and he claims that makes him happy. But, the pack is getting worried. The dark circles under his once bright eyes never seem to go away. He only redyes his hair when Bakugou reminds him. He’s barely around for pack dinners and if he is home when they’re happening he usually just takes a plate with thanks and what he thinks is a genuine smile and goes to his apartment. He was still a phenomenal leader. So caring with that big heart of his. In fact, it seemed Kirishima cared about everyone around him far more than he ever cared for himself.

So, the pack came up with a plan, you.

You were new to the city, looking for work with your resume being passed around and Mina got her hands on it. A Personal Assistant could be exactly what big guy needed.

She brought your resume to Bakugou who agreed you seemed like a good fit with strong references and skills to match. And, you were a Beta. There’d be no chance your scent would bother Kirishima and both Mina and Bakugou agreed that was a good thing.

So, you started an hour before he did on a sunny Monday morning. In a small office right next to Red Riots. He came in with his protein drink and did a double take. They hired someone new? Since when? Last he checked him and Bakugou approved all hires together.

“Who the heck is she, do we even have room in the budget for a new hire?” He asked his friend after closing his office door.

“Made room in the budget for her. Her name is Y/N and she’s your new personal assistant.”

He made room because everyone took a small pay cut. Which they all agreed was worth it if it gets Kirishima to take a break and fucking relax for once.

“I don’t need a personal assistant. No one else has one!”

“Because everyone else can manage their time just fuckin’ fine. You can’t. You haven’t for almost a damn decade now. Not since—”

“Don’t.” Kirishima rumbled. “I know what you’re gonna say and just don’t. I’ll try and work with her but I make no promises.”

Bakugou knew that was the best outcome he could ask for right now so he didn’t fight him on it. Just nodded as Kirishima left his office and watched as he walked into yours.

Your new boss was nice. He lived up to everything you heard about him aside from a few things:

Kirishima wasn’t a fan of interviews. He would do them but he always looked incredibly worn down when he returned from one.

Kirishima had to be reminded to dye that red mane of his. You scheduled time for that.

And perhaps the biggest thing you learned about the man;

Kirishima HATED down time. You scheduled breaks in his day per his friends requests and either he flat out ignored them or he was in your office bothering you the entire time. Even on his days off he found reasons to be in the office. His newest was bringing you lunch.

You didn’t mind these little visits. In fact, you kinda liked the big guy showing up in your door way. He was a change of pace from some of the other Alpha’s you’ve worked with. And, not that you’d ever admit to crushing on your boss to anyone else, you could at least admit to yourself that you liked having him around.

Still, you had to remind him that this was his day off and he shouldn’t be at work.

“I’ll take a break when you take a break. After all, you are my personal assistant. If you’re working, I should be too.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works, Red.”

He shrugs those wide shoulders. “It is if I say it is.”

You just rolled your eyes at him and reminded him again that there’s still things you need to work on when he’s out of office. Just like how you keep working when he goes on patrol. But, he waved his hand and changed the subject as usual.

Despite feeling like he definitely didn’t need someone managing his schedule, Kirishima actually really liked having you around.

You were easy to talk to, you didn’t seem to judge him, and he knew you were doing what you could to keep his best interests in mind even if he wasn’t.

He wouldn’t dare admit it out loud or to anyone but he knew deep down he had a hint of a crush on you. It started when he watched you storm up to Denki and push a paper against his chest. “Kirishima is not handling your strawberry milk requests anymore, I’ve told you this. If you want special snacks so much, put the order in yourself.”

He knew his friend only did it to get a rise out of you. And it worked every time. It was cute to see the way you cared about him even if it was just from a professional stand point.

When he had free time in the weeks that followed he found himself fond of hanging around you. You were a Beta but whatever perfume you had on was pleasant and he could feel the worries he carried around with him for years ebb away when you were near.

That’s why even on his days off he sought you out.

He’d sit at the little table in your office and you asked him about his interest and found some common ground between the both of you. Things to talk about and fill the quiet time. It wasn’t in the job description but he was thankful for it nonetheless.

After reminding him yet again he wasn’t supposed to be in the office on his days off you asked him wouldn’t he rather be doing something different instead? Something more fun?

“The things I enjoyed doing aren’t really fun alone. I go for my runs and workouts and that’s about it.”

“You have plenty of friends, Red! And you’re still one of the most eligible Pro Hero bachelors, I get like 10 emails a day asking if you would agree to a date with people if you’re looking for something more romantic. You don’t have to be alone!”

“My friends have families that they spend time with on their days off, just as they should. They don’t need to go spending time with me. And I’m not looking for romantic right now.” or possibly ever again, he thought.

“Alright, so, what are you gonna do on your next day off?”

“Probably this!” He grinned all proud of himself.

But you had a grin of your own. “Might be a little difficult since I listened to what you said: how I should take time off when you do.”

“Oh…” Even though he tried he couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice. “That’s good though! You should take more time off.”

“Yeah…” You pushed some food around your plate for a moment and then he heard a little sigh before you spoke. “On my days off I like going to this little book shop I found.” You described the area and he knew exactly where it was. “It’s got a little café inside. I’ll probably go around 11 and be there for a few hours, if you wanted to meet me.”

He hadn’t agreed to plans so quickly in he could remember how long!

On his day off Kirishima was up bright and early, went for a run, came back and showered, changed into jeans and a nicer shirt.

