#symbolic thing i spent too long thinking about

[catgirlweed]

idk

[ds-angel1]

TEACHERS LITTLE PET

cw: SMUT(18+), teacher x student relationship, hitting it from the back(in the classroom), big age gap(ages aren´t specified), reader is a senior, i´m not american and have no idea how the school system works so please just smile and nod

wc: ~ 5.1k

a/n: tell me what you think of this dynamic and if you want more cause i have some ideas!! also this is the longest fic i´ve ever written, not my best work but atleast i managed to write something?? keep in mind i had a fever when i wrote this

Rafe had no idea how he ended up here.

Well, if he was being honest, he did. He just hated admitting it.

He hated kids. Teenagers weren’t much better. If they weren’t whining about something trivial, they were loud, obnoxious, and bursting with opinions they thought were groundbreaking. And high schoolers? They were the worst of the lot, caught in that unbearable limbo between childhood and adulthood, convinced they knew everything and that the world had been tailor-made to inconvenience them.

He hated his job, too. But after his father had all but shoved him into college, and he had somehow managed to scrape together an art history degree through a chaotic jumble of barely thought-out course selections, he needed a paycheck. He needed something, anything, to make use of the four years he had spent drowning in essays about the Renaissance and lectures on the symbolism of Baroque architecture.

And there it was, a high school history teacher.

He was fairly certain the school had been desperate. Desperate enough to hire the first applicant who could string a coherent sentence together about the American Revolution. And lucky him, that applicant had been Rafe.

The school itself was unremarkable. Small, under 400 students, just two squat brick buildings separated by a weather-beaten schoolyard that reeked of stale cigarette smoke and teenage apathy. Five hours from the Outer Banks, he could visit home whenever he wanted. Not that he did. There was nothing left for him there, nothing worth the drive, and frankly, there was nothing for him here either.

His days were a loop, a monotonous, uninspired cycle of standing in front of rows of disinterested, hormonal teenagers, rattling off lessons about long-dead historical figures far more interesting than any of his students would ever bother to realize. He graded half-assed essays, endured halfhearted excuses about missing assignments, and spent more time than he cared to admit staring at the clock, willing the hours to pass. Then, when the final bell rang, he trudged back to his apartment, a bare, impersonal space that he never bothered to decorate. No photos, no art, and no signs that anyone lived there. Just a bed, a couch, and a kitchen table that mostly went unused.

And then there were the truly miserable days, the ones where he was roped into subbing for freshman P.E., a biweekly exercise in self-inflicted torture. Half the girls refused to break a sweat, acting as if running a single lap would somehow lead to their untimely demise. The other half of the class consisted of cocky, over-competitive boys who treated dodgeball like a blood sport. He spent most of those periods standing on the sidelines, arms crossed, blowing the whistle when things got too heated, and watching the clock even more desperately than usual.

It was a dull, uninspired existence; monotonous, predictable, and entirely void of passion. He lived his life the way his students listened to the outdated documentaries he played in class: half-awake, uninterested, just going through the motions because it had to be done.

Until you walked into his class.

The first day of school after summer break always carried a certain energy; electric, restless, filled with voices overlapping in an unfiltered rush of stories from the last few weeks. As Rafe pushed open the door to his classroom, that familiar wave of chatter hit him like a sudden gust of wind. Laughter, exclamations, the scrape of chairs against the floor—it was all as chaotic as he had expected.

With a quiet sigh, he made his way to his desk, setting his thermos down on the bleached oak surface before picking it up again almost instinctively, taking a slow sip before returning it to its place. His fingers moved on autopilot, retrieving his school-issued laptop from his bag, pressing the power button, and waiting for the screen to glow to life. His gaze lifted, sweeping across the students, his students. The same faces he’d taught last year, now a little older, a little different, officially juniors.

But one face wasn’t familiar.

You.

Rafe spotted you almost immediately, sitting in the third row, right by the window where the morning sky stretched in endless hues of soft blue. You were listening—well, nodding, at least—to Amanda, whose mouth moved a mile a minute. He didn’t have to hear her know she was spewing an endless stream of conversation; Amanda was known for filling any silence, anytime, anywhere. But his attention wasn’t on her. It was on you.

A dark navy skirt draped over your thighs, the fabric shifting in gentle waves with every slight movement. Your top, a delicate white spaghetti strap with tiny baby blue flowers, hugged your frame, lace tracing the neckline, a small bow nestled right at its center. A beige cardigan hung loosely over your shoulders, two buttons left undone as if they had never been intended for use in the first place. Your hair was pulled back into a ponytail, not rigid, not loose, just… effortless. A few strands framed your face, soft wisps that moved when you turned your head, catching the light in a way that made them seem almost ethereal.

And sure, you looked beautiful, undeniably so. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way your eyes flickered around the room, quietly observing, absorbing. The way your lips parted slightly every so often, murmuring the occasional “Uh-huh” or “Yeah” in response to Amanda’s nonstop chatter, even as your mind seemed elsewhere. There was something in your expression, an almost hesitant curiosity, a quiet awareness, that made Rafe’s fingers pause over the laptop’s keyboard.

He had seen many faces in this classroom. Some familiar, some forgettable.

But yours?

Yours was impossible to ignore.

"Uh— okay, let’s get started. Settle down," Rafe called out to the students, his voice steady despite the chaos. The room buzzed with post-summer chatter, desks scraping against the floor as students found their seats. He rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to exhale. The first day back was always like this, full of energy, distractions, and the struggle to rein everyone in. But today, there was another battle brewing beneath the surface, one he wasn’t prepared for.

He hoped that once the lesson began, he could shift his focus, and force himself to look anywhere but at you. He clung to that hope like a lifeline, but the moment he commanded their attention, he had yours.

And when your eyes locked onto him, he was trapped. Hypnotized. His breath hitched, pulse stuttering in a way it had no right to. For what felt like an eternity, he couldn’t tear his gaze away, couldn’t shake the invisible thread tightening between you. His fingers curled into his palm, nails pressing against his skin.

Shit.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to snap out of it, dragging his attention back to the board. He took a measured breath, gripping the chalk like it might anchor him. "Alright, I know you’re all still in vacation mode, but we need to get talking about history."

The usual grumbling came, but it was muted, fading as students settled into their seats. Good. The routine was safe. The routine was predictable. The routine wouldn’t let his mind wander to places it shouldn’t.

"Before we dive in, we have a new student joining us this year from the senior class," he announced, keeping his tone even, impersonal. His gaze flickered back to you, just for a second, just long enough to acknowledge you without giving himself away. "Would you introduce yourself?"

A brief silence. You hesitated, shifting under the weight of so many eyes before murmuring your name.

"Great," Rafe said, far too quickly. He cleared his throat, turning back to the board. "So, what do we know about American history from the Industrial Revolution to the modern age?"

The next forty-five minutes passed in a blur of discussion, textbook readings, and writing exercises. Normally, this was when he’d catch up on grading or chip away at whatever administrative work he had. But today? No. Today, his focus splintered, frayed at the edges every time he felt your presence in the room.

His eyes kept drifting.

To you.

It was reckless. Stupid. He knew it was wrong, knew exactly how it would look if anyone noticed. He wasn’t blind, he’d found students attractive before, but it had always been a fleeting thing, a passing thought dismissed before it could take root. A moment, nothing more.

But this?

This was different.

This wasn’t just acknowledging that you were pretty, though you were. Incredibly so. This wasn’t just an absent-minded recognition of beauty. No, this was something deeper. Something that twisted in his gut and settled in his bones, something that made his breath catch when he wasn’t prepared for it.

Something dangerous.

His fingers raked through his hair as he stared down at his keyboard, typing nothing. He could tell himself it was just a dry spell, that he’d been avoiding distractions for too long, that it was simply physical. But that would be a lie.

Because it wasn’t just about desire.

It was about you.

And that was a problem.

The shrill chime of the bell split the air, and the classroom erupted into motion. Notebooks snapped shut, chairs scraped against the tile, and a low hum of voices swelled as students shoved books into backpacks, eager to escape into the chaotic freedom of lunch. You swung your bag over your shoulder, weaving through the shifting maze of desks, your focus locked on the door. The cafeteria was called, an oasis of noise and anonymity where you could blend in, and where no one was analyzing your every move.

But just as you stepped forward, a voice cut through the chatter behind you.

"Hey."

It wasn’t loud, but it had weight, like an anchor dropping into the sea of departing students. Something in the tone made your stomach twist. You turned, pulse hitching slightly, to find Mr. Cameron watching you from behind his desk. His expression was unreadable, calm but not necessarily kind.

"Yes, Mr. Cameron?" you asked, hesitating.

"Can I speak to you for a moment?"

It was phrased like a question, but you both knew it wasn’t. He gave a small nod toward the door as the last few stragglers trickled out, a silent instruction.

With a quiet sigh, you nudged the door shut behind them, the click of the latch sealing you in. The classroom, so full of life just seconds ago, now felt cavernous, the quiet pressing in around you. You hesitated before making your way back to his desk, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Mr. Cameron leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the surface of his desk, fingers steepled together. "So… I wanted to talk to you about last year." His voice was measured, and neutral, but something about it put you on edge. "You were in Ms. Wallace’s class, right?" His eyes flicked to a sheet of paper in front of him, though you were certain he already knew the answer.

You shifted uncomfortably. "Mhm." A simple answer for something far more complicated. Your history with Ms. Wallace wasn’t just a class; it was a long, exhausting battle, a relentless tug-of-war between frustration, unmet expectations, and a sinking feeling of inevitability.

Mr. Cameron studied you for a moment before speaking again. "Can you tell me what didn’t work? Was it her? The material? Her teaching style? Or was it something on your end?" His head tilted slightly, voice smooth, probing.

You hesitated, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your fingers clenched the strap of your bag. "I guess I was just… kind of unfocused last year," you admitted, your voice barely above a murmur.

"Mm." He hummed, eyebrows lifting just slightly. "Just last year?"

Your stomach tightened.

"Because judging by today’s lesson, it seems like you're still a little… distracted. More interested in doodles than in history, huh?"

Heat crept up your neck, shame pooling in your chest. Your gaze dropped to the floor as if looking anywhere else might soften the weight of his words.

"You’d think," he continued, his tone carrying the faintest edge, "that after the school let you pass the year and only required you to retake this class, you'd put in a little more effort."

His words landed like a slap, sharp, deliberate. He knew exactly how unfair that was. Knew how it would make you feel. And yet, for whatever reason, he didn’t stop himself.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“You want to pass, yes?”

His voice was low, almost teasing, each word curling around you like smoke. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his desk, dark eyes locked onto yours with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry, and gave a quick, eager nod.

Rafe watched you for a lingering second, dragging it out just long enough to make you shift where you stood. Then, with an exhale that was almost too casual, he pushed himself up from his chair. He didn’t simply stand, he moved. Slow. Deliberate. A quiet display of control as he braced one hand against the edge of his desk, his weight settling into a lean. The aged wood creaked under him, but he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care.

His focus remained entirely on you.

“And what do you think I could do to help you achieve that?”

Smooth. Measured. But there was something else beneath his tone, something just sharp enough to catch. Playfulness, maybe. Amusement. Or something more dangerous.

His gaze flickered, sweeping over you in a way that felt too quick at first, like a reflex he hadn’t meant to act on. But then, you saw it. The hesitation. The way his throat bobbed, how his fingers flexed at his sides before he rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to shake off whatever had just slipped through the cracks. But it was too late.

You had seen.

And by the way, his jaw clenched a second later, the way his lips pressed together, you knew he realized it too.

Your heart hammered. You didn’t answer him. Couldn’t. Instead, your fingers fidgeted with each other, twisting and untwisting, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. The silence between you stretched, thick and electric, heavy with something unspoken, something neither of you dared name but both of you felt.

Rafe inhaled deeply, the sound filling the quiet space between you. The air itself seemed different now, charged, like something unseen was pressing in, urging one of you to break.

He let the breath out slowly, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that somehow felt… controlled. Intentional. And then, his eyes moved again.

This time, there was no rush. No flicker of hesitation.

Now, he studied you.

It was slow, almost methodical, th

6e kind of look that made heat crawl up the back of your neck, the kind that lingered just long enough in places that made you second-guess every inch of yourself. When his gaze reached your thighs, a nervous jolt ran through you. Almost instinctively, you gripped the hem of your skirt, twisting the fabric in your fists, your knuckles turning white.

A nervous habit.

One he noticed.

One that made his eyes darken, not dramatically, not in some exaggerated, obvious way, but just enough. Just enough for you to catch the shift, to see the amusement flicker across his face like the hint of a smirk he didn’t fully let through.

“Hm?” The questioning hum he let out brought you back to reality, back to his question, and back to the answer that you had yet to give.

“Um… I- I don’t know…” you stammered out.

His eyes flick down again, taking in your upper body, eyes practically circling in on your chest. As if your body has a mind of its own, you straighten your back, puffing out your chest.

Rafe’s eyes flickered up to yours, and for a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

The air between you had thickened, dense with something unspoken, something dangerous. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, slow, almost pensive as if he were considering something he shouldn’t be. He exhaled sharply through his nose, a breath that almost sounded like a laugh but carried no humor, just tension.

“Yeah?” His voice was softer now, quieter like he was testing the waters, like he was trying to figure out how far this would go before one of you came to your senses.

Your lips parted, but no words came. Your throat felt tight, your skin burning where his gaze traced. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something vast, something that couldn’t be undone.

His fingers tapped once, twice against the desk, a steady rhythm that contradicted the barely concealed restraint in his posture. His body language told two different stories, one of hesitation, and another of inevitability. He was too close, and yet he wasn’t moving away.

Your breath hitched as he shifted, his body angling just slightly towards yours. It was a minuscule movement, one that could’ve been mistaken for a simple change in weight, but you knew better. It was deliberate. Calculated.

“You want to pass this class?”

The question was a mere whisper, his voice dipped in something that made your stomach twist. Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, nodding, too fast, too eager.

His lips twitched, almost smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. He leaned in just enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne, something dark and musky, something entirely him.

“Then you’re gonna have to focus.”

The way he said it—low, deliberate—sent a shiver down your spine. His words weren’t inappropriate, but the way he looked at you, the way his voice wrapped around each syllable, made them feel like something else entirely.

Your knees felt weak, your heart pounding against your ribcage as your grip tightened around the strap of your bag. The classroom, once suffocating in its quiet, now felt electric, charged with a current that neither of you dared acknowledge aloud.

Rafe exhaled again, this time slower, measured. His hand moved, not towards you, not touching, but close enough that you felt the shift in air between you.

“You’re nervous.”

It wasn’t a question.

Your breath shuddered. “I—”

His head tilted slightly, watching, waiting. His pupils were blown wide, his expression unreadable but entirely focused on you.

His jaw ticked, his fingers twitching at his side like he was fighting something. A beat of silence stretched between you.

And then, Rafe moved.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t forceful. It was a slow descent, a moment stretched into eternity. His lips hovered just above yours, close enough that you felt the ghost of his breath against your skin, close enough that your lips parted in anticipation before your mind could catch up.

He paused—just for a fraction of a second, just enough to give you the chance to pull away. Just enough to make it clear that if this happened, it was your choice, too.

But you didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

And before you could let a single other breath out, his lips met yours.

Soft at first. Testing. A barely-there brush that sent a sharp current through your veins, igniting something dangerous and uncontainable in your chest.

He exhaled against your mouth, and in that moment it seemed like something in him snapped.

His hand found your waist, fingers splaying against the fabric of your cardigan as he pulled you just slightly closer. His other hand lifted, skimming along your jaw before his fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head just so.

The kiss deepened, slow but demanding, every movement deliberate, every touch igniting another spark beneath your skin. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was savoring, taking his time like he wanted to memorize the exact way you fit against him. He knew this was a mistake but couldn’t bring himself to care.

Your hands found his chest, pressing lightly against the fabric of his dress shirt, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your palms. His fingers tightened slightly in your hair at the contact, his grip on your waist firm but careful, as if he was anchoring himself as much as he was anchoring you.

The sharp sound of footsteps in the hallway shattered the fragile haze that had settled between you two, yanking you both back into reality.

Rafe was the first to react, pulling away, but only just. His forehead remained pressed against yours, his breath still ragged, chest rising and falling in sync with yours. His fingers, warm and possessive, lingered at your waist a second too long before he finally, finally, let go, stepping back just enough to put a sliver of space between you. But not enough to erase what had just happened.

His eyes searched yours, dark blue depths swirling with something unreadable, something dangerous. His exhale was sharp, tension coiling through his jaw as he dragged a hand through his hair, his fingers gripping at the strands like he was trying to ground himself.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough and uneven. Then, with more force, “Fuck. Fuck.”

His eyes shut tight, his head shaking in frustration as if the motion itself could erase the last few minutes. When they opened again, they were filled with something even more intense. In two strides, he was in front of you again, his hands gripping your upper arms, fingertips pressing just a little too hard, just enough to make you feel trapped between the heat of his body and the reality of the situation.

“This didn’t happen, okay?” His voice was firm, but there was a slight tremor to it like he wasn’t sure if he believed the words himself. His grip tightened before loosening again, as if he was at war with himself as if he didn’t trust his restraint.

You didn’t answer. You just stared at him, your pulse thrumming wildly, your breath uneven. His eyes flickered down to your parted lips, then back to your eyes, and something in him cracked. His hands slid down your arms in a slow, deliberate motion, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. When his fingertips finally settled at your hipbones, pressing in lightly, his resolve wavered even more.

“This…” he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

His voice was different now, lower, more raw. His fingers traced absent patterns along the fabric of your skirt as his mind spiraled, thoughts tumbling into a chaotic storm. Why was he doing this? This wasn’t like him. He had met you, his student, his goddamn student, less than an hour ago, and he had already crossed every possible line. And yet, even knowing that he wasn’t pulling away. He was moving closer.

His hands ghosted up your sides, the touch sending shivers across your skin. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “Don’t tell anyone. Can you do that for me?”

If someone had asked you that morning how you thought your first day of senior year would go, never in a million years would you have said this? Sure, you’d heard the whispers in the halls, and seen the way every girl’s eyes lingered when he walked past. Mr. Cameron was the forbidden fantasy, the subject of countless rumors and stolen glances. But he was also your teacher. And he had just kissed you.

You knew it was wrong. You should run, tell someone, do the right thing. And yet, as your mind battled between logic and desire, only one thought rose above the rest: he had kissed you.

Mr. Cameron, the man every girl in school lusted after, had kissed you. Had he done this before? Had he chosen others before you? Or was this different?

Even as doubt twisted itself into a tight knot in your stomach, you found yourself nodding, unable to speak, afraid your voice would betray you with the high-pitched, breathy sound of a girl who had just been touched by fire and didn’t want to step away.

“Good.”

His voice was barely a whisper, almost more breath than sound. The tension in the room grew, thick and suffocating, but you didn’t want to breathe anything else in. His fingers glided upward again, teasing over your waist, grazing over your ribs, leaving a trail of heat that made your entire body burn with anticipation.

Then, gently, with a tenderness that contradicted the fevered hunger in his eyes, he cupped your face. For one impossible moment, you thought he was going to kiss you again, that he was going to throw every bit of logic and control out the window and claim your lips as he had minutes ago. But instead, he tilted your head slightly, his breath warm against your throat.

Then his lips were on your neck, barely touching, soft and slow.

A sound, something between a gasp and a whimper, escaped you, and his hands tightened ever so slightly, grounding you, making you feel small under his grasp. His mouth moved lower, pressing another kiss, and then another, each one more deliberate, more intoxicating than the last.

You barely registered the moment he turned you around, your back now facing him. Your hands trembled as they found purchase against the smooth surface of his desk, the dark wood cool beneath your fingertips.

Then, with the kind of confidence that sent a shiver racing down your spine, he placed his hands on your thighs, massaging them slowly, possessively.

His voice, low and dripping with something dark and dangerous, ghosted over your ear.

“Stay quiet for me.”

You sucked in a deep, long breath, letting your head fall and your eyes close.

The feel of the Rafe´s fingers slid under the skirt and the pads of his fingers started tracing along your panties, each tiny motion making your body stutter and tremble.

“You´re… you´re real special, you know that?” He spoke from behind you but you couldn’t respond, still holding your breath as if letting out the air would make the situation you found yourself in truly real.

When he had had enough of feeling the warm, twisted feeling in his stomach as he let his fingers glide over your clothed cunt, he pushed your underwear aside with his thumb, letting the tip of his index finger dip into your already quivering hole. The action intensified the feeling and buried it even deeper in his gut.

As if a shock of lightning had hit you, you bolted away from his hand a few inches, clenching your thighs tightly as you finally relieved your lungs of the air they were keeping trapped.

“M- Mr. Cameron…” You started to sputter out but stopped when you felt long, gruff fingers curl around the sides of your panties before pulling the black lace material down tantalizingly slow.

A cold rush of air hit your most intimate body part, making you gasp and pant. When you heard rustling and what you could only assume was the clink of your teacher´s belt, you shut your mouth and froze as you waited for the man´s next move.

“Listen,” he whispered your name like it was a sin he committed and you were a pastor, “You understand that this stays between us, yes?” His large hands massaged your ass and thighs, cursing under his breath when he saw how soaked you were.

“Mhm,” you hummed in agreement. You weren´t sure why. He was your teacher and by the looks of it and the feel of his hands on you, apparently a pedophile. But god did you want this; you wanted it, him, so bad.

Before you could so much as even let another thought pass through your head, he thrust forward, burying his cock inside you as deep as he could with multiple rapid movements of his hips. You moaned and practically screamed, the sounds of pleasure from you making Rafe reach around and cover practically half of your entire face.

“Fuck, you´re so tight,” he muttered sharply next to your ear as he started moving inside of you again, dragging his hips back only to snap them back forward less than a moment later.

“You like that, huh? Like being fucked by your teacher. Little teachers pet.”

He knew this was wrong, you were his student, and you probably didn´t even actually want this but for some fucked up reason that made it even better for Rafe, and as the thought crossed his mind it only made him thrust into you faster. At that point, you were damn near choking and sobbing into his hand, his palm making it hard for you to get a deep breath of fresh air in.

With a sense of panic taking over you, you tried to move your hands off of the desk to claw him off of your face but your attempts proved futile when Rafe pushed you flat onto the desk, forcing you to take his cock even deeper.

His free hand which wasn´t taking away your ability to breathe, found its way between your legs, his index, and middle fingers drawing squiggly circles on your clit. At the shock of pleasure that ran through you as he teased your extremely sensitive bundle of nerves, you clenched around his pipe and arched your back. You felt that familiar coil spring up in the depths of your stomach, your body rocking slightly backward against Rafe´s to help you relive the press soon.

Rafe pushed into you harder than he had any of the other time before then, hitting your sweet spot with a force that would have made you cry out, had you had your mouth free. His fingers applied pressure to the shapes they were making on your clit. The mix of heightened attention and force made your pussy squeeze around him and pushed you over the edge, coming with tears in your eyes.

After a few more brutal thrusts into your soppy cunt, he came as well, unloading into you, his thoughts barely registering anything at that point except for you and your body bent over his desk, his cum dripping out of your used up hole and onto your thighs.

Slowly he took away his hand from your face, a trail of spit following. As soon as you got a few much-needed breaths, you collapsed onto the desk, your body falling limp. Rafe pulled out of you, not wasting any time before he pulled his pants back on and redid his leather belt around his hips. He leaned over you, his body covering all of your sweaty skin as he dressed you in your underwear again.

“You did so good, darling. So, so good."

[xawkward-ariesx]

Less of a extensive research writer or ah fuck it writer but more of a behind the scenes writer. The amount of shit that goes on behind the scenes of my writing that generally serves very little purpose in the grand scheme of things, only clarifies a small detail that likely won't even get noticed, is ridiculous but helps immerse me in the universe I'm creating even if the readers never know about it

[dearlenore]

POPULAR • S.REID • PT2

SUMMARY: you and spencer finally go on the long-awaited date after the team successfully catches the unsub. Unsure of where to take a girl like you—elegant, charming, and effortlessly captivating—he turns to his coworkers for advice. Unfortunately, they’re just as stumped as he is. Defeated, he decided to take you out for a walk around a nearby town where you’re right at home.

PAIRING: fem!bimbo!reader x spencer

tags: reader is hyper feminine, season10!spencer, reader wears makeup, reader is a little dumb but smart academically, reader is Glinda inspired, use of y/n a few times (sorry!!)

a/n: editor is NOT busy I’m so excited!!

w/c: 1.5k

part 1

SPENCER FLIPPED THROUGH the files mindlessly until a familiar name caught his eye. His curiosity got the better of him as he opened it, scanning the contents. His brows lifted slightly as he read over your academic record—pristine, not a single flaw. Perfect grades, an exhaustive list of extracurriculars, leadership positions, volunteer work—each achievement more impressive than the last.

“Whatcha looking at, kid?” Rossi asked, raising a brow as he peered over Spencer’s shoulder.

“Just some files…” Spencer muttered, resting his chin in his palm.

“Y/N, huh? Trying to get some intel for your date?” Rossi snickered.

“Not exactly, I’m just… impressed.” Spencer shrugged, but the growing crowd around him suggested he wasn’t the only one.

“Holy shit…” Rossi mumbled, pulling the file closer.

“Does she sleep?” Emily asked, tilting her head.

“I’d guess no…” JJ added, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Valedictorian, a dozen honors societies, student government president and theater lead?” Emily read aloud. “That’s not even fair.”

Spencer couldn’t help but smile to himself. Of course, you were extraordinary—he had already known that. But seeing the team’s reactions only solidified it.

Morgan chuckled. “Alright, genius, now you really gotta step it up. Where do you even take a girl like that on a date?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Spencer had spent days thinking about it, but the more he learned about you, the more complicated it seemed. He needed to find somewhere that fit all sides of you—your elegance, your ambition, your love for the finer things but also your playful, lighthearted nature.

“Maybe a high-end restaurant?” JJ suggested.

“No, too predictable,” Emily said. “She probably gets taken to those all the time.”

“She likes theater, maybe a Broadway show?” Rossi offered.

“I don’t know…” Spencer tapped his fingers against the table, deep in thought. A traditional date wouldn’t do. You needed something special, something unique.

Then, it clicked.

He straightened up, a small smile forming as the perfect idea came to him.

A few days later, Spencer stood outside your sorority house, fidgeting with the bouquet of pure pink peonies in his hands. He had done extensive research—peonies symbolized romance, admiration, and prosperity, all of which seemed fitting. Still, his nerves wouldn’t settle. He adjusted his sweater vest for the tenth time, tapping his foot against the pavement.

Then the door swung open, and whatever thoughts he had vanished completely.

You stood there, looking like a literal dream—perfect hair, perfect makeup, a perfectly coordinated outfit that made it seem like you had just stepped out of a magazine. Your eyes sparkled, your lips curled into an effortless smile.

“Oh my gosh, you brought me flowers? That is so sweet, Spencie!” You beamed, taking the bouquet with an excited little squeal. “They’re pink! Did you know pink is, like, my favorite color? Well, second favorite, but like, it totally depends on the day—sometimes it’s first! Oh, and peonies? Ugh, you’re so thoughtful.”

Spencer flushed at the nickname but managed a small smile. “I, um, I did research.”

“Of course you did, you’re like a super genius right? I’m pretty smart myself,” you giggled, twirling a strand of hair between your fingers. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, you gasped. “Oh! I got you something too!”

Before he could even react, you spun on your heel and disappeared back inside, only to return moments later with a bouquet of books, tied neatly with a very large pink ribbon.

“I bought a bunch of books I don’t think you’ve read,” you explained, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you handed them to him.

Spencer raised a brow, inspecting the titles as you walked toward his car together.

“Like… Twilight.” You smirked.

He stopped in his tracks. “I told you I hadn’t read that yet, I thought you guessed when picking them out.”

“Hey! The rest are, like, actual guesses…” you pouted dramatically, sliding into the passenger seat.

Spencer sighed but couldn’t help smiling as he carefully placed the books in the back before getting into the car.

The drive was filled with your excited chatter about everything from your nail appointment (“Look at this shade! It’s called ‘Strawberry Milk,’ isn’t that just darling?”) to a very serious debate about whether cupcakes or cake pops were the superior dessert. Spencer found himself completely captivated by the way you spoke, even if half of it was tangents that had nothing to do with each other.

When he finally pulled into a quiet field lined with endless rows of tulips, you gasped dramatically.

“A tulip garden?” you squealed, practically vibrating with excitement.

Spencer smiled, relieved that he had chosen well. “You love flowers, and tulips symbolize happiness and love, so I thought—”

“Oh my gosh, I love it!” you interrupted, clapping your hands together. “This is, like, the most romantic thing ever.”

You immediately grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the colorful rows of tulips, practically skipping as you twirled between them. Spencer couldn’t help but watch in amusement as you carefully examined each flower, dramatically debating which ones suited your “vibe” the most.

“Pick some with me!” you demanded, holding out a pair of shears the garden provided.

Spencer hesitated. “I don’t usually—”

“Spencieee,” you pouted, fluttering your lashes. “Come on! It’s a date not a…I don’t have a clever fun but you get the point!”

He sighed, but the corners of his lips twitched upward. “Fine.”

By the time you were satisfied with your selection, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow over the field. Then, as if the day couldn’t get any better, you spotted a row of food trucks parked near the entrance.

“Oh. My. Gosh. Street food! We have to get something!”

Spencer barely had time to respond before you grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the trucks. You gasped dramatically at every menu, unable to decide what you wanted until you finally settled on something completely impulsive.

“Thai food truck food is to die for! I could eat it all day for weeks! Here, try this,” you insisted, holding out a bite of your food.

Spencer gave you a skeptical look. “I don’t know, I’m pretty loyal to order” He laughed, taking a bite of his own food

“Spencie,” you pouted again, lower lip jutting out just enough to be dangerous.

He sighed but leaned in, taking a bite. To his surprise, it was actually good.

You clapped excitedly. “See?! You have to trust me more.”

By the time you both settled onto a picnic blanket with your tulips beside you, you were sharing a plate of sweet crepes from a small dessert stand.

“This,” you sighed happily, resting your head on his shoulder, “was literally the best first date ever.” You smiled as you wiped a bit of cream from his lip.

Spencer looked down at you, watching as you absentmindedly kicked your feet, a content smile on your lips.

“Yeah…” he murmured, his own smile growing. “I think so too.”

The jet hummed softly as the team settled in for the flight back home. Spencer sat with his book open, but he wasn’t reading. Not really. He could still hear your laughter, still see the way your eyes lit up at the tulip garden, still feel the warmth of your head resting on his shoulder.

“So… how’d it go, Romeo?” Rossi smirked from across the aisle, swirling his glass of scotch.

Spencer blinked, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Huh?”

Emily leaned in, grinning. “Your date. The one you spent days researching.”

JJ and Derek turned their heads from their conversation, both of them looking far too eager for his liking.

Spencer cleared his throat, flipping the page of his book despite not having read the last one. “It was… nice.”

“Nice?” Penelope gasped, clutching her chest. “You take the most glamorous, sparkliest girl we’ve ever met on a date and all you have to say is nice?”

“I don’t know what else to say,” he admitted, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. “She was… herself. Very, um… enthusiastic.”

“That’s an understatement,” Emily snorted.

“She brought me a bouquet of books,” Spencer added, finally looking up. “That was… unexpected.”

JJ smiled. “That’s actually really cute.”

“Oh! Oh! Where’d you take her?” Penelope asked excitedly, leaning forward towards the computer camera.

Spencer hesitated before answering. “A tulip garden.”

There was a beat of silence before Rossi whistled. “Not bad, kid. Classy.”

“And food trucks,” he added, as if the whole thing needed more context.

“Oh my god,” Penelope practically melted. “Did you feed each other?”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but the small, almost fond smile on his lips did not go unnoticed.

“I think,” Rossi mused, taking a sip of his drink, “this might actually be good for you.”

Spencer didn’t respond, but as he looked back down at his book, he realized he was still smiling. Twilight was a really…really bad book.

[bluestriips]

. . . ﹫Ꮺ comfort in the sun ٠࣪⭑ M.S

୭ synopsis : your favorite time of day , and your favorite person , symbolized by the sun … in one way or another.

୭ content : fluff , smut , dry humping , unlabeled relationship , matt x fem!reader , mentions of marijuana and smoking , usage of petnames [baby] , proofread

୭ word count : 1.8k

୭ a/n : button divider made by me cause i couldn’t find one with this aesthetic for shit. free to use, just tag me pls!

everything just feels so... warm.

the rays of afternoon sun pouring through your window, bathing both of you in it's ethereal light, the closeness of matt - his body pressed against yours, chest heaving with slow, heavy breaths, your movements creating a pleasurable kind of heat deep within your core, spreading and seeping between your guts.

warm like your senses heightened from the shared joint that now hangs lazily between his fingers, forgotten, save for the smoke that curls up into the air, defined and highlighted by the sunlight.

it's like the sun makes everything it touches into something magical.

the smoke in the air, your room - a perfect kind of messy, with all kinds of colors and lights and paints, books, clothes, sketches. the two of you, sat on your bed, carried away in some sort of warm, pleasurable moment. just two kids, lost in eachother.

it's not just the sun that makes him magical, though. it's not that simple. he's beautiful - he's always been beautiful. when you first met, when he started ditching his friends for you. sharing joints and stories, old or new on the weekends, making your way to the hall you know he'll be when the lunch bell rings, you had found a friend.

not someone fake, not someone who would walk with you for the hell of it and spare half-assed comments and pay half a mind to respond to you with an ounce of detail so you'd think they cared. not someone who stayed with you long enough to make you feel liked and then destroy it with whispers and unkind words the second they escape you.

matt didn't escape you. he didn't make you feel like you needed to be escaped. he spent time with you, he complimented you. and you wouldn't have told him if things hadn't changed - sometimes you still have trouble saying it - but those compliments meant something more. more than just... friendly.

you stayed quiet about it. you didn't want to risk your only friend, your sweet, kind, beautiful, funny, caring friend, for your stupid feelings.

but you didn't have to risk anything for things to change. slowly but surely, time after school and shared joints and friendly glances and platonic touches bloomed into something more. something warm.

it turned into tangled limbs, nights spent with a connection between souls deeper than words from your messy mouth and your jumbled brain could ever mean. and matt didn't mind. he was just... matt.

he's perfect. labels never came up, and you don't mind. you don't care if he's your friend, or your boyfriend, or anything inbetween. he's all you have, and in a way, you're all he has too. you're the only one who really, really gets him.

the way he looks, the way he feels, touches, just... is.

there's music playing through your cd player, you get me so high by the neighborhood, blending into the room as his hands are planted on your waist, guiding you over him. his lips are parted, pants and breathless moans leaving his mouth as he looks up at you with those eyes. you roll your hips once again, a soft whine forcing it's way out of your throat as the perfect friction sparks between you and his clothed cock.

he can't help the way he feels around you.

"fuck, that's good- just like that.." he forces out, his voice a quiet rasp. he can't seem to take his eyes off of you, darting between your own, and the way the sun hits your pretty face.

you nod, swallowing thickly before another moan leaves your throat as he bucks his hips up. "sorry- fuck, i'm sorry, you feel too good.." he moans, his grip on your waist tightening.

your eyes drop down to where your bodies connect, your lips curling upward at the tent in his jeans. "do i-fuck-do i turn you on that much?" your eyes flutter shut as he pulls you down a little harder, unable to stop the small laugh escaping your mouth.

"shit, you have no idea.." he murmurs, pressing his face to the side of your neck, planting hot, open-mouth kisses across your skin. he moves your hips over his with every kiss, as you plant your hands on his shoulders - sliding down to his biceps.

you've always had a thing for his arms, and he's definitely noticed. your nails dig into them through the fabric of his shirt, eliciting a soft groan from him as he stays buried in your neck. the pleasure continues to shock through you, twisting your gut and building up into an intricate knot that represents everything you have. not lust, not meaningless touches, but that connection between souls that means so much to both of you.

"damn, what were we supposed to be doing again?" you ask, one of his hands sliding down to your hips, kneading and massaging the skin while the other moves up to your hair, pulling your head to the side and revealing more of your neck for his desperate mouth to claim.

he hums, nipping the base of your neck before mumbling a response. "chemistry revision." and he goes right back to kissing, like the response is inconveniencing him. which it kinda is.

"anndddd... how did we end up here?" you smile, a particular roll of your hips over his eliciting a closed-mouth moan from you. he sighs, his hand tightening on your hip. "you insisted on the joint, if i'm not mistaken. then y'started lookin' too good."

his words, so simple, send something straight to that knot in your gut. everything feels so, so good. your eyes flutter shut once again, a shaky breath leaving your mouth. "mhhhm, i guess this counts as chemistry."

he pulls away from your neck as you begin to define your movements, grinding harder, longer. he looks up at you, brows furrowed in pleasure, cock twitching at the fucking sight of you. "you close?" he tilts his head, tongue swiping over his bottom lip as his hand in your hair drops down to the other side of your hip, helping your needy movements.

his eyes are hazy, red, thick with arousal, and fuck, he's sexy. you nod hastily, like the movement is too distracting from the tightening in your gut, a shaky whine leaving your lips. his head tips back, nose scrunching as his chest heaves against yours. "yeahhhh, shit, me too, baby. s'okay, i'll get y'there." he rasps, hips bucking up once more.

his hands move back up to your waist, wrapping around your body and pulling you closer as he begins grinding his hips up in time with yours. you've always loved how vocal he is, satisfied moans and groans leaving his throat. his eyes peel back open, before shutting immediately as if he'll cum at just the sight of you.

you laugh, breathless, and it's the best thing he's ever heard. he wants to record it, bottle it up and smoke it until he's high on you forever. his cock twitches under you, and you feel it this time. you'd make some lazy comment about it that really spurs you both on further while you pretend to be jokingly annoyed at the teasing, but you're too focused on feeling good.

your nails dig further into his arms, and oh, he likes that. it's like he can no longer control himself, the way his mouth drops open, and the noise that leaves him is filthy. "shit-fuuuuck-i need y'to cum." he moans, his eyes opening to look at you. in that moment, he literally has to hold himself back from soaking his boxers.

and you notice, you notice everything. that desperation from him spurs you on, his face and his voice. it's not just a plea, it's a demand. he needs you to, for yourself and for his pleasure too. your face drops to his neck, crying out in pleasure as your hips stutter. his eyes roll back, arms tightening around your waist as he groans. "come on- please, baby, fuck, you can cum.."

you don't know how. he's been desperate, looking like that, begging you to cum for the past minute. you've never been easily dominated like that, not really, but there's a drawn out moan from your mouth to his shoulder, a stutter of your hips, the knot in your gut unraveling quicker than you can comprehend and turning into a smoky kind of unimaginable pleasure that crawls through your veins the second he gives you permission to.

he barely has a millisecond to form a single thought before his head is thrown back, breathless moans leaving his mouth, his own orgasm hitting him hard. spurts of warm, sticky cum leave his tip, twitching, soaking through his boxers and soon through the thick denim of his baggy jeans, leaving a wet patch through the fabric. he feels just as good as you, possibly better, probably not.

steadily, you come down from the high, collapsing onto his warm, breathless body. his hand travels up to your hair, slowly, like the route is familiar, like you've done this a hundred times before, because you have, while the other stays wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

you wait until his breathing evens out, until his thumb starts rubbing small circles on the other side of your waist. you're still both high, messy, sprawled out over your disheveled sheets, digging and sifting through that beautiful connection you share that comes to light and shines like the sun.

"...i kinda want poptarts." you speak up after a beat, voice muffled by his neck. the movement of his thumb pauses before he laughs, a low rumble from his chest. "really? you just made me cum in my pants, n'you want poptarts?"

you smile into the skin of his neck, nose scrunched in a way he's always found adorable, a breathy laugh coming out through your nose. "yeah... what's wrong with that?"

"nothing, nothing... just- nothing." he laughs. it's a sound you can never get enough of, because it's so him. sweet, genuine, lights up an entire room.

because it's true, he does. he cares about you more than you could comprehend, and vice versa.

the sun is still shining on the both of you, bright and warm, bathing you in it's familiarity. a clear symbol of your connection. you've always loved the sun, the sky, the clouds, the stars, space in general. matt says it suits you. it's something he loves about you.

you've always viewed the sun as a sort of comforting figure. like a standard, in some odd way. and then matt traipsed into your life with his smile and his laugh and his hands, his gentleness, his care, his love. and then things became clear.

matt is your sun.

© bluestriips 2025

i do not condone stealing or plagiarism of any of my works or specific ideas of my works unless permission is given.

୭ taglist : @marrykisskilled , @courta13

[kasagia]

Right Hand VI

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!exBeneGesserit! reader Summary: You're tired of listening to others and of being afraid of prophecies that don't make sense and that were made up by someone else. Your present belonged only to you. And hell knows, you're going to take your future too. Warning: 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; smut; I was listening to 'Down Bad' by Taylor and I used quotes from a few of them; TEXT NOT CHECKED - I' barely managed to write it on time' I've just ended it and wanted to post it for you, since you are waiting for it so long; it took me ages but I hope you will like it; Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART V ~•♤♤♤•~ Epilogue ~•♤♤♤•~

Feyd rarely felt pain he didn't like. The years spent on Giedi Prime—or rather, years of enduring his uncle's methods of making him a true Harkonnen, his worthy successor—made Feyd love pain. He found pleasure in it—something he had to learn if he wanted to survive.

But it didn't bring him any satisfaction or pleasure when you pierced his chest with one of his swords. He feels pure pain. Anger, betrayal, and hurt.

He hates the way he falls limply to his knees in front of you. He hates that he still looks at you like you're a saint. He hates that he hopes you'll at least look him in the eyes, as if that would bring him some kind of salvation. He hates how lost he feels now and how he's slowly losing awareness of his surroundings. He hates that even though you stabbed him, all he can do is stare at you, clinging to the sight of you more than to his life.

"This will be the beginning of a wonderful alliance, Lady Y/N."

He feels you unhook your poisoned dagger from his arm. Feyd thinks you're doing it to finish him off. Poetically kill him with the weapon he gave you. He closes his eyes and waits for the final stab or throat slit. But nothing like that happens. He doesn't have the strength to turn around and see exactly what you're doing, but your words alone are enough for him to imagine the scene that is happening behind him.

"I may not be a Harkonnen, but I've picked up a few of their habits. If you want an agreement between us, show me your hand." After your words, he can hear a hiss from Atreides when you plunge the dagger into your joined hands, piercing them both through.

Feyd would have laughed mockingly if he hadn't spent all his energy on breathing slowly. He remembered explaining to you how contracts, such as arranged marriages, were sealed on Giedi Prime. The Harkonnens shook hands and pierced them with swords, thus signing a blood pact. This also applied to marriages and other such things. Blood bound them stronger than any words or signatures on paper. He cursed himself for the fact that, seeing your scared face at his words, he withdrew from this idea and decided to make a verbal agreement between you. He should be the one to bind you with his blood, not Atreides.

The steel in his body rubs against his lower ribs, but it does not damage any major organs. He tries to keep the sword in the exact same position you stuck it in, but he feels like he's going to faint from all the pain, the blood, and the fear for you that he feels now.

You made him so weak that even after you stabbed him, all he could think about was your safety and your well-being. Every shaky breath he took, every slow beat of his heart as he fought to stay conscious—it was all for you.

He just hoped like hell that you weren't lying a few moments ago, that this would all turn out to be just one of your games, and that you would soon end Atreides' life. But it's not like that.

"Let this blood be a symbol of our union." Your sweet, dangerous whisper reaches Feyd's ears.

He's raging with powerlessness and anger. That Atreides dog didn't deserve to mix his blood with yours. Only Feyd should be able to do this. Only his black blood should merge with your crimson, staining your joined hands as you swore allegiance to each other. His heart hurts more than the wound you gave him as he imagine how you and this desert rat are now echanging each other's blood.

If he hadn't been placed in such a vulnerable state by you, he would have ripped Atreides' heart out with his bare hands for daring to mix his blood with yours. A cold shiver runs down his spine at the thought of Atreides connecting with you in yet another way. A way Feyd was robbed too many times.

He tries to get up, but he doesn't have enough strength. All he can do is place his hands on the floor, trying to take the weight off his torso. The blade scratching his flesh bothers him much less than the fact that Atreides has the nerve to touch you or that you're blatantly ignoring him while playing whatever game you're playing right now.

"Leave him to me. I want… to repay him for all these years of fulfilling his wishes." The cool, composed tone of your voice that you used many times when the two of you dealt with inconvenient prisoners did nothing to inspire his hope or quench his rage.

You really betrayed him. You, of all people. How stupid and naive he was to believe you. He should have killed you the moment his eyes met yours. You were an intruder. A spy in disguise. His bittersweet end.

The door slams shut behind Atreides. Feyd hears your footsteps, the sand from your soles falling back onto the ground—the same ground where his black, thick blood is now flowing. You walk over to him; if he could focus enough, he would see the toes of your shoes.

You kneel in front of him, gently tugging on his head, causing him to rest on your shoulder. He can smell your blood dripping from your hand. You stain his head with it. Under any other circumstances, he would have appreciated how close you were to him, but now, with the sword rubbing uncomfortably against his insides, your touch doesn't bring any comfort at all. Even your lips pressed against his forehead cannot calm the volcano of emotions boiling inside him. But he is helpless. He is unable to do anything; he is completely surrendered to your grace. It wouldn't bother him a few hours ago. Now he hated it.

"I'm sorry." You whisper, then use the voice on him to tell him to fall asleep. When he drifts off to sleep at your command, he is already planning how he will take revenge on you. And hell knows you're going to pay him for it.

"He'll be furious." One of your spies comments as she helps you carry Feyd's body out of the sietch.

Inessa was the only Harkonnen woman you could reasonably trust. She's done your dirty work many times, but... never THIS. You somewhat understood her concerns, but currently, when you both had to carry Feyd through the Fremen corridors and go unnoticed, you didn't necessarily approve of it.

"I am aware." You reply, looking around. Inessa and you somehow patched up Feyd's wound. Now you had to either drag him to the surface yourself and hope that someone would find him in the chaos of the fight or leave him with some of his soldiers.

You didn't like any of these ideas. But you had to do what you planned if you wanted to regain your freedom, even if it meant that Feyd would hate you for it for infinity.

"Fucking angry. I'm serious, Y/N." Inessa warns you again. You roll your eyes at her, for a Harkonnen she was very fearful.

You remember how her hands were shaking a few minutes ago as you both stitched up your new Baron. It was a makeshift dressing and still required treatment by a doctor, but it was enough to get Feyd to the ship and back to base. During this time, you will take care of everything here. You hope that by the time he wakes up, you will have finished what you set out to do. Otherwise, you don't see your future well.

"Just get him out of here." You grumble, turning into a side corridor, and encounter Harkonnen soldiers fighting the Fremen as they kill the last of them, their eyes shifting to the two of you. You nod at them. Without a word, they approach you and take Feyd from you. Inessa looks at you, worried.

"What if he wakes up?"

"You stuffed him with painkillers, and I ordered him to sleep. He won't get up until you're back on the ship." The woman sighs and shakes her head, looking at you intently as you speak.

"Y/N. You've had some… creatively stupid ideas, but this one is the worst of them all. He won't give up. You know it. So why are you doing this?" She asks, taking you off guard for a moment.

She was right. You could have returned to the ship with them, gone back to the safety of Giedi Prime, and let Feyd fight Paul alone. You could have let go and stopped participating in a war that wasn't yours. But at what cost? You've been obeying someone all your life. Bene Gesserit. Prophecies. Feyd. It's finally time for you to deal the cards. And you will do it. In your and Feyd's best interests. You just hoped that he could… forgive you, or see the reasoning behind your actions.

"For myself. For my freedom. For us. This is the only way to end the matter of Atreides, Fremen, and Arrakis. The only effective way."

"Don't you know it yet? You will never be free. We women will never enjoy men's freedom. There will always be someone to whom you must submit. You can't change your fate."

"Then I'd rather die trying." You say, turning on your heel. You don't look back to see her reaction to your words. You had too little time.

The burning sensation on your hand only reminded you of running out of it. The dagger that Feyd gave you must have also had an effect on Atreides. You don't know how advanced he is in Bene Gesserit teachings, so you had to hurry before he detected the poison in his body. Or, God forbid, neutralise it.

You wipe your sweating forehead with the sleeve of your hand as your body begins to fight the poison slowly accumulating in your body. The antidote rested safely in a small syringe hidden in the handle of the dagger you kept strapped to your thigh. You just had to use it when the time was right.

You hope you will get everything done before you die.

You wander through the corridors without knowing where you are. You just have a feeling in the back of your head about where you should go. Besides, the escaping Harkonnens kind of showed you the way into the sietch.

Your hands are shaking as you slowly approach the main room—the one where the Fremen usually gather for large meetings and in case of an attack. Still, you thank Feyd for forcing you to attend the Harkonenn war meetings. At least now you are more familiar with the location of the Fremen's rooms and methods.

The closer you get to the main hall, the more Fremen women push past you, and you feel a little more confident walking through the crowd with them, confident that they are leading you to your place of harm in case of an attack. Even though the Harkonnen were already retreating from the area, some of them were still fighting the Fremen, who craved the blood on their swords and didn't let them just leave. You can only imagine the Feyd's wrath that they will have to face. His men didn't come... fully armed. Apparently it was supposed to be a quick action—get in and out with you, then launch a full attack and invasion.

You know that once he wakes up and heals up a bit, he's going to paint these halls with blood before he burns them to the ground.

Entering the main room, you immediately take a seat by the wall, watching all the Fremen gathering, carefully looking for Atreides among them. He probably had to make sure they "cleared" the halls from the Harkonnens. It makes you sick to think of them bragging about this as a victory over the Harkonnens. It makes you wish you had a little bomb with you...

"Are you already hiding in the shadows?" You shiver when you hear him whisper in your ear. You haven't learned to recognise his steps yet. They were irregular, different, and hard to detect and remember—as if he were constantly moving through the sand like a feather.

"The quicker I adapt, the better, right?" You ask, raising an eyebrow at him in challenge. He shakes his head in amusement and watches the Fremen gather with you. It's strange that somehow no one has noticed him yet.

"I'm starting to understand why my cousin kept you so close to him."

"Cousin?" You ask in shock, turning your head towards him so you can look at him. This time he ignores you, not shifting his gaze from the Fremen.

"A little surprise. Maybe we all have a bit of Harkonnen in us after all?" He banters without giving you any of his attention. You snort indignantly, looking at the gathering people again.

"You look tired." You comment, wanting to tease him. You can barely keep yourself from stabbing him with your poisoned dagger a few times. But since he was talking to you so... carelessly, it meant he couldn't detect the poison. Good for you.

"I always am. I will rest when I sit peacefully on the imperial throne."

You would laugh at him if you could. He might easily sit on the emperor's throne, but he wouldn't be able to hold power over all the families for long. Certainly not if you and Feyd had anything to say about it.

Your heart clenches as you remember the moment you stabbed him. You had to. There was no other way to get rid of him long enough for you to take care of everything here. Also, he wouldn't allow you to do that if he knew what you were up to. Besides, if you didn't stab him, Atreides and he would get into a fight. Unfortunately, you weren't that confident in Feyd's abilities. He would be in a state of distraction if your well-being was at stake.

Besides, Atreides' words convinced you of this decision more than anything else.

More than one great king fell under the intrigue of a lesser man.

If there was anything you could praise about Paul Atreides, it was his cunning. And you were sure that if Atreides was somehow going to defeat Feyd, it would be through intrigue and trickery. And then you weren't ready to save your baron. So you had to use drastic measures to get him out and allow yourself to function fully. You couldn't give Atreides any leverage or advantage over you. You certainly couldn't reveal what a weakness Feyd was to you.

"Hmm… you have to survive first." You answered thoughtfully. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him turn his head to look at you. His intense, analysing gaze makes you burn as you have to endure his unwanted attention.

"With such a talented Bene Gesserit as MY right hand? I have not the slightest doubt. You proved your loyalty by killing my cousin. I have no doubt that you are capable of great things. However... this sudden change of sides is shocking, I must admit."

"Why? Because I chose something better for myself? It was the same with Feyd. I could either stay among the Bene Gesserit and hope they wouldn't send me to breed with anyone, or I could take matters into my own hands. And I don't like blindly entrusting my fate to someone else, Atreides."

"I see... you look good with independence, Harkonnen witch, but don't forget who you answer to."

"Of course, Fremen messiah." The nickname you give him makes me chuckle. He reaches up and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. You look carefully at his bandaged hand, which you pierced with a dagger.

You find yourself comparing his hands to Feyd's. Harkonnen's hands were hard, rough, trained from years of using all kinds of weapons. Atrdida's hands were smoother, less stained by effort. Another difference between them was that Feyd would never let anyone bandage the wound you gave him. He would rather wear them proudly until the wound heals itself. You should think it's sick, but years spent by his side have taught you… to appreciate such gestures. Maybe you really had a completely different perception of normality?

Atreides' fingers trace your jaw, caressing it gently. You look into his eyes and immediately see the familiar gleam of audacity in them. He looked at you like you were a prize—a nice thing that he managed to take from his enemy, which he can now put on his bedside table and look at to remember his victory. Under any other circumstances, you would have bitten his fingers off, but unfortunately, you had to behave. But only for a moment longer.

"What do you think you're doing?" An angry, cold female voice echoes behind you. Before you know it, you're being pushed sideways against the wall. A dagger at your throat. You act automatically. You attack a woman, disarm her, and push her against a wall. But before you can put a dagger at her throat yourself, Atreides steps between you.

"What's necessary, Chani. I would suggest you not attack my guest." The woman glares at him, and for a moment, you think she's going to attack him or spit on him. Then her anger shifts to you.

"This Harkonnen witch has killed more of our people than any of them. She should be dead, not taken in as a guest." She growls furiously, giving you a distrustful, mad look. You understand her perfectly. If you were in her place, you would do the same. Only Feyd, unlike Atreides, couldn't stop you from hurting your rival.

"It's not up to you to decide her fate."

Chani gives the two of you one last hateful glare and pushes past Atreides, moving into the crowd, away from the two of you. You look at the woman carefully, analysing her gait and posture. Similar to Atreides. So you found his teacher.

"Your…"

"Concubine." He finishes, thus answering your question. You raise an eyebrow at him in surprise.

"I see."

"Jealous?" This time, you can't help but snort in amusement, giggling at his absurd question.

"I would sonner be jealous of a sandworm than of you. What is bewteen us is just an agreement. Don't forget that, Atreides."

"That's why I like you. Give me a moment. We'll talk later. Don't go anywhere. I will find you."

He puts his hand on your shoulder. You assume he thinks it's a gesture of reassurance, but it's not for you. You anxiously wait for him to move away from you so he can speak to the crowd of Fremen.

You shiver as you briefly make eye contact with Chani, who is standing at the other end of the room. She's still seething with rage. You're not entirely sure why she's so devoted to Atreides, but after thinking about it longer, you realise what her reason is for being so protective over him. You would probably do the same things for Feyd as she did for Paul. However, you would be... more ruthless towards your rival. You wave to the woman, smirking. She looks away from you, focusing her gaze on Atreides.

You study him as well, carefully observing him as he speaks to the Fremen. He is imperious and powerful, but also arrogant and conceited. His overconfidence that he acquired among the Fremen—the belief that he was the chosen one—will lead to his death. You will lead him to death. Otherwise, no one will stand a chance against him. He had one significant thing that could ensure his victory: a huge crowd of people who blindly believed that he would bring them salvation if they obediently followed his every request.

And maybe you would feel sorry for these people and try to help them if your own freedom and future weren't on the line.

You play with the handle of your dagger. You press a small button. A small ampoule with a needle falls into your hand. You hiss, injecting the contents of the ampoule into your arm.

Atreides was right. - You think, listening carefully to the man's speech to the crowd. - More than one great king fell under the intrigue of a lesser man.

The faint hum of the ship's engine gives Feyd a clear indication of where he is. He opens his eyes and looks around the room. He's in the bedroom of one of Harkonnen's ships. He sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, and looks at his bare chest. He furrows his hairless eyebrows in surprise when he sees no wound or bandage—just a tiny, sealed scar in the area where you pierced him with the sword.

"Where are you going?" Your quiet, protesting whisper makes him freeze. After a while, he feels your warm hands on his shoulders as you pull him back into the soft sheets and into your arms. You cuddle up to him, wrapping your arms around him and burying your head in the crook of his neck. "Stay. We still have a lot of time before we land on Lankiveil, so you can spend it in bed with your wife. I doubt we'll find a moment of peace for ourselves when our little Na-Baron demands swimming lessons from you and a tour around the new planet, so use this little moment of peace."

Feyd's heart skips a beat when he feels your lips brushing on the skin of his neck and hears you calling yourself his wife. He allows himself to drown in the warmth of your body and the feeling of your gentle touch on his skin. He buries his nose in your hair, shuddering slightly as you place small kisses on his neck and lick his skin, teasing him. However, one thing was still bothering him…

"Little Na-Baron?" He asks, confused, when you lazily stroke his head with your fingers, drawing patterns on its pale skin.

"Our son. I pleased you so well last night that you forgot about our son, or are you just not awake yet, darling?" You ask him teasingly, opening your eyes to look at him for the first time.

Feyd is speechless when he sees the spark of malice in your eyes and the beautiful smile you give him. Your beauty, the calmness with which you lie curled on his chest—as if it were the most normal thing you do every day—and the strange warmth that spreads across his chest because of it make him lose his ability to speak.

You giggle, pulling him closer to you and placing a tender, gentle kiss on his lips. You moan, enjoying the feeling of his plush lips, sucking on his bottom lip as you claim him as yours. Feyd feels himself starting to harden just from the feeling of your lips on his and the teasing movements of your fingers around his nipples.

"I…" He tries to speak, but then he hears the baby's soft whimpering. He tenses up, unaccustomed to any interaction with children.

His gaze goes from the cradle placed in the corner of the room to you in pure panic, as he has no idea what to do with the crying baby. But you don't seem to care about the baby crying as much as he does. You groan in protest and pull away from him, burying your face in the pillow.

"Mhm... go to her, it's your turn." You mumble, not giving him a glance, as you hug the pillow instead of him. He starts to be a little jealous, but that feeling fades away, replaced by panic as the baby's cries intensify.

"Now you're letting me go?" He asks, hoping you'll change your mind and take care of the crying demon in the cradle yourself.

"I simply found a better use for you elsewhere." He huffs, leaning towards you and ruffling your hair. You punch him in the chest and force him out of bed. He rolls his eyes at you and turns hesitantly towards the crib.

He feels his legs shaking and his heart beating with nervousness. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is stressed and nervous by a crying baby in a cradle. He breathes deeply as he stands over the cradle.

His world stops when his eyes meet small irises that are a similar shade of blue to his. And his heart stops when he sees a little copy of you. Your child is undoubtedly a reflection of you. She only has his eyes, but the colour of her skin and hair, the shape of her nose, mouth, and eyes are all you. Feyd's heart pounds as he stares at the small miracle before him. Suddenly, the sounds reach him again. Panicked, he takes the baby gently, making sure not to accidentally hurt her, and in a few quick steps, he is by your side again.

"I… I think it is hungry." He says, reaching out towards you to hand the baby to you as quickly as possible.

"Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, did you just call our daughter it?" You ask angrily, sitting on the bed and looking at him furious. You sigh at his helpless expression and take your daughter from him. "Forgive daddy, Katerina. He doesn't usually behave like this." You mumble sweetly to the baby, trying to calm her down.

Miraculously, because Feyd can't call it anything else, you manage to calm down the baby in your embrace, her little lips pursing in dissatisfaction as she waits for you to feed her. Feyd swears she makes the exact same face you do when you're impatient or angry. His heart melts even more at the image in front of him.

Feyd sits on the edge of the bed, watching in fascination as you feed your baby. This scene seems... unreal to him. He had never experienced anything like this before—the feelings of warmth, safety, and boundless love and devotion that appear in him when he looks at the two of you.

He may have had vague memories of his mother singing bedtime lullabies to him and Rabban, but... he had never felt the way he did with you and your daughter. He had never felt that disarming feeling of home that made him allow himself to become vulnerable for the first time in many years.

He uncertainly reaches towards the child and gently strokes his daughter's head. The colour of her hair is identical to yours. Feyd's lips form involuntarily in a smile when the child reaches her little hand to his fingers, tightening his fist firmly. As she gently moves his hand away from her head, she does not let her grip on his fingers loosen. She was strong for a baby. She certainly had a warrior nature inherited from both of you. Feyd couldn't wait to train her...

He found himself thinking that all he wanted was to curl up in this bed with you and hold you safely in his arms before he would be brutally torn from this beautiful dream or vision.

He sits on the bed, looking at the two of you, when suddenly the bedroom door opens. The thud of small feet on the metal floor echoes around the room, and that's all the warning Feyd gets before the little white-haired boy lunges at him.

"Dad! Dad! We'll be there soon! I can't wait. Uncle Rabban told me that there are huge oceans that can swallow our ships if we land wrong! Is it true?" Asks the child, sitting on his lap and holding him tightly.

Feyd hesitantly wraps his arms around the boy, making sure he doesn't accidentally fall from his lap to the floor. His gaze quickly shifts to you in utter confusion. Rabban as a caring, mischievous uncle? What the hell was that supposed to be?

"Your uncle has a habit of distorting some facts, Feydor. I assure you we'll be fine. And Lankiveil is wonderful, isn't it, honey?" You ask Feyd, resting Katerina on your shoulder and making sure she burps.

"Yes. It is beautiful." He says, unconsciously running a hand through his son's hair as he looks at the three of you, unable to get over the shock and awe.

"I want a hug." Your son demands. You laugh as you pull him closer to you. When you see that Feyd isn't moving to join you all, you grab his hand and gently guide him back to the soft pillows. You lie there curled up, you with Katerina on your chest, Feydor between you and him as you wrap your arms around each other.

His son mutters something to his sister, but Feyd doesn't hear him. All he can do is stare at the three of you in amazement.

"Now sleep. Both of you. I don't want to hear any grumpy complaints about not getting enough sleep, okay, my boys?"

'It only happened once." Feydor mumbles, manoeuvring your and Feyd's hands to hug him tightly. "Besides, Dad was whining worse than me."

"I have no doubt that was the case. Your dad is a terribly fussy and grumpy man." You laugh and lean in to place a quick kiss on Feyd's lips. He strokes your waist, moving closer to you and your son as baby Katerina mumbles something in a language only she knows.

Feyd can only watch tenderly as his little family falls asleep, curled up in each other's arms. And he believes that this is the best possible future that can await him. He doesn't want the throne. He doesn't want to become emperor. He just wants to be able to fall asleep and wake up with you in his arms and your children running around. It's all he dreams about.

The younger Feyd would certainly laugh at him and mock him for such a trivial goal he had set for himself, but what more could he want with the title of baron and you by his side?

He saw perfectly well how the lives of his uncle and emperor turned out and knew the tragic fate of great people in power who decided to devote their entire lives to achieving the greatest possible influence. Feyd didn't want to follow in their footsteps. He wanted you. He realised, with horror, that this was enough for him—the vision or dream he had now was his ideal future.

"I love you." He whispers to your sleeping form before the darkness overwhelms him again.

He wakes up again on the ship, in the same room, and on the same bed. The difference is that your warm body is not pressed against his, and the throbbing pain from his stomach spreads uncomfortably throughout his body.

He groans, sitting on the bed and looking around. His hairless eyebrows wrinkle when he sees one of your spies with him. He automatically grabs the hidden knife and attacks your spy before she notices that he woke up.

"My Lord Baron, I can explain…" The woman says this as he presses the blade against her chest. She stops talking when he cuts off her access to the air by tightening his grip on her neck.

"Where is my right hand?" He growls, sticking to the remains of his control when he refrains from killing her. However, he does not stop himself from making a light cut on your spy's neck. Years of experience have proved that people were more willing to talk after he took some blood from them.

"It really wasn't my idea. She decided so. She knew that you would not let her do what she was planning, so she had to somehow... get rid of you from there, my lord Baron."

"Hm... that sounds like her, but... I would like to hear more about that plan of her. Say something useful and I might even spare your life." Feyd purrs, lazily dragging the blade down her neck to her collarbone, making a small cut.

He preferred not to hurt your toy too much. He didn't know how you would react to the loss of this particular spy. She must have been someone you trusted to entrust him to her.

But that didn't mean that Feyd couldn't land his anger at you on her for leaving him behind and completely unaware of your actions.

"Long ago, the Bene Gesserit had only one reverend mother. Their order was small then, but it was developing well. A certain ritual was invented to ensure that the most powerful of them was in power. It… is about the struggle of life forces. I don't know exactly how it's done, but… lady Y/N said that they both have to die for one of them to survive. She… she knew you wouldn't let her, so she had to make you leave that rat's nest so she could get the job done." A cold shiver runs down Feyd's spine. He needs a moment to compose himself and process your spy's words before he speaks again.

"They both have to die? What do you mean?" He asks, unconsciously tightening his already painful grip on the woman. His hand, the one holding the dagger, trembles slightly as he impatiently stares at her, waiting for an answer.

"I... they have to... they... their hearts stop beating and... the one who is stronger and has more life energy takes over the other's powers and survives."

"So... she may lose and die?" Fed sees your spy swallowing heavily after hearing his question. Thanks to this, he already knows the answer to it.

Strangely, instead of the huge, red fury and bloodlust, everything he feels is fear. Since he arrived at Giedi Prime, he has never felt fear. His uncle made sure that this emotion did not prevent him from reaching the ideal that his uncle demanded from Feyd. But at this point, when the vision of your dead body appears before his eyes, Feyd feels almost paralysed by fear of your life.

"There is... a little possibilty, my lord Baron."

This information is enough for him to make a decision. He stabs your spy in the stomach and allows her to sit on a bed. He reaches the exit in a few steps and opens the door with a bang. A doctor and two soldiers are waiting in the corridor. They look at him with fear in their eyes when he comes out, covered in blood. Before they can speak and probably inform him about his state of health, Fed is already growling at them and giving orders.

"Heal her and bandage her. She was only fulfilling my fiancee's orders." Fed tells the doctor. He is pleased with the surprise he sees on your spy's face. He intends to enjoy informing everyone about his 'engagement' with you. If you could have your plans, he could have some of his too. "Tell the pilot to turn back. And call more ours. We will burn these rats' nests to the ground."

With this promise, he leaves the room, ignoring the pain in his trunk. He must have found you before Fremen left with you for another hideout. He had to be fast and precise if he wanted to have you safe by his side. Maybe he should also ask the doctor for a sedative. Just in case you were stubborn enough to fight him instead of cooperating with him.

"What do you think?" Atreides' question catches you off guard for a moment. You stop watching the Fremen as they prepare to leave the sietch and shift your gaze to Atreides, raising an eyebrow in question. "About them. About my speech there."

"Are you looking for praise?" You mock, taking a closer look at what exactly he's putting into his bundle.

"I'm looking for a second opinion. Objective. Analytical and thorough." He replies, tying the fabric as he waits for your response.

"They will do whatever you want. Isn't that enough for you?" You ask, licking your lips as you choose your words carefully. You can see beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Paul wipes them away with his hand, not yet aware of the poison that courses through his veins.

You wanted to make sure as much as you could that when the moment came to defeat him and take his life force, there would be no shadow of a doubt that you would emerge victorious from the duel between you. After he went through the Reverend Mothers ceremony, you could try to perform the old ritual of reclaiming power between you two. This hasn't been done for centuries. So you hoped that everything you remembered from the old scrolls was true and that Atreides wouldn't surprise you with anything.

Even if he was a Kwisatz Haderach, you're still going to defeat him. No one and nothing will decide your fate.

"For now, yes. But in the future, I will need their full devotion. After all, I won't be the one to rule them on Arrakis." You raise your eyebrows questioningly, curious as to what his big plan for the future might be.

"Who do you want to entrust them to?"

Silence falls between you as you both look at each other intently. You know he's judging you, wondering how much he can tell you and how much he can hide from you. And you have to be convincing enough to gain even a little bit of trust from him. You know that stabbing Feyd helped you a lot with that. No matter how much it hurt you to do it.

"To be honest, you have the best skills to serve as Governor of Arrakis. The only question is, will you be equally faithful to me?"

"Me? Why?"

"They're already afraid of you. Besides, I saw your power—you're quite a powerful Bene Gesserit. Even if you don't like being called that, you can't cheat or change your destiny, no matter what."

"But... it is not all about power and fate, though is it?" You ask, slowly approaching him. "It is... something more there. Much more than we know." You whisper, looking at him with your most captivating gaze. Feyd would have killed him and tortured you if he saw you flirting with someone else... but luckily he wasn't here. And you had to somehow lower Atreides' guard.

"Indeed." He mumbles back and takes a step towards you. His fingers gently caress your jaw, tracing it until his fingertips brush against your lips. "My mother told me legends about the birth of the most powerful of the Bene Gesserit. A woman who could bring thousands to their knees with a wave of her finger, tamed the most bloodthirsty of all beasts. Stilgar... has suspicions that you may be the mother of the one, the one to come. Of course, this conflicts with his perception of me as the chosen one."

He spoke the truth. You were the most powerful of the Bene Gesserit. But not because you were born according to their program. You simply had potential, and they had way too much time and no obstacles to train you differently. You were supposed to be their perfect pawn in their game, to provide them with the Kwisatz Haderach. And now… you will kill the one who was supposed to be him.

"Even so, you don't lose power. They still listen to you. More than anyone else." You say, shifting your gaze from his eyes to his lips. He licks them, holding your jaw tightly as he leans slightly towards you.

"I may be my father's son, but I'm not going to make the same mistakes. You know, it is much safer to be feared than loved because... love is preserved by the link of obligation which, owing to the baseness of men, is broken at every opportunity for their advantage; but fear preserves you by a dread of punishment which never fails."

"The prince Machiavelli." You say, knowing a quote from the book. You're a little surprised that he would read something like that. He also seems amazed that you know what book he took these words from.

"Indeed. Hmm... Maybe you're not that cruel and bloodthirsty Harkonnen witch people think you are. After all, you're a bit educated." Under any other circumstances, you would have kicked him in... his tender place for this. But now you have to smile sweetly, comforting yourself only with the thought that he will soon die at your hands.

"Believe me, Atreides. I am everything they talk about and more." You mumble before leaning in to connect your lips in a kiss.

Kissing him is… different from kissing Feyd. Less intense, less hot, and less passionate. With him, you don't feel that familiar thrill of excitement you feel every time Feyd literally devours you. This kiss is... too polite. There's not an ounce of desire in him, at least not on your part. You try to be persuasive, though, caressing his lips, but it's not the same plush softness of Feyd's lips. Your mind refuses to be fooled, and you realise with horror how deeply your new Baron has managed to get under your skin when you haven't been able to enjoy the kiss of any other man.

Atreides reaches for your hips, pulling you closer to him as he deepens the kiss, moaning into your mouth. At least he was the only one having fun out of the two of you. You place your hands on his shoulders, slowly pulling your hidden dagger from your sleeve as you let the man kiss you and explore your body with his hands.

You almost sigh with relief when his lips finally leave yours. He moves to kiss your neck, and you decide that this is the moment to start the ritual.

"Stay still. Don't move or speak." You use the voice on him. He stiffens in an instant, his eyes widening slightly as the steel of your poisoned blade presses against his neck. "You were right. It's better to make them afraid of you than to love you."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him grab his hidden knife. But before he can stab you, you place your hands on his temples and recite the old formula, beginning the ritual. You feel yourself slowly starting to lose strength. You both kneel to the floor, life draining from the two of you.

It has begun. - you think as darkness takes over you.

This... is different from what you expected. Nowhere is it written what happens after the connection between the brains of the Bene Gesserit combatants is made. Or what kind of test are the two of you being put through to find out which one of you is stronger. You thought you and Atreides would stand in some imaginary arena and fight until one of you killed the other.

At least you would prefer this to the burning pain that overwhelmed you. You feel like you're immersed in pure, wild fire. All your nerves were burning. You felt your body, but at the same time, you were far from it. And all you could see and hear was blackness, screams, whispers, and songs in a language foreign to you. You feel like you've gone mad. Any pain you've felt doesn't compare to what you're going through right now.

You feel every cell in your body tear apart, and at the same time you remain in a void, unaware of anything except the feeling of pain.

But you endure it.

And suddenly, everything disappears. For a moment, you feel or hear nothing. It's just you and your consciousness as you anxiously await the turn of events.

Then various images begin to appear before your eyes—visions of the future and the past. You see every possible course of events that could occur and every single scenario that may happen. In some visions, both you and Feyd die; in others, it's just him or you; and in others, you both live to old age together. One element is constant. Only one. And you shudder every time you see the familiar figure of your future son ascending the throne as the Emperor and taking care of the entire world, restoring balance and peace.

All of Atreides' power has passed onto you. You knew everything. All possible futures. And they scared you more than you thought they would. And you feel completely different than you thought you would...

After some time and tens of thousands of visions, you return to your body. You begin to feel everything around you—the soft sheets beneath you, the softness of the pillow beneath your head, and the quiet beeping of the machines keeping you alive.

You struggle to open your eyes, hissing as the light hits your eyes. You look around, expecting to find a familiar hospital room, but instead you find yourself in Feyd's chambers. On fucking Giedi Prime.

"Welcome among the living." Feyd's hoarse voice reaches your ears. You turn your head towards him—too quickly, making you feel a little dizzy—but you open your mouth to speak anyway.

You have a terrible coughing fit, and your throat is drier than it has ever been on Arrakis. As you curl up on Feyd's bed, coughing up your lungs, you see him quickly fill a glass of water from the corner of your eye. He sits next to you, pulling you against his chest. You lean your back against him and drink the water greedily.

Feyd gently strokes your back, watching carefully as you drink the water. His gaze is watchful and attentive as he makes sure you drink the last drop from your glass.

When you finish, he takes your glass and walks over to the table to set it down. A cold shiver runs through you as you feel the absence of his presence. You remember how the last time you saw him, he was unconscious and injured. Because of you.

"I was more expecting to be chained to a wall in a prison cell. Or to have your harpies hovering over me and waiting for you to cut me up for them." You say jokingly, teasing him. But he doesn't laugh. You see him tense at your words before he slowly turns to face you.

"I had such an idea in my mind a month ago, when I found you pale as death in the arms of the equally dead Atreides. But I guess enough time has passed for me to get over it… or I just killed enough Fremen and doctors and Bene Gesserit women who couldn't bring you back to calm myself down."

"Month?" You ask, swallowing thickly as you bravely endure his stern glare.

"Mhmm… a month, two weeks and five days to be precise. This whole time, you were either losing your pulse or screaming until your throat was torn. Also, you had a fever that we barely managed to break down, and you were pronounced dead a few times, but who cares, right?" He asks casually, but you can clearly see the rage bubbling inside him despite his obvious concern for you.

"Oh… that's… a while."

"A little bit more than a while." He growls at you, playing with his dagger—the exact same one he gave you. You shudder as you see how much the blade has bent from the blood of the people you used it on.

"What about Atreides?" You ask, confused, wondering if it was really a good idea to bring this up now. Especially since he is playing with a poisoned dagger in his hands. And you used up the antidote to it (apparently) a month ago.

"I have his head. Do you want it on a silver platter, or should I just frame his tongue and hang it on the wall? Maybe right next to yours for being a liar and a traitor?" He asks furiously. But that's not what scares you the most. He's calm. Too calm and composed. And this was often how his anger manifested itself before he killed his victims.

"I... you know perfectly well that I had to do it. If I had done it differently, his... skills would have been lost. And I... now I see everything. I can prevent everything, I can make everything fine. Isn't that a big advantage for you? Have an oracle next to you?" You ask, slightly nervous about what he's going to do next.

"Depends on what this oracle wants to show me and what it doesn't want to show me. But since you know everything and the entire future, you probably know what I will do now." He says and heads towards the exit.

Your heart clenches, and you feel an inexplicable panic as you see him walk away from you. You can't stand how cold he was towards you. You have to do something. You can't just let him go.

"Feyd." You call after him and get out of bed to follow him. When you're on your legs, you lose your balance, and you would have fallen to the floor if Feyd hadn't caught you in his arms.

You dig your fingers into his shoulders, holding onto him as you breathe quickly. You look at each other for a moment, allowing yourself to immerse yourself in the closeness of the other one.

Feyd places his hand under your knees and picks you up in bridal style. He puts you on his bed again and pulls away to leave. You grab his elbow tightly and hold on, forcing him to stay by your side as you give him a desperate, pleading look for him not to leave you.

Feyd sighs, sitting next to you on the bed. He leans towards you and rests his forehead against yours. He closes his eyes, brushing his nose against yours. And you feel really calm for the first time in years.

"You have no idea... I have killed men for smaller things than that. The only reason you're still alive... is because I prefer to destroy you myself. Without the help of any sick rituals or poison. You'll be begging me to kill you, little witch. I'll make you go through the same damn pain you put me through. You'll be begging me to stop making you scream. Oh, and I'll make you scream much louder than becasue of this stupid ancient ritual."

You know he's mad at you. And he has every right to do so. But you can't take his words seriously. Not when you have irrefutable proof of the depth of his feelings for you. As he said, he killed for less. If he wanted to, he would have gotten rid of you or hurt you by now. But he didn't.

"I'll happily scream because of you, my Baron." You reply, placing your hands on his cheeks. You stroke his cheekbones with your thumbs, trying to memorise every little bit of his skin.

"I… I'm serious." He growls at you. He places his hand on your neck and squeezes it gently. You smile and press a kiss just near the corner of his mouth.

"Me too. Do it. Show me how loud you want me to scream for you." You challenge him, placing small kisses on his face.

"Y/N... I should have killed you ages ago, woman. You poisoned my mind, you stabbed me with a sword, you left me alone to deal with the mess you made, you forced me to worry about you while you slowly died in front of me day by day, and I couldn't do any-fucking-thing. So tell me, how can I get past this? Why is it that all I want to do is fuck you until I feel like you're really alive and around me?"

You bite your lip, trying not to moan at his words. You lick your lips and lean towards him, kissing him. He moans into your mouth and tries to pull away from you, but you grab his neck and pull him towards you. Your heart speeds up as your lips caress his as you give all of yourself to him in that kiss.

You gently massage his scalp and lie down on the pillows. You pull him with you as he starts to kiss you back. You moan into his mouth, wrapping your legs around his hips. He pulls away from you with a growl and presses his forehead against yours, trying to calm down for your sake. After all, you had just woken up... too bad his cock wasn't as sympathetic to you as you rubbed against him.

"I… my mother was a Harkonnen, you know? Maybe that's why I was so drawn to you. Like calls to like or something like that." You gasp, remembering the memory you saw. Feyd furrows his hairless eyebrows in surprise. A shiver runs across his skin, realising the power you've taken from Atreides.

"What else do you know?" He asks, caressing your cheek. You turn your head and press a kiss on the palm of his hand. You surprise him even more, but he's not going to protest when you show him affection. This was very rare in his life, and the fact that this small, voluntary gesture of adoration was coming from you made him even harder.

"That I don't want to lose you for some visions that may or may not happen. That you love me and that these months have been torture for you. That you hated me as much as you needed me to come back to you. That I… only want to think about us. I only care about our future, and I'm willing to watch this world burn if it means I can hold your hand until the end. with no fear that fate will make us hate each other. That I want you to be the only prophecy I care about."

"What about your escape from fate? You never wanted… to be part of this Kwisatz Haderach thing. Will you run away from me when you see that the path we are following leads inevitably to what you were so afraid of?"

His doubts are absolutely right. But that doesn't change the fact that you need him close to you right now. That you need his reassurance that everything will be fine, not his resentment. And you know it was wrong of you to demand from him things like that, but... nothing about your relationship was healthy anyway.

"Fuck it if I can't have us. Fuck it if I can't have you." You say and pull him in for another kiss. He moans in shock into your mouth but quickly responds to you with equal passion. You gasp as he grabs your waist tightly and lifts you up, making you sit on his lap.

"You said you love me." He gasps as he slowly removes your nightgown that he dressed you in himself.

"I did... I also stab you." You say as your hands reach up to start undressing him as well.

"You did. And you killed Atreides." He purrs against your jaw, placing kisses and hickeys there.

"I did." You groan, your hands shaking as you try to get rid of his clothes as quickly as possible.

"You handed me over to our people."

"I did. You are quite heavy." You giggle as he blows on your neck, tickling you, before sinking his teeth into it. You dig your fingers into his back, pulling him close to you.

"Why did you do this?" He asks, pulling away from you to look at you carefully, gauging your reaction, making sure you were always on his side, and doing everything for your mutual good. For his good.

"Because I decide about my fate. Not Bene Gesserit, not any Atreides, not you or anyone. Only me. And I want you. And love you. And need you. But only as my equal... and if you will have me."

"I won't let you go anymore." He warns, laying you down on the bed and towering over you.

"I will never want to leave." You promise, looking into his icy blue eyes and stroking the scar on his lower stomach—from the wound you gave him.

"Good."

"Good."

"Say it again."

"Good?" You ask teasingly, pressing kisses to his neck and giving him a few hickeys, marking him as yours with more than just his scars.

"No. You know what."

"I love you."

"About damn time." He growls, devouring your mouth. You moan as he bites into your lower lip. You both don't hold back anymore. Feyd marks you like a map, as if he wanted to memorise all the sensitive places that made you moan and writhe in pleasure, pressing into his muscled body.

You forget for a moment the whole world, everything you've done for him, everything you both should have discussed—all you can think about is Feyd. About wanting to be closer to him, about needing him as desperately as he needs you. So how can Feyd resist you when you're so willing to take him in? When he had dreamed of this moment for years? When can he finally satisfy his desire for your body?

He trails his kisses lower, gently taking your nipple into his mouth and cupping your other breast, massaging it. You moan, scratching his scalp, throwing your head back against the pillows, and grinding your hips against his.

You're both starting to get annoyed by the underwear that's preventing you from clinging to each other the way you want. Feyd rips your panties off of you, wasting no time in pushing his fingers into you. You whine, thrashing around on the bed, wanting more and yet too sensitive for anything else. You open your eyes and gasp at the sight of his full, erect length rubbing against your thigh. Feyd pinches your nipple, making you moan and shifting your gaze to him.

"Eyes on me, little witch."

"But... ach!" You moan as his fingers speed up inside you, tears forming in your eyes as your hips move in time with the rhythm of his fingers as you chase your orgasm.

"Listen to your Baron. Eyes on me." He pauses to slap your pussy. You moan, biting your lower lip. "And don't hold back any sounds. Or I'll punish you like I should have since you woke up."

It's very hard to keep your eyes open for him. Especially when his fingers massage your clit so perfectly and fill you up. You reach your hand to his hard cock on your thigh and rub it gently.

He growls, kissing you hard and punishingly, as you try to speed things up and make him lunge at you in a frenzy of lust, when he wants to tease your pussy and punish you accordingly first.

For a month he waited by your bedside, bravely holding you through the stages of your screams and high fevers, making sure you were alive, breathing, and your heart was beating in a rhythm he had memorized. He deserves to have some fun with you...

"Feyd... please..." Your moans, the kisses you place on his jaw, and the way your fingers caress the scar on his muscled stomach—the one you gave him yourself—make him lose his restraint, which was already frail and weak. At least that's how he explains his desire to immediately fulfill your wish.

His arms wrap around you tightly as he gently pushes into you, making sure his entire alabaster length will fit inside you. He stops, cursing in his tongue and resting his forehead against yours as he gives you a moment to adjust to his length. Finally. He finally feels you all around him. And you're tighter than he dreamed.

"Damn… you little witch…"

"I know..." You gasp, wrapping your arms around him, and kiss him hungrily, basking in the feeling of fullness as his length perfectly fills the void inside you. It's warm. It's nice to feel him so close to you. It's nice to be with him. You moan as he starts to move slowly, testing how far he can go.

Feyd growls, picking up his pace when you don't protest, his hips bucking wildly against yours, and you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer.

He grips one of your hips and cups your cheek with the other, making sure your eyes are focused on him. He kisses away the tears streaming down your cheek, licking them off your face. He kisses you fervently and hungrily, catching every moan and grunt you make as his hips grind against yours. A wet sound echoes through the room, occasionally interrupted by a moan from either of you as you finally come together in the most primal, animalistic way, demanding each other.

"Mine. Only mine." Feyd growls into your neck; his thrusts are faster and more precise, making you bite your lip to hold back your moans, but he doesn't let you do it for long. He wants to feel and hear all of you. He wants to revel in his victory. That's why he kisses you, biting your buttom lip to the blood. He pulls away and leans his forehead on yours as he listens to the little sounds you make as he fucks the brain out of you. "Can you feel how deep I am? How well am I filling you? You will be a beautiful Baroness. Fuck. My future wife. The mother of my children." He moans in your ear. You don't answer; you take ragged breaths, listening to the squelch of your joined bodies echoing around his chambers.

"You were meant for me. Just like I was for you. I will never let you escape again, I will never again let you out of my sight for more than a second, I will never again let you fight against the world and fate alone. We are the two sides of the same coin... WE. ARE. UNITY." He growls, making one last few hard pushes into you, making you both cum. He captures your lips in a kiss, muffling both of your screams as you fall apart around him, feeling his warm seed flood your womb.

You shake, wrapping your arms around him tightly, trusting him to hold the weight of both of you as you see nothing but white light in your orgasmic haze. You can't feel your legs, but you know you're still clenching them tightly around him. Your mind is empty; you feel amazing, electric bliss.

And for that moment you knew what cosmic love really meant. And you would fight with anyone to be able to experience it whenever you wanted.

"I love you." Feyd whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple and tightening his grip around you.

He slowly pulls out of you and collapses next to you, still holding you in the iron grip of his arms. You lazily snuggle into him and trace the scar you gave him with the fingertip of your finger. Guilt grows within you, and for a moment, you think that he purposely allowed this scar to remind you of what you did.

You decide to talk to him about everything tomorrow. It was just the two of you for now, and you were going to enjoy this as long as you could. You place your head into the crook of his neck and take his hand in yours. You tangle his other hand in your hair and snuggle into him, sighing as you feel his touch, warmth, and scent around you.

You both fall asleep cuddled together. And for a moment, you allow yourself to be in bliss of his touch and closeness, not worrying about any politics or issues that you should discuss instead of... giving in to something you have wanted for a long time.

From now on, you decide your fate.

Only you and Feyd.

That's why you make sure that your first child will be a daughter.

Taglist: (I REALLLLY hope that everyone who wanted to be here is here...😅 I;m sorry if I missed someone <3) @skymoonandstardust @prettybubblesintheair @thegabbyh @himesuedi @wo-ming-bai @beebeechaos @mamawiggers1980 @moonsoulk @avidreader73 @heartarianagran @dreamlandcreations @ancientbeing10 @lovereadingfanfic @jeansjoie @workof-a-rr-t @aixicl @ladyredstar1991 @evangelineimagine @hobobobo-fett56 @happyant3 @marsflys @aaaaaamond @kamcrazy123 @k1swass @yum-yahgurt @tyns13 @oh-you-mean-me @menari @tyns13 @vaf24 @dacreshoney @emrennoll-blog @tian-monique @slightlypossessed @celestialadrift @lauramooij05 @flaps200 @chixnugg22 @aaaaaamond @marvelfangirl04 @sw33tsnow @emeraldsgirl @imyourbubblegumpop @tempt-ress @harkonnin @k1swass @alana4610 @cloudroomblog @lotus-888 @lowlyloved @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @w3ird11 @kythefangirl25 @hobobobo-fett56 @nj452896 @oneandonlybbygrl @noirecatt @iloved1lfs0 @mamawiggers1980 @lololfixu @barnes70stark @obsessedvibee @aaaaaamond @workof-a-rr-t  @oneandonlybbygrl @alexa4040 @lowlyloved @toertchen @em-100 @caintheking @justarandomflowerchildofthenight @hrtifyeren

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

a/n: published this on wattpad a while ago. someone said i should upload it here as well so here it is :)

summary: natasha romanoff x married!reader; nat and you used to be in love. now, years later, you're married to a wealthy man and have a daughter with him. will running into natasha change everything? (not the best description but you get the point)

warnings: none (i think)

word count: 4.9k

part 1, part 2, part 3…

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— THE ART GALLERY —

Nude-colored stilettos hit the concrete, the ground underneath still slightly wet from the rain earlier. Two little feet, clad in white ballet flats, follow. You feel a warm hand slip into yours, tugging lightly.

Nina stares at you, her eyes wide and her hand clutching the little stuffed bear she carries everywhere. Despite being used to this kind of extravagance, she's overwhelmed — and you definitely can't blame her.

A long red carpet stretches out in front of you, leading up to the entrance of the art gallery. People with cameras everywhere, the frenzy of flashing lights and clicking noises enough to irritate you. Sleek entrance doors that are open wide, allowing the chatter of the people inside to waft all the way over to where you're standing.

The large windows of the gallery glow warmly, casting a golden light onto the lush grass surrounding it. It's a modern building, long and almost box-like. Not what you would've picked, but it's not like anyone's asking you anyway.

This is Ethan's dream. It's an investment he made. It's — just like you and the girl holding your hand — more of a status symbol than anything else. Theres not much passion behind this, as its main purpose is to project sophistication and attract alliances among elite circles.

Circles you never wanted to be a part of.

What are you even doing here?

You thank your driver before closing the door of the black sedan, then you crouch down in front of Nina. You smooth her hair down with practiced elegance, catching the look in her eyes.

"It's loud", she states, pulling the teddy to her chest. "Where's daddy?"

"He's inside, honey." You straighten back up, adjusting your silk slip dress. An emerald color, matching the deep forest green of Nina's velvet attire. "You ready?"

"Yes!" She grabs your hand again, suddenly seeming more like the usual, confident child she is. At least someone isn't completely dreading the upcoming few hours, which surely will be spent making pointless smalltalk and eating food you can't even pronounce.

You smile at her, then you take a deep breath. Silently steeling yourself for the evening, you finally make your way up to the entrance.

A few staff members in chic evening attire linger by the door, greeting arriving guests and bowing ever so slightly as they recognize you. You smile, hoping they can't sense how nervous you are. Nina stays close by your side, the soft padding of her feet the only thing that's keeping you grounded in reality right now.

Honestly, part of you doesn't know what you're doing here. You're supporting your husband, sure — but, again, this is his project. You weren't involved in this in the slightest. Hell, you didn't even know about it up until two months ago, when he suddenly confessed to buying this building in the heart of Tribeca.

You were confused, as you couldn't believe he'd keep this a secret for so long. It's a big investment, after all, and you thought he'd include you in something like this.

As always, his response was defensive; it was the usual shtick of "it's my money and I'm allowed to do what I want with it and you don't care about my work anyway" — something you've heard too many times. You eventually decided to drop it, finding that an argument at 6 in the morning would be pointless and only lead to more issues.

What you're seeing now is the outcome of his idea to invest in something that's even more extravagant than his luxury condos in Manhattan.

White walls and high ceilings, a clean and polished interior. Spotlights highlight the artwork — large-scale abstract paintings, photographs of New York landmarks taken at unique angles, vibrant pop art pieces.

Nina's eyes are even wider than yours. She starts bouncing on the spot, her hand squeezing yours.

"Mommy, mommy! A bear!"

Of course. That damned bear painting, displayed right at the beginning of the main wall. It's there because of Nina, because he desperately wanted to tell everyone how he kept his daughter's favorite emotional support toy in mind for this. It's both cute and infuriating, because you're well aware that your child would rather see her dad than some abstract piece of art that vaguely reminded him of that stuffed animal.

"Looks like Bearie, hm?", you reply, gently coaxing her further into the room. You're trying to get away from all the prying eyes. You're sure you've been recognized by now.

"Yes! But it's pink. Why is it pink? Bearie isn't pink."

"No, he isn't." You shake some older woman's hand, offering her a polite smile.

Nina keeps chattering happily, taking in all the sensations around her. Classical music floating from hidden speakers, the guests — a predictable assortment of New York's elite — all dressed in tailored suits and couture dresses. The laugher is quiet but rich, as expected; you don't hear a single genuine sound apart from your daughter's little voice.

"Mommy, look! It's shiny", she whispers with a small gasp, pointing at a twisting metal piece that's catching the light just right. She's enchanted by the sculpture. At least someone here is genuinely interested in art.

"Good observation, bug", you whisper back, gently nudging her further into the room.

Unbeknownst to you, a familiar redhead stands at the far edge of the gallery, her back to the crowd and her eyes scanning over the art displayed in front of her.

. . .

Ethan places his hand on your lower back, a gesture that feels like it's rather about keeping you at a distance than having you close. Nina reaches for his sleeve, pulling at it.

"Daddy? Can we-"

"Honey, I'm talking", he says firmly, briefly touching her hair before straightening up again. In front of you is a man who's (apparently) quite important. Richard Harrington, a renowned art collector and critic, balding and in his late 60s. "Mr. Harrington, I'd like to introduce you to my wife, Y/N, and our daughter Nina."

"Pleasure to meet you", you say dutifully, shaking his hand. Nina just stares at him, slowly beginning to hide behind your leg.

"Likewise." Harrington glances at your child, who's clearly not fond of him. He clears his throat, plastering a small smile on his face. "I trust Ethan has been keeping you well acquainted with the art world?"

"Of course", you say politely, giving a short nod. You glance at Nina as her hand twitches in your grasp, her patience clearly waning. She's a child — environments like this one, forced and restricted, are the furthest from what fits her spirit. "Just a moment, sweetheart."

Nina huffs, giving the man another last, scrutinizing glare. Her hand slips out of yours during a short moment of carelessness — you're too focused on appearing both friendly and charming, trying to make this Harrington-guy think you're some picture-perfect family.

Then you realize that the warmth of your daughter's hand has gone missing from yours. Starting to panic, your eyes immediately sweep across the room. It's not that big of a building, but it's dark outside, and you really don't want to lose her in this flock of people. Thankfully, you manage to catch a peek of her velvet dress as it disappears behind a corner.

"Sorry, she- she loves art a little too much for her own good", you apologize, stepping away from your husband and the art mogul. Ethan clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably.

"Kids, you know", he says, smiling stiffly, as you've already started to go and catch up to your daughter.

Nina has always been a little artist. She carries crayons and small notepads wherever she can, drawing random stuff while sitting in the back of the car or while waiting for her food in restaurants. She'll stop whenever she sees a sculptures, asking increasingly specific questions until you're on the verge of despair. Her drawers are filled with 'art supplies' — leaves, buttons, washi tape — and the walls of her bedroom are full of her drawings. Her love for everything creative is the only reason why you appreciate your husband's decision to invest in this gallery.

Her eyes get stuck on the painting that a woman with red hair is looking at. Nina chews on her lip as she sees the info panel underneath, the amount of letters too overwhelming for her not even four year old brain to string together into words yet. She swiftly grabs the hand of the woman next to her, deep green eyes meeting her own.

For a moment, Natasha feels like she's looking at someone she met in what feels like another life. The same features, the same eyes, the same little frown on her face. So sweet, so familiar, digging up memories that she buried years ago.

Beneath the soft spotlights, Natasha's face is framed in surprise. Something vulnerable flickers through her eyes as she studies the child. She masks her surprise fairly quickly, but she still feels taken aback.

"Miss? Can you read this for me?" Then, sounding hopeful, the girl adds: "Please?"

Natasha nods, crouching down next to the child without thinking twice. This is surely a coincidence, she thinks, glancing over her shoulder. Then her eyes skim over the short text printed on the info panel, her hand still holding the girl's absentmindedly.

"It's called 'Whispers of the Wind'", she reads aloud, her usual detached tone softened. "Painted by an artist named Ciara Han. It's supposed to remind you of the sound trees make when the wind moves through them."

Nina smiles at her and Natasha feels herself falter once more. She knows that smile.

No, correction: knew. She knew that smile.

"Thank you!", Nina whispers like she's sharing a secret, still refusing to let go of the woman's hand. She has no clue who she is, but she was nice enough to read the info panel to her, and to her toddler-brain that automatically means she's a friend.

"You're welcome. But you shouldn't go walking around talking to strangers", Natasha says gently, her eyes filled with concern. "Where's your-"

"There you are!" You hurry over, breathless and apologetic, and put your hands on Nina's shoulders. The little girl looks up at you, only now letting go of the woman's hand. "You can't just wander off like that", you chide softly.

Ready to apologize to the woman next to your daughter, you look up from the child's face.

Nothing could have prepared either of you for this moment.

The eye contact sucks you back into a past you believed to be long buried, one you'd rather forget. Your breath hitches, her mask crumbles. Raw emotions, brief as the flicker of a candle, both of you too stunned to say something at first.

"Natasha", you finally say, still looking like you've just seen a ghost.

"It's been a while", she replies simply, straightening up. Navy blazer and a matching skirt, high heels that accentuate her calves. Red lips, red hair. Effortlessly stunning, as always.

You clear your throat, looking at Nina to distract yourself. "This, uhm- this is my daughter."

Nina looks back at Natasha, whose name she now knows. "Are you and my mommy friends?"

"Something like that."

You shoot her a small, bittersweet smile, gently tugging Nina to your side. "Didn't think you'd be into art, if I'm being honest."

Natasha smiles slightly, glancing at the row of paintings next to you. Han's 'Whispers of the Wind', Kozlova's 'Boundless Skies', Monroe's 'In the Absence of Time'.

No, she isn't into art. Never really has been, if she's being honest — she enjoys literature much more. A good book, maybe. That's her thing. She can't tell you why she's actually here, though.

"Didn't think you'd be, either", Natasha says, loosely clasping her hands together.

"I'm not", you admit, causing Nina to give you an offended look. "This art gallery? It's my husband's, actually. I'm just here to...support him, you know."

All of a sudden, it's like someone turned on a light switch in Natasha's head. A look of realization crosses her face. Y/N Bailey, wife of investment banker Ethan Bailey — she'd skipped that part carelessly, not deeming it of any significance. The name had been familiar, but the surname was enough to make her forget about it.

Now, she feels stupid for not checking.

"Right", she says slowly, looking at Nina again. Her eyes soften. "She seems to like it quite a bit, though."

"I know." You glance at your daughter, remembering how you found her; next to a crouching Natasha, listening to her as she read the info panel to her. "By the way, did you say thank you?"

"I said thank you." Nina nods earnestly. Natasha and you smile simultaneously, your eyes locking. Then, short lived lightheartedness of the moment vanishes like smoke.

You chastise yourself for even beginning to think that it's nice to see her again.

"Well, I'm not going to hold you up any longer. Enjoy your evening."

"You too", you say quietly, making your daughter look at you with a puzzled expression.

. . .

— BEHIND CLOSED DOORS —

Your days have been the same ever since Nina was born. More or less, anyways.

Coffee and checking the news while your daughter's asleep. Time that feels hollow, spent alone since Ethan leaves an hour before you wake up. You've convinced yourself that you're used to it, that it'll change eventually. He loves you, you love him — one day, you won't feel as lost as you do right now. All you've got to do is push through and fight for this.

Next on the agenda: showering. Waking Nina up and getting her ready for the day. Breakfast together, then driving her to preschool.

You miss her as soon as you're back in the car, her seat now empty. She'll be gone for the next few hours, which means that the hardest part of your day is about to start.

You'll do anything to kill time — go grocery shopping, do the laundry, make sure the house is nice and clean. You never envisioned yourself as a stay-at-home wife (and sometimes, you can't believe that this term is very much accurate now, whether you want to admit it or not), but here you are. Cleaning, picking up things for Ethan, doing stuff around the house.

You feel pathetic for despising a life you willingly chose. Guilt is a constant visitor, dwelling in your mind like an annoying little fly you can't shoo out of the house. Worst of all: you feel like Nina deserves better. You try your hardest to be the mom she deserves, but you can't help but feel like you're failing her in ways you can't quite put into words.

Frustrated, you buckle up and start the car. There's a sense of silent camaraderie as all the parents (mostly moms, of course) finally start to empty the parking lot in front of the preschool. Some of them are going to work, others are spending the day like you.

Despite the fact that you're not that different all, you still feel like a complete outsider.

You turn up the music as you continue driving without a specific location in mind. Your fingers drum against the steering wheel anxiously, betraying your quiet humming. Self-soothing never really worked for you.

Without your consent, your mind starts conjuring up images from last night. One thing they all have in common is Natasha.

You haven't seen her in so long. Six years, maybe even seven, have passed since your breakup. You spent all that time forgetting what you had, tucking it away so it's safe and sound, trying to get over her.

You are over her, aren't you?

You love Ethan, after all. You married him — the ring on your left hand is proof of that — and even had a child with him. He's everything you could desire in a person, but he's also nothing you ever wanted.

Sometimes, you have the feeling that you fell in love with an idea rather than the man himself. He's hard-working, ambitious, with a keen eye for prestige and profit. You secretly believe he thinks of his marriage to you as yet another achievement, something that looks good on paper. And while he does love Nina, it's also obvious that he just doesn't enjoy being a father the way you hoped he would.

Wealth, luxury, status — a family, held together by money and responsibility. Just thinking about it makes your skin crawl, especially when you remember how different it was with Natasha.

Natasha wasn't easy, and neither were you, but it was real. It was genuine affection, quiet understanding, raw love — soft and sweet and haunting.

There's a reason why it took you so many years to forget — and all it took was running into her for you to remember it all.

You look up, realizing where you've been driving. You slow down, your heart hammering, your eyebrows knitting in confusion.

The Avengers Tower looks different. The logo is gone, replaced by the words Stark Industries — glowing in neon lights, of course — and the building in general has changed. The logo, the sleek design, the parking lot where you once saw the Quinjet come and go.

Your stomach drops. You can't resist the temptation to pull over, so you do just that. Your fingers shake as you unbuckle, then you hesitantly get out of the car to confirm what you just saw.

The Avengers are gone. They've moved, moved on, moved to god knows where, a location you can't even begin to guess. You didn't keep in touch, you let the distance grow, and now there's no way for you to find Natasha.

Stop. You blink a few times, shaking your head and mentally slamming your foot down on the brakes. Your thoughts have taken an unwelcome turn, a dangerous one at that. You shouldn't mourn something that slipped from your fingertips years ago, not when you've finally settled into your own life.

Natasha isn't your reality anymore. She's your past — which is something no one will ever be able to take from you —, but nothing more.

The leather of the driver's seat is still warm when you sit down, but the hollow feeling in your chest won't leave.

. . .

"Look, mommy."

Nina is standing in front of you, holding out yet another drawing. You put the folded jeans aside before gently taking it from her, making sure not to accidentally crease the paper. The last time that happened, it ended with her throwing a tantrum.

"Wow, that's amazing", you praise her, still inspecting the drawing. It's your parental duty to commend every piece of art she hands you, but you're also genuinely impressed. The castle she drew is surprisingly realistic, at least if you consider the fact that she's not even four years old. "You even added a princess!"

"That's Rapunzel", she explains, her finger lightly poking at the blonde-haired figure. She even remembered to add that signature long braid. "Can I show daddy?"

You hesitate, passing the drawing back to her. "Daddy's working, honey."

"Please?", she begs, pouting. "I be quick."

"You'll be quick, huh?" You smile softly, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. You feel bad for her — Ethan came home early, but immediately disappeared into his office. He did hug the girl right after arriving, but even that seemed hurried. "Alright, fine. Come here."

You get off the couch and scoop her up, carrying her out of the living room. You walk up the two steps that lead to the small landing, then you turn to access the main part of the staircase. Clean, minimalistic hallways that feel almost sterile, a stark contrast to the homey feel of the living area downstairs. Maybe that's the reason why your husband spends most of his time up here.

You open the door to his office, just barely catching a glimpse of him shutting down his computer rapidly. He swivels around in his desk chair, trying to appear unfazed.

"You didn't knock."

You frown, setting Nina down on the floor. She pads over to him, waving the drawing in front of his face. He glances at it, making a halfhearted sound of approval.

"I need to knock?", you finally ask, slightly disbelieving. "Are you being serious?"

"I'm working", Ethan promptly replies, patting Nina's head before nudging her back in your direction. She huffs quietly, reaching out her arms for you. You set her on your hip, your jaw clenching as Ethan continues. "You can't just burst in like that. What if I had been in a Zoom meeting?"

"Were you?", you probe, shifting your hold on your daughter.

"Does it matter?!"

"Yes, it-" You cut yourself off, taking a deep breath. No fighting in front of the kid, you remind yourself — begrudgingly. "You know what? It doesn't matter, Ethan. It really doesn't."

He watches you, his lips set in a thin line. He contemplates what to say now, how to end this short argument without riling you up further.

You raise your eyebrows, still waiting. He sighs, leaning back in his chair and ruffling up his hair.

"I'll be downstairs in ten. Maybe we can watch a movie together?"

Nina's eyes widen when she hears that, oblivious to the fact that it's just a strategy to appease you. She quickly taps your shoulder. "Oh, Tangled! Mommy, please Tangled?"

You look at her and smile, your eyes softening. You feel bad that you're even thinking this, but you can't help yourself: thank god she didn't turn out to be like him.

"Sure, honey." You turn around and leave, your voice slowly turning muffled as you go downstairs. "Help me with the popcorn?"

. . .

— IN PLAIN SIGHT —

Natasha adjusts her earrings, her eyes locking on the silver jewelry through the mirror. She reaches for some lipstick — a more natural shade, one that doesn't stand out as much — and slides on a pair of glasses.

Her bag is just full enough to not raise suspicion. A taser, miniature bugs, a parabolic microphone, USB sticks and a multi-tool lock pick set. A compact mirror and smoke pellets, a customized phone — voice modulator and spoofing app included — and a cable launcher.

Does she feel bad? Only mildly.

Only because of your connection to all of this.

Still, she can't let old feelings and sentimentality stand in the way of this. People are getting hurt, whether he wants to admit it to himself or not. He's not the one who's pulling the strings, but he's financing it.

Natasha steps out of the car, inspecting the sleek office building in front of her. High-end, in the middle of Manhattan's financial district.

Her high heels clack on the polished floors of the lobby, her manicured hands keep a tight grasp on the clipboard in front of her chest. The elderly receptionist is too distracted to pay her much attention, so she swiftly dips into the elevator, joining a group of middle-aged men.

Natasha faces the doors of the elevator, her ears picking apart every detail of the men's quiet conversation. Nothing about an Ethan or Mr. Bailey, nothing that could be of use.

The elevator dings when it arrives on the floor where Bailey's office is located. She steps out, moving through the hallways with a confident elegance that makes it seem like she belongs here. Just another coworker that's on her way to start a day filled with issuing stocks and bonding shares, making rich companies even more money.

A name tag tells her that she's found what she's looking for. She hides behind a corner, pulls out her phone and matches her phone number to the lobby desk. Finally, she dials Ethan's number.

He picks up, his voice slightly irritated after he saw who's calling. "Bailey here. What is it?"

"Mr. Bailey", Natasha says, her professional tone mimicking the receptionist's perfectly. "There's a delivery for you in the lobby. The courier insists on handing it over personally."

"Is that really necessary? I'm busy."

Natasha rolls her eyes. "It won't take long. They said it's important. Something about a painting?"

"Right, right. I'll be there in a minute."

She can hear him jump up, the door to his office suddenly opening as the phone call ends. Footsteps make their way down the hall, turning quieter until they entirely stop. The elevator doors slide open with a soft 'whoosh', confirming his current absence.

Natasha puts the phone away, then she makes a beeline for his office. Door's open — how careless.

She slips inside, her eyes immediately scanning the office. It looks like straight out of a catalogue. Extremely clean, apart from his desk which is littered with files and documents. A single, lonely plant in the corner, one family picture right next to his computer. Nina's much smaller in it, maybe a year old, but you're the same.

Aside from that, nothing personal. Nothing Nina made in preschool, no drawings, no souvenirs or trinkets. It's cold, but that's not surprising.

She turns away, discreetly planting a listening device under the desk. A micro camera is hidden between the leaves of the plant, placed strategically so he won't find it even when watering it.

Natasha doesn't have much time. Getting to the lobby, asking for the courier, and then getting back in the elevator will take approximately three minutes. She quickly plugs a portable hacking device into his computer. It bypasses the encryption and starts downloading files as she simultaneously takes pictures of the documents on his desk.

Financial ledgers, contracts, and a suspicious invoice from a shipping company. She wants to take a better look at it, but the device has finished downloading data, so she unplugs it and starts cleaning up. She leaves the office, waits for Ethan to return, and then makes her way into the lobby again.

The elevator doors shut at the exact moment you close the car door.

One hand holding Nina's and the other carrying a white paper bag, you make your way into the lobby. Natasha spots you and quickly hides behind a corner, watching you through her compact mirror. The last thing she needs now is for you to spot her and blow her cover.

"Hey, Erica. Can you watch her for a moment?"

The receptionist nods, smiling at Nina. This is a regular occurrence by now — you'll come by to bring Ethan something, and Nina will stay in the lobby to avoid getting too distracted by her father. If she sees him, you know it'll be hard to leave.

"Be good for Miss Erica, okay? Mommy won't take long", you promise her, letting her sit down on the chair next to Erica's. Nina holds onto her bear tightly, her eyes immediately zeroing in on a sticky note that's barely clinging to the frame of the computer.

You go into the elevator, pressing the button to Ethan's office. Natasha makes sure the doors have closed, then she steps out of her hiding spot. She weaves through the lobby unnoticed — until a little voice cuts through the air.

"Hey! Hey, mommy's friend!"

Natasha freezes.

Fuck. She didn't think about your daughter, or that she would recognize her. She especially didn't think she'd bother enough to come over and greet her with a wide smile on her face.

Slowly, she turns around. Nina has already padded over, her eyes wide and her excitement impossible to miss. One hand clutches her stuffed bear, the other tugs at Natasha's arm.

"Hey, kiddo", she says, briefly glancing up as Erica approaches them.

"Do you know her, sweetheart?", the receptionist asks, studying Natasha carefully. She hasn't seen this woman before, so Nina's ecstatic reaction makes her feel on guard.

"She's Natasha. She's my mommy's friend!"

Natasha directs a slightly helpless look at the receptionist before crouching down in front of Nina. She tries to calm the girl down, not wanting to attract more attention than necessary. She should be annoyed that the child decided to just run up to her and make everyone aware of her presence, but she can't help but be softened by the smile on the girl's face.

"Yes, I'm your mommy's friend", she says, trying to politely disengage. "But I have to leave, honey. I have an appointment. You know what an appointment is?"

"I do." Nina nods, still holding on to her sleeve. Natasha takes a fleeting look at the elevator again, ensuring you're still upstairs.

"Good, you're smart." Natasha smiles, not hearing the elevator doors slide open. "I have an appointment soon, so I have to hurry. Be nice and wait for your mommy, okay?"

You step into the lobby without Natasha noticing, a frown forming on your face as you realize Nina isn't in her spot by the reception desk anymore. Your eyes sweep across the room — and then you see her. It gives you a sense of deja vu, seeing a crouching Natasha next to your daughter.

First the art gallery, now this. What is going on?

You hurry over without dwelling on the thought too much, a wary look on your face. Her eyes zero in on your boots, slowly trailing up your body until her gaze meets yours.

"Natasha?"

[thenationofzaun]

Underneath the joke here, there is actually something compelling to be explored. The idea of "Jinx" being so notorious that she's mythologized. The myth being a hyper exaggeration of all her infamous traits, until it strays far from what the real Jinx is actually like. A spin on the whole "League of Legends" thing. The show did attempt to play into this theme with the openings. The way Season 1's opening depicts statues carved of stone, showing them as heroes and legendary figures, then Season 2's opening depicts them as human, stripped down to their underclothes. But the show could have done much more with this than a simple joke about an enforcer thinking the real criminal mastermind would never wear circus pants.

Imagine people telling stories of the dangerous criminal Jinx, but exaggerating certain details about her. Saying her nails are long and pointed as talons, her braids drag behind her on the ground, her teeth are sharp as a shark's, her bullets never miss, she is utterly without feeling or mercy, a spectre come to haunt and destroy Piltover. Imagine Piltovians viewing her as a horror story, and Zaunites viewing her as a dark hero, their vengeance against Piltover. Of course, the real Jinx likes painting her nails bright pink, let her father braid her pigtails, has a small tooth gap, misses her shots often, and feels way too much. The idea of both cities taking this girl and turning her into a legend, stripping away all her human qualities and projecting all their own fears and desires onto her is so interesting. Jinx, Piltover's ruin and Jinx, Zaun's revenge. Instead of Jinx the human.

Imagine Jayce meeting her. He never met her in the entire show's run which I feel is a missed opportunity. She was the catalyst of so much of his story in Season 1. It was her who broke into his lab, stole his gemstone and research. She defaced his entire lab, putting her grafitti and monkey symbols everywhere to taunt him. He spent the entirety of Season 1 worried sick that she would find a way to weaponize the gemstone. Her massacre of the enforcers on the bridge traumatized and sickened him. He demanded that she be locked up in exchange for Zaun's independence. I wonder how he imagines her? Does he picture a grown woman? Someone his age or older? Someone devoid of emotion or humanity? Imagine if he finally met her, this person who has caused him so much distress, and he sees an ill teenage girl. Baby fat on her cheeks and chipped nail polish.

Vi's story could have mirrored this too, losing her own identity while her sister sinks herself into her "Jinx" persona. Feeling abandoned and betrayed by Zaun, she rejects it and falls into Caitlyn's (Piltover's) arms. Becoming absorbed and assimilated into the city, losing connection to her real roots. Piltover taking advantage of her strength and exploiting it against Zaun. Turning her into their weapon, one of their enforcers. Using her as a diversity hire, the token trencher to prove how kind and not at all oppressive the enforcers are. Vi losing her own humanity as she makes The Piltover Enforcer her new identity and lets herself be engulfed by it, the way her sister does with her Jinx identity. Both cities taking these sisters and turning them into symbols. The sisters being dehumanized but letting it happen because they feel they have no other path or that they deserve it. But underneath Jinx and Piltover's Enforcer, are two broken young women.

[jonathancranesmalewife]

In some Addicts recovery programs they have chips and chip ceremonies, A “Coin Out” ceremony is a symbolic event that marks an individual’s progress and achievements in their journey toward sobriety. The ceremony typically involves the presentation of a sobriety coin or medallion, symbolizing the duration of time the individual has remained abstinent from substances and I am just thinking of Roy Harper going to others celebrations seeing their friends and families show up for them knowing how lonely it’ll be for his. Roy doesn’t have anyone he could imagine would show up- he has Lian of course and she’ll be there for him of course but Roy still felt a longing sense of family that he just doesn’t have.

Sure he has friends, tons of them- but what if he invited them and they didn’t show? What if it was too awkward for them. He doesn’t put much effort into thinking about until the date starts slowly approaching. Killer Croc keeps urging him to invite people and make sure his friends save the date.

Roy does try to think of people to invite but can’t think of why people would try to sit in a shitty little room that somehow always smelled faintly like hotdogs and watch him get a chip and eat store bought cupcakes and cookies and drink really watered down fruit punch.

He attempts though, he has several drafted texts to Dick and Wally as they are the few friends he knew would even entertain the idea of going but still he felt guilty about asking them to waste their time.

Thinking things would be easier with asking Jason was a lie, he and Jason were close- hell that was his best friend but there was an unspoken agreement that really only Roy followed not to talk about his life. Again only Roy followed this because most of their hang outs was Jason complaining about his family.

Roy had spoken to them often actually, Roy and Lian were often dinner guests at the Wayne manor. It started with Jason being frustrated that all of his siblings brought people and he was always left out, so Roy showed up out of the blue with Lian on his hip, he brought a cookies for dessert, they weren’t good cookies most had too much icing or not enough- Lians decorating skills needed work. After sitting through the first dinner Roy understood why Jason would hate it not having someone there, he enjoyed the dinner though. Lian loved Alfred’s cooking and she made sure to tell everyone that, Jason seemed to be more enjoy Roy next to him. Roy enjoyed hearing about Dick and Jason growing up and all the mischief they got into. Jason invited him to the Wayne family dinners ever since. He enjoyed being close Jason and subsequently being close with the whole Wayne family. Dick and him already close from their younger years, He and Alfred bonded over baking, Bruce and him spent hours talking about child rearing, Tim and Roy often discussed about their leather jacket wearing best friends that were totally just their best friends and nothing more, Cass and him enjoyed listening to niche music together, Steph and him would text about pranks and other forms of playfully harassment, He and Duke would watch Quentin Tarantino movies together, Damian and him- well they weren’t so much close as Damian hadn’t tried to kill him yet. Roy had remembered a conversation that ended in Damian’s locking eyes with Jason and must muttering the words. ‘He is acceptable.’ Before walking off.

However just cause he was close with them doesn’t mean he knew how to ask them all to waste their Friday night on him. He tried to ask! He really did, he walked into Bruce’s office to ask but he wasn’t there. He called Jason to ask but Jason was on a tangent about what Bruce did to upset him that week. He had went to Dick and Wally’s apartment to ask however as soon as they saw Lian they were went straight into their favorite uncle personas and then it felt awkward to bring up.

The day rolled around and he sat in a chair behind the podium as Waylon spoke about how proud of the next chip receiver he was. Waylon always talked him up and spoke highly of Roy.

Roy looked up towards the crowd and saw his little girl sitting front and center surrounded by empty seats.

Lian saw Roy look her way and she gave the biggest smile and waved excitedly. Her smile warmed his heart, she had just lost one of her front teeth earlier on in the week. Her dress was once she specifically picked out for this. His little girl demanded that this was a special occasion and that special occasions required special outfits. The polka dotted red and yellow dress Roy thought was gaudy however his little girl looked so proud to be wearing it for her dads big moment.

He waved back to his daughter and smiled. At least he could count on her to be there.

Roy’s name got called and he stood up walking towards Waylon to receive his chip giving an awkward smile and wave to the crowd. Before he made it to the podium the front doors bursted open and in tumbled about eight bats, one speedster and a butler, all in nice outfits and all out of breath.

Everyone in the room stared at the clump of people standing up and dusting themselves off. Roy heard some whispers and others asking their peers whose family the group belonged to.

Lian quickly answered their questions by loudly exclaiming, ‘Daddy look all your friends came for your chip ceremony! Look!’

As if Roy wasn’t stood in front of everyone with a mixture of shock and disbelief written all over his face. Now everyone’s eyes moved from the group to Roy Harper. Great. Awesome.

Dick was the first one to speak and apologized for being late claiming traffic before grabbing Wally’s arm and sitting next to Lian. The others muttered in some sort of agreement and followed Dick.

Waylon looked at Roy and smiled, the ceremony continued on and Roy got his chip giving everyone a little wave and a shy thanks.

The front row exploded in claps and whooping as he got it. Roy felt his face go as red as his hair. It did feel nice though to have people cheering him on for a change.

Waylon put a hand on Roy’s shoulder expressing how proud of him he was for inviting them. Roy would’ve gladly taken the praise if he actually did invite them but he didn’t.

As soon as the ceremony was over Roy stepped off the stage and got rushed with congratulations and apologies for being late. Lian hugs him tightly and squealed in his ear about how cool it was to see him on stage. He had received a hug from Dick spinning him around telling him they should go out and celebrate later that night. Steph pinched his cheeks and Steph scolded him for not telling them and Duke slapped his back exclaiming how proud of him he was . Cas just patted his head and gave him a thumbs up. Bruce had patted his shoulder awkwardly exclaiming that next time they have a family dinner he will ask Alfred to cook Roy’s favorite dish to celebrate. Alfred handed him a small tin of snickerdoodle cookies saying he recalled Roy mentioning that they were his favorite once, they were Roy’s favorite. Wally congratulated him with a headlock and noogie telling not to hide this stuff from them again. Damian shook his Roys hand telling him it was a great achievement and he should be proud.

Roy blinked confused looking up at one out of the two people left to congratulate him. Tim smirked and shook his head at him, “Youd have to know we’d find out and show up. You’re part of the family now. Your business is our business now.” Tim patted Roy on the chest as he past him.’Good luck with him though, he’s still kind of pissed you kept it a secret.’

Roy looked forward at his best friend whose brows were furrowed and his mouth wore a tight frown, he wore his leather jacket but a black button up under it. Roy guessed this was Jasons dressing up attire. Jason shoved something toward him and looked away a soft red dusting on his face.

Flowers? Jason Todd was giving him flowers? For what?

Roy blinked and looked towards him and took the flowers.”You uh..you got me flowers?” He asks him and then was handed an card with trucks on it.”Oh and a card.”

‘Happy 3rd birthday nephew!’ The outside of the card read.

Jason nodded curtly.”Well there isn’t a card that said congratulations on your sobriety, trust me I looked..” he says.”The card is from all of us and the flowers are just..from me. I didn’t know what to get you and I didn’t want to overdo it or underdo it I guess..

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Jason shifted awkwardly.”We all signed the card but I think Bruce put like eight hundred dollars in there which I told him not to do because I know you don’t like that shit but he doesn’t listen-“

His hand grabbed Jasons to stop the man from rambling. Roy looked at his best friend, Jasons eyebrows still were furrowed and Roy knew this was out of Jason’s comfort zone, being emotionally vulnerable and having to outwardly show his affection.

“Jason it’s fine, thank you for the flowers and the card..thank you for showing up..” he says pulling him into a hug.

Roy felt Jason’s arms wrap around him and Jason’s chin rest on Roy’s shoulder with a deep sigh of relief. Roy stayed hugging him for a moment taking it all in. His best friend sacrificing his comfort to support him? The whole family showing up for him.

“I can not believe you didn’t tell a single person- I mean you’d think us being friends or whatever you want to call it for five years you’d tell me!” Jason scolded him still in the hug.”I had to hear from stupid ass Dick of all people who heard it from Lian. I mean come on Roy, you at least could’ve told me…”

A shaky breath left Roy’s mouth as he pulled away with tears in his eyes, he was happy. He was happy he wasn’t alone anymore- he had this big family that showed up for him.

“Holy shit I made you cry, look we can leave-“ Jason starts to ramble before Roy shut him up with laugh.

“No no I’m just- I’ve never had people care enough to show up. Thank you for coming. Seriously all of you.” He looks at Jason and cupped his cheek and kissed his lips softly.

Jason didn’t react for a moment then held Roy’s face melting into the kiss. He pulled away blushing.”Well you’re important to us- most importantly to me..so of course we’d show up for you.”

Roy nodded grins kissing his nose.”I know that now Jaybird..”

Roy sat with everyone eating shitty store bought cookies and drinking watered down fruit punch as he talked and laughed with them. His best friends arms wrapped around him in a way that was definitely more than you should do with your best friend but..tonight wasn’t about figuring out his and Jason’s relationship it was about him getting his chip and everyone supporting him..

HI HI!! I wrote this and so sad! Apologies if it’s not worded correctly 🧡🧡

[luxaofhesperides]

Soulmate AU: First Words + End of the World ; requested by @justwannabecat!

Duke has long since accepted that he doesn’t have great luck. Most things in his life tend to go wrong very quickly, or complicate situations he was already struggling in (see: being a meta and getting his powers in the middle of a fight). Having an incomprehensible soulmark is an unpleasant discovery on the morning of his nineteenth birthday, but not entirely unexpected.

He had been hoping for something simple, a common one like hi it’s nice to meet you or sorry, didn’t mean to bump into you.

What Duke gets instead isn’t even words. 

Scrawled across his left hipbone is a string of symbols glowing a faint green. They’re not in a language he recognizes, and the symbols seem to move, shifting ever so slightly so they look different every time he blinks.

“Well,” he says after a solid five minutes of staring into the mirror, unable to rip his eyes off his soulmate’s words, “I hope theirs looks nicer than mine.”

He spends his birthday in a bit of a daze, enjoying time spent with the Waynes and his friends. It’s hard to be fully present when he’s all too aware of the soreness on his hipbone flaring up each time he moves. It’s hard to keep his mind off of it, wanting nothing more than to search for answers, unravel the mystery of his soulmate’s first words.

“Something on your mind?” Jason asks, as the attention shifts off of him for a brief moment as Harper and Cullen get ready to leave and everyone rushes to give their goodbyes,

Duke shrugs, carefully keeping his hands still so they don’t drift to where his soulmark is hidden beneath his clothes. “Yeah. Nothing you need to worry about, though.”

Jason looks him over critically, then nods. 

Duke resigns himself to being investigated by the rest of the Bats. If he’s off enough that Jason had to comment on it, then that means everyone’s noticed and are trying to figure out what’s happened. They’re not going to ask him, because they think he needs space to work through whatever’s got him so distracted, but they’re also not going to just do nothing. 

This won’t be the first time they’ve done this. Duke expects it. Frankly, it would be stranger and much more concerning if they didn’t try to dig up all his secrets the moment they caught wind of him hiding something.

He’ll tell them about getting his soulmark soon. Soulmarks can appear on any birthday between the ages of thirteen to twenty five; they might suspect he got his, but they won’t be able to confirm.

For now, Duke can keep his soulmate’s first words (whatever that gibberish means) to himself.

He makes the decision then and there, as his birthday party winds down, to tell them in a week.

And because his luck is abysmal, a world ending threat hits five days later and suddenly there is no time for soulmarks and first words.

Duke is the last to arrive at the Fortress of Solitude, hitching a ride from Superboy to get there. The biting cold and the harsh winds keep the place far from the reaches of the rest of humanity, surrounded by nothing but deadly white. 

Desolate as the landscape is, it’s still in better shape than the rest of the world.

Things would be better if it was alien invaders. It would be more bearable if some sort of cosmic colossus tried to eat their solar system. At least then there would be something physical that they could fight.

Instead, the world is breaking apart, the sky and earth both fracturing to reveal glowing green faultlines. Timelines are getting mixed up and muddled; just yesterday, Duke had to evacuate a building that had been demolished forty years ago, then stop a gang leader who wouldn’t be born for another eight years from taking over a neighborhood block and holding the residents hostage. Strange creatures are appearing out of nowhere, crawling out of shadows and tide pools and from beneath the roots of trees, all horrible, monstrous things that go after people with teeth and claws. 

The Flashes and the rest of the speedsters are nowhere to be found. The last time anyone get communication from them, it had been Impulse sending Red Robin a glitchy, barely audible video chat saying something along the lines of “trying to fix—unstable—keep us here—never been alive before.” All things that are very concerning to hear, made worse by the fact that no one had been able to contact them at all. 

The quiet loneliness of the Fortress of Solitude is a welcome change from the constant screaming, death, and destruction that’s taken over Gotham as well as the rest of the world. Last he heard, even Justice League China was at the end of their rope. 

“In here,” Superboy instructs, guiding Duke through the halls. There’s no time to look around at Superman’s secret base. All his focus is stuck on staying conscious for another few hours to see if this gathering of heroes is able to find a solution to the world breaking apart.

Batman stands besides Superman. Both nod at Duke when he enters the room. Wonder Woman is watching over John Constantine as he writes something on the floor, muttering under his breath. The rest of the Justice League lean against each other, visibly exhausted as they wait for Constantine to finish up what he’s doing. A few other heroes are here too, and Duke goes to join them where they lean against a wall, fighting to keep their eyes open.

“Hey,” he greets, voice low. “Hanging in there?”

Wonder Girl sighs. “Somehow. I don’t know how much longer we can do this. There’s just too much…”

“We’ll get through this. I mean, even without us out there, plenty of civilians have formed rescue and relief groups to help with keeping things under control,” Speedy says, gently knocking her arm against Wonder Girl’s. “We just gotta keep going. No giving up.”

“What’s this plan, anyways? I just heard that they needed me here to some attempt to fix things.”

“Well, without the speedsters, you’re kind of the only one who can help with time and power related stuff,” Speedy says.

“That’s definitely a stretch. My powers don’t really have anything to do with time. It’s all just light and shadow.”

Speedy shrugs. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you? Too late to complain about it now.”

Duke doesn’t get a chance to say anything else when a loud clap catches his attention. The entire room goes still and silent as Constantine stands up and surveys the circle and symbols he’s written, taking up an entire corner of the large room. 

“Alright,” he says. “Time to get started. Remember, let me do the talking. If you have to speak, it’s only to back me up or when a question is directed to you.”

Batman nods to the other Justice Leaguers, and suddenly everyone is falling into formation behind Constantine. Duke hurries to join them with Wonder Girl and Speedy, taking a place on the edge of the group where he’s a little closer to the circle than the others. 

Constantine begins chanting. His voice is steady though none of the sounds make any sense, refusing to form themselves into recognizable words, and the air the in the room feels heavier. The chalk circle glows a blinding white and Duke can see magic swirling through the air, his power kicking in the let him watch as reality tears and a glowing star in the shape of a boy comes out of it.

Duke blinks, forcing his power down. The hypnotic swirls of magic fade from sight, but the boy still glows, bright and terrible as he floats above the circle and surveys them all. A crown engulfed in blue flame hovers above his head and the fabric of the cosmos is draped over his shoulders as a cape. 

Just from presence alone, Duke can tell that this figure is now the strongest existence in this universe. He hopes this boy king is kind; no one, not even Superman, would be able to beat him in a fight.

The boy king opens his mouth and speaks, but it’s not words than comes out. A strange static like sound emerges, but light and almost melodic. 

His left hipbone burns.

Duke gasps, hand flying down to it, and the boy king’s gaze snaps to meet his.

The world stands still. No one moves. No one dares to breathe.

And then the boy king drops to the floor and walks out of the circle.

“I thought you said that would hold him!” Batman hisses at Constantine, who is looking more and more distressed.

“It was supposed to! I wrote it specifically to hold the King of the Infinite Realms!”

The boy king glances at Constantine. This time, when he speaks, it’s in smooth English. “Did you name the king in your circle?”

“Yeah, I named Pariah Dark… Bloody hell, you ain’t him, are ya?”

“No,” the boy king smiles, “I’m Phantom.”

The cape and crown fade away, and suddenly it’s not an all powerful, terrifying king standing before them, but a young man with white hair and green eyes who looks Duke’s age. Like he could be any other new generation hero in the room. 

“Phantom,” Duke repeats lightly, just under his breath, but it makes Phantom look at him again.

He walks forward, ignoring the other heroes’ aborted attempts to stop him, coupled with Constantine’s frantic back off motion happening behind him. Phantom leaves the circle and the Justice Leaguers behind to stand before Duke, a soft smile on his face.

“Hi,” he says softly, “I dreamed of you.”

“You—what?”

“I dreamed of you. I have for years now. To think that being summoned was what made us meet—” Phantom breaks off into a breathless laugh.

Duke swallows, then drops his had from where it had been pressed against his hip. “So we’re really—? You have my first words too?”

In the corner of his eye, he sees Batman stiffen up. Maybe he should have just told them the day after his birthday, but in Duke’s defense, this is the definition of extenuation circumstances. 

“First words?” Phantom repeats, “Is that… Do we have different soulmate connections?”

“I think so. Here, everyone gets the first words their soulmates say to them appearing somewhere on their body.”

Phantom’s gaze darts down to Duke’s hip, then back up. “Oh. I get dreams. Where I’m from, we dream of our soulmates, and the closer we get to meeting them, the more we remember the dreams.”

“And you dreamed of me.”

“I did.”

“As touching as this is,” Constantine interrupts, and Duke gets to watch as Phantom rolls his eyes, “We summoned you here for a reason. Our world is falling apart at the seams and we need someone powerful, from the Realms, to help us fix it.”

“Okay.”

“...What do you mean ‘okay’?”

“I’ll help,” Phantom says.

“Just like that? No deal to be made, no price to be paid?”

“Just like that. I’m not one for deals anyways. If I can help, then I will. But I do want to see what the problem is with my soulmate by my side, if you don’t mind.”

Batman steps in, fixing Duke with a steady gaze, a barely noticeable tilt of his head. “Signal?”

“Yeah I’ll go with him. Of course I will. The sooner the better, in fact, because everything’s gone to shit.” Duke turns to Phantom, taking hold of one of his hands. “It is really bad out there,” he warns, “If you need help—”

“I’ll ask for help from others in the Realms,” Phantom says. “No offense or anything, but if it’s really that bad, I doubt living mortals will be able to do much to fix things. It’s why I was summoned, right?”

“Right. Let’s get to it, then.”

There’s a flash of mischief in Phantom’s eyes, and cheeky grin stealing across his face for a moment, before he says, “Aye aye, captain!” and picks Duke up like he weighs nothing and flies up through the ceiling.

Duke is able to hear everyone’s surprised, panicked shouts before they’re outside the Fortress of Solitude and Phantom is flying them away. He only needs a few directions from Duke before he finds the first of the large fractures in the sky.

“Yikes,” is all he says, which is not a great thing to hear. “I think I know how to fix it, though. We’ll need to do a little investigating as to who, exactly, started messing around with reality, but once we find the source, it’ll be an easy fix.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all week.”

“Even better than meeting your soulmate?”

“I haven’t slept for more than four hours all week. Knowing there’s an end in sight beats everything else.”

Phantom laughs, throwing his head back and Duke can’t help but drink in the sight of him, so ethereal and bright and full of life. “Fair enough! Got any ideas as to where we should start?”

“I’ve got an entire crew of detective vigilantes,” Duke replies. He’s not taking any more chances. No more waiting to talk about important things; he messed up by keeping his soulmark to himself, so he needs to make sure everyone meets his soulmate before shit goes south again. 

“Let’s go find them, then!”

They take off again, soaring through the skies that are barely holding themselves together. 

The world is still ending, and every hero is being stretched thin, but held carefully in Phantom’s arms, racing head first into a solution, Duke can’t help but feel that everything’s going to be alright now. 

He’s had enough bad luck. Now, his soulmate with him, bearing the title of King with grace, things are finally starting to look up.

[mrsmangi]

just found ur account and I love ur writing!! Dianthus Barbatus

smile - luigi mangione

♡ flower prompt: dianthus barbatus - trying to make a loved one smile by any means necessary - meaning: derived from the greek words “dios” (god) and “anthos” (flower); symbolic of feelings of love, affection, gratitude and admiration ♡ w.c.: 1.1k ♡ a/n: hi anon! thank you so much for this request. i'm sorry it took so long! hopefully, you enjoy it as much as i did writing it. <3

♡ send me a flower & i'll write a drabble based off the prompt ! ↪ prompts that have been requested

Luigi has never considered himself a man of grand gestures. He isn’t the type to make speeches or sweep princesses off their feet in dazzling displays of affection. It isn’t his style. Luigi prefers quiet moments, subtle actions that proved to speak louder than any word in the dictionary ever could. Still, as he stands outside your door this morning, he wonders if maybe it’s the right time to try it out. 

Buying you flowers had been an impulsive decision–something he just decided to do as he spotted a quaint flower shop on his way back home from an early errand. He spent a lot longer in the flower shop than he would ever admit to you, running his thumbs over the different textures of petals and second-guessing himself. He wanted them to be perfect–if not perfect, then right. 

The bouquet feels small in his large hand–too small, maybe. Luigi almost feels foolish holding them. The thought that he might subconsciously be attempting to distill everything he feels about you into something as fleeting as petals has his nose twitching in disapproval. 

His thoughts are interrupted by the soft click of a lock coming from your door and the creak of its hinges as it opens. You stand in the doorway, wrapped in his sweater he had left at your place a few nights before, a steaming mug in your hand. Your hair is slightly mussed, expression settled between somewhere surprised and sleepy. 

“Luigi?” you ask gently. Your voice sounds hoarse from sleep. There’s a faint crease on your cheek that suggests to him you’ve only just woken up, and yet, to him, you still look radiant. 

He smiles, holding up the flowers as if to explain himself. “Hey. I thought I would stop by.” 

Amusement sparkles in your eyes as your lips begin to pull into a smile. “With flowers?” 

“Yeah,” he says, feeling silly now. “Thought you might like them.” 

“What’s the occasion?” you ask, stepping aside to let him inside. 

“No occasion,” he says cooly, attempting to play it cool as he holds out the bouquet to you. “Just missed you.” 

“Thank you,” you say as you take the bouquet, your fingers brushing against his. The brief contact sends a small jolt of electricity through him. He thinks he may never get used to being so close to you–a blessing like you feels too unreal to fathom. “They’re beautiful, Luigi.” 

“They reminded me of you,” he says, watching your face carefully. He follows you into the kitchen where you search for a vase. You move with a kind of casual grace, the hem of his sweater brushing against your thighs, your bare feet padding softly against the floor. It’s a small, domestic thing, but he feels like he could watch you forever. 

“You know,” you begin, rinsing out a small face, glancing at him over your shoulder, “you don’t usually stop by unannounced.” You give him a sidelong look, an eyebrow raised in playful suspicion. “Did something happen? You’re not usually this…spontaneous.” 

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can’t a guy just want to spend time with you?” 

“Sure,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips. You set the vase on the table. “But I know you, Luigi. You like routine. This is very un-routine.” 

He couldn’t argue with that. You weren’t wrong at all. Then again, he thinks, watching you arrange the flowers with careful hands, there isn’t much about you that fits neatly into his routines. Maybe that’s what he liked the most about you. You slipped into the cracks of his life seamlessly, filling spaces he hadn’t even realized were empty. Everything felt brighter with you. 

“I guess I just thought it might brighten your morning,” he says. He shifts his weight slightly, watching you as you continue to fret over the positioning of the flowers. “Doesn’t hurt to try, right?” 

You glance over at him, your small smile morphing into a grin. “You’re surprisingly good at this,” you tease, tilting your head as you meet his eyes. “Have you been practicing?” 

“Only in my head,” he admits, a gentle grin tugging the corners of his mouth. “For days.” 

Luigi wasn’t lying. The truth was, he had spent most of the week thinking of ways to make you happy. He had noticed how tired you looked the last time you spoke, the way your eyes drifted to places he wasn’t capable of following, like your thoughts constantly weighed on you. It bothered him–the thought that you might be carrying more than you let on. 

“I hope they make you smile,” he says softly, leaning against the counter as you fill the vase with water. He could only hope you understood his unspoken plea for the flowers to speak what he didn’t have the strength to convey aloud. 

“They already have.” 

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relief washing over him. He wants to keep this version of you here forever–the one that smiles at him like he’s something good. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” you say, placing the vase on the island of your kitchen. You turn to face him, eyes softening. “But I’m really glad you did.” 

“I’m glad, too,” he says, voice low. “I don’t think you realize just how much I want to make you happy, baby.” 

He doesn’t miss the way your cheeks flush with color. You bite your lip, laughing with your chest and shaking your head. “You silly man,” you breathe through your laughter, “you already do. More than you know.” 

He studies you, allowing a silence to fall over you. He isn’t sure if he deserves these words you spew, but he wants to. More than anything, he wants to be the person who notices the little things about you. The one who shows up, even when there’s nothing special about the day. The one who makes you feel like you’re the center of his world–because you are. 

The moment ends when you break the silence, tilting your head. “Have you eaten?” 

He blinks. “Not yet.” 

“Well, lucky for you, I was just about to make breakfast,” you say, turning toward the fridge. “But if you’re eating, you’re helping.” 

He steps closer to you, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. “Deal. What’s on the menu today?” 

“Pancakes,” you say, glancing at him briefly. “Think you can handle that?” 

“I’ll have you know, I make a mean pancake,” he says, grabbing the eggs from the fridge with a flourish. “Prepare to be blown away.” 

Then, you smile and laugh. It fills the room in a way that makes his chest tighten and feel as though it might burst from love. He doesn’t say it aloud then, but Luigi knows he would do this every morning if it meant that he would get to see you smile.

[the-darklings]

Oh god please write the timebomb fic!!! (or several lol)

ೀ pairing: ekko/jinx

ೀ wc: 5k

ೀ summary: "Always a dance with you, huh?" Or: two years after the battle versus Noxus, Ekko receives an unexpected visitor.

ೀ author notes: ask and you shall receive!!! I wrote this in one sitting in some weird ass haze and barely edited it, but this is the most fun I had in a long while so I hope you enjoy!!!

ೀ read it on ao3 | listen to the playlist

The first few days after the battle, Ekko doesn’t rest. He barely sleeps or eats, or allows himself time to think. 

He can’t. 

There’s too much to do. The dead are in their dozens. His Firelights took a major hit, and he knows that for the next few months his fingers will be numb from painting their pictures on the mural day in and out. So many who could have lived but didn’t. So many could have had better futures. But if he just runs, if he keeps pushing on, he can outrun these regrets and his grief, too. This way, he doesn’t remember Vi’s heartbroken expression when she pulled him into a bone-crushing hug after the fight, blood and sweat still clinging to her, her words choked when she told him—

Four seconds. 

He could have saved her. He would have hauled her snarky ass out of that tunnel, ripped that bomb from her hands. He would have—

He runs from those thoughts, too. They suffocate him, and Ekko has too much to fix to be suffocated by his grief right now. 

He sure as hell didn’t fight for Piltover. He fought for Zaun, for Firelights. Because he knew Ambessa Medarda would never settle for anything other than complete subjugation. She would have destroyed Ekko’s home. She was already busy murdering and imprisoning their people, and nothing but complete eradication would have followed in her wake. 

Ekko did it for… her. The blue-haired symbol of defiance, of uprising. A loud declaration that they won’t live under Piltover’s oppression forever, that they’ll reach greater things one day and won’t be silenced. They won’t wait for permission to breathe again. It’s what she would have wanted, he convinces himself, even though part of him knows Jinx would have enjoyed the chaos of the fight more. Or maybe not. Not since that little girl. Not since he had to save her from herself over and over again, only to lose her anyway. 

Undercity mourns her. Her visage is everywhere. Jinx the Saviour. She would have hated it, he thinks wryly. She never got to see just how loved she was. 

Maybe he should have grabbed her and ran away. Maybe he should have let the world go to hell and saved her instead. The thought, born of fatigue, lingers only for a few fleeting seconds, a rare moment of selfishness amidst a day spent fixing the world around him. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. If only he had tried harder when they were kids and saved her from Silco. If only he didn’t give up on her. 

She’s always been his biggest maybe. And now they’ll never be more. Not this version of them. Never him and her as they were. 

Aw, are you gonna mope now, boy saviour?

“You’re not here.”

It punches clean through his chest. The realisation of it. The sheer, horrible weight. He’ll never see her again. 

Constants and variables, Benzo told him once. Constants and variables, young Ekko.

A week after the battle versus Noxus, Ekko sinks to his knees inside his room, exhausted and heartbroken, and sobs. 

.

Things begin to settle. Slowly, at first, the city might have been gutted after the battle but not destroyed, the morale low but hopeful. Hexgates are gone, and Ekko is glad when he finds out. He doesn’t want to see or hear anything about the arcane for a while. No magic in the world could fix the pain festering in his chest. 

Sevika, Silco’s old second-in-command and once his sworn enemy, comes to him two weeks after the attack. 

“They’re making me a council member,” she says, grunting when she falls into the tiny wooden chair inside his room. 

She’s always been a threatening figure, power rippling from every shift of her body, but Ekko isn’t sure he wants to fight anyone right now. Nor does she seem interested in strangling him. She lights a cigarette, her scarred features set in a fearsome scowl. 

“And?” he asks for anything better to say. “How is that any of my business?”

Sevika exhales through her nose, reminding him of an angry bull, all smoke and steely resolve. “I’m the only one presenting Zaun or her interests.” 

Ekko almost rolls his eyes. Of course she is. The Council is simply falling over themselves to fix the situation. After months of harassment and oppression, false arrestments and beatings, they asked them to bleed for Piltover and its interests with nothing but the bare minimum courtesy extended towards them afterwards.

“I could use you, kid,” Sevika continues, and Ekko forces his anger away, loosening his fists. “Exactly for that reaction. You’re smart as hell, and been a pain in my ass for years. Pilties will try to walk all over us again in a few months’ time. You and I both know it. We gotta beat them in their own game. Not let them silence us again. I could use someone like you. Be my adviser. You’ll have a direct line to the Council. We’ll make an actual change. It’s better than whatever this is.”

Ekko’s expression sours at her words while Sevika’s gaze flicks around his room in contemplation. He works all day to a point of exhaustion, then passes out. It’s the only way he’s been able to continue, day in and day out. Being in a leadership position means you can’t take time off to grieve. Too many people are relying on him. It’s bad enough that he accidentally abandoned his people for months without meaning to. The guilt he still feels over everything has been nearly suffocating. 

It’s a good gig, hero! You should do it and be a thorn in her side.

Ekko blinks the flash of blue from his vision, rubbing his brow just as Sevika adds: “It’s what she would have wanted, you know.”

A jolt of electricity runs through him. Everyone, even Vi, has been avoiding mentioning Jinx in front of him.  

His jaw clenches. “You don’t know that.”

“Kid, I know what not letting go looks like,” she says, and it almost sounds compassionate, or as close to it as someone like her can get. “We had our differences in the past, I know as much—”

“You killed my people,” Ekko snaps. “Do you know how many lives you destroyed with Shimmer?”

“Sure do,” she replies listlessly, smoke billowing past her lips. “I won’t try to justify my actions to you. But y’know, when you were gone, Jinx united Zaun in a way I haven’t seen since Vander. Beats me how she did it, but people believed in her. Even your Firelights.”

It mirrors everything he’s seen and heard for weeks. Jinx freeing their people, Jinx the Saviour, the beacon for their new future. The one who set and lived by extreme examples, who made Piltover back off and take the Undercity seriously. Because they all finally realised that there can never be peace without a fight. She should be here to fight this battle with him. Ekko should be busy arguing with her that blowing up another building will not make things right. He shouldn’t be walking around with her ghost a step behind him, tormenting him with ideas of what could and should have been. 

“And now she’s dead!”

His ears ring, his chest heaves, and he clutches his thudding heart, willing it back in its cage. He didn’t mean to come undone so easily. 

“Yeah. Yeah, she is,” Sevika says, and there’s a grimness to her when she says it, an unexpected pain buried somewhere deep in her gruff voice that makes Ekko see her differently. “I get it.”

“No,” he whispers, pained. “You don’t.”

.

Seven months pass before Ekko finally picks up a brush for her. 

He sleeps better at night but not without nightmares. Not without remembering Powder from the alternative universe and how they danced. How sweet her kiss felt. Not without that memory smearing to finding Jinx with a grenade in her hand, again, ready to disappear, go somewhere he could never reach her. 

Ekko still hears the detonation in his ears, over and over, on a sickening loop. His mind likes to torture him with ideas he failed to save her. That no matter what he does, or how he mends time, she’s forever out of reach. His blue beacon, his lighthouse he can never find in the depthless ocean of reality. 

Many have drawn her, but he still thinks that no one knows the exact hue of her hair or the wicked shine in her eyes better than him. He’s spent an entire lifetime examining them, looking for them in a sea of thousands. 

Their city is rebuilding. He agreed to Sevika’s request after a few days of contemplation. Caitlyn Kiramman’s expression when he ambled into the Council room was worth the additional burden now on his shoulder. But she’s changed too, matured, and now fills her position as the Council’s leader well. 

Ekko won’t forget how she allowed his friends to be imprisoned, tortured, and, in some cases, killed, but her regret made her side with him and Sevika more often than not during voting, and maybe he could at least one day forgive her. Another maybe. For Vi, if nothing else, who clearly loves the blue-haired woman fiercely. 

The barren wall stares at him. He’s painted Powder before, but this is different. One day, his friend, his dearest friend, was simply gone. Without a goodbye, in a wake of tragedy. The life Ekko once had disintegrated beneath his feet overnight. Benzo killed. Vander dead. Mylo and Claggor too. Vi died as well. Or so he believed for years. Powder was missing until a different knife was delivered to him weeks later, when the word on the street spread about Silco being seen with a little girl with blue hair. 

Ekko sighs, hanging his head. The city is healing, but he isn’t, or at least not as quickly. 

He runs his hand over the white wall, picturing Jinx as he saw her last, those precious hours between talking her down from the abyss and their joint attack on Noxian forces. It felt so good to rely on her again, to stand with her, side by side. As natural as breathing. 

You’re the order to my chaos, hero. 

“Leave me alone,” he says quietly, head hung low. “It’s been months.”

A figment of Jinx chortles, arms crossed over her chest as she leans back against the wall. You would get bored to death without me. Ha! Get it? 

Shooting a glare at her, Ekko picks up a brush, his fingers quivering. Tears burn in his eyes