“Where the hell are you goin’?” Bakugou asked, just as stunned to see the man looking so chipper and up and moving on his day off rather than secluding himself in his room.

“I’ve got plans! See ya later!” He called and headed to the bookstore without realizing he had two nosy friends following him. One blonde. And the other pink.

They watched him from across the street and saw him walk up to you with a grin like they hadn’t seen on his face in so very long and they knew hiring you was the best decision they could’ve made.

The two went home, not wanting to interrupt the plans, and left you two to the outing.

Kirishima stood beside you in line while you two talked about the different options the cafe had. You told him what items where your favorite and what you thought he might like.

It was while you waited off to the side for your number to be called that he said something that caught you off guard. “The perfume you wear, it’s nice.”

While the compliment was appreciated and made your cheeks a little warmer you looked up at him confused. “Thanks but I don’t wear perfume.”

Now he looked confused. “But, I smell it all the time. Have for weeks now.” Your eyes went wide as he tried his best to describe it. It wasn’t your shampoo or body wash, not even the lotion you wear from time to time.

You knew Alpha’s had good noses but you weren’t expecting this. “Kirishima, that’s not something I wear. That’s my scent.”

[cyanide-latte]

Hihi!!! Tis the season to ask holiday themed asks!! Assuming the world of TWST celebrates winter holidays, do your OCs celebrate any holidays? If so, what are some things they like to do?

Thank you for including me in this idea, fam!

Admittedly this took a bit of consideration and it's still somewhat haphazard, so I apologize for that, please bear with!

Copper Benoit- While we touched on this very briefly in DMs, I don't mind expanding on it here! Copper doesn't recall celebrating winter holidays in the orphanage prior to Mr. Stone kidnapping him at age 6 or 7; he's sure the caretakers at the orphanage probably did do something for the kids, but it's been so long ago and his trauma so severe he doesn't really remember much about his time at the orphanage, let alone if they celebrated much of anything. And during the slightly-over-a-decade he's kept by Mr. Stone, nothing was celebrated, not really. So Copper's first exposure to winter holiday celebrations really begins when he starts his student career at Night Raven College! He wants to learn and respect as many celebrations of all sorts that he can (and as appropriately as possible,) so he's just happy to be a part of things and learn what these celebrations are and the significance they hold! Difficult to say what exactly that will lead to as he grows older, but he's got time to figure that out!

Wei Renqiao- Ren's family celebrates the Lunar New Year very faithfully, and when he comes to NRC, he makes certain to continue observing those traditions and celebrates in small ways before going back home to Bàoyìng for winter break. He especially loves when Ortho takes a more vested, hands-on interest in learning more about their celebrations, and goes out of his way to include him and anyone else who's curious in his festivities, even if they're much quieter in Ignihyde Dorm than they are back home!

Chrysanthos Shroud- Ahhh, here's where we get to my headcanon that the Shrouds observe a TWST version of Saturnalia; you'll have to forgive me, it's been years since I practiced observing it in high school and I'm still re-learning a lot of what I forgot, but that celebration and feast holds a special place in my heart. Even with working on re-educating myself, I do headcanon the Shrouds observe it, and it wasn't much more than a passing acknowledgement of notations on a calendar until Ilias married Kallisto. Kallisto insists on the Saturnalia season being warm and good-spirited and makes it a point to bring that together for her husband and her in-laws, so of course Chrys grew up with a very positive winter holiday celebration. His aunt and uncle and of course Ortho will also happily observe with him, though Idia has to be coaxed. Chrys loves the energy of Saturnalia and the vibes, and he brings it with him; eventually when he and Wei Xinyi start dating, the two decide to learn each other's celebrations and holiday observations, and eventually celebrate both when they get married!

The Anatoles- I do think they celebrate some sort of Yuletide holiday. The siblings are brought home during the holiday break and spend some time doing a lot of winter activities and holiday shopping and dining out, both with their great-grandmother, and with their stepfather's old jazz buddies. Their staff is offered the holiday off with double pay, but are also invited to meals at the home with them. Marianne especially wants people to eat the desserts she works hard to make, Bertrand will happily play holiday music on the piano, and Toussaint is generally pretty sleepy and calm compared to his usual energy (though still jovial as ever.) The siblings will often do their best to drag Rollo into their celebrations, despite his protests.

And last but most certainly not least, bonus surprise

The Pondicliffs- Felix and Aurelian always come home from Royal Sword Academy for Yuletide during the winter break. It's a little crowded with their sizeable family with so many dalmatian beastfolk kids, but they're pretty happy. The family tends to stay indoors most days for the break, with Felix and Aurelian often building snowmen, making snow forts and having snowball fights, or sledding downhill with their siblings, while the parents do a lot of cooking for several days. They all help with decorating their house, and spend a lot of time playing board games in the evening, having festive treats, watching holiday films, and then over the course of three days, they exchange gifts with one another! Felix loves the holidays, Aurelian's at that grumpy teen stage of hating the holidays just 'cause.

Thanks again for sending this ask! Also, would love to see more peeps and mutuals share their thoughts for their OCs and winter holidays too!

Taglist: @elenauaurs @inmateofthemind @ramshacklerumble @tixdixl @winterweary

@distant-velleity @rainesol @thehollowwriter @theleechyskrunkly @twst-migraine

@natsukishinomiyaswife @the-trinket-witch (DM me if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist for my TWST OCs stuff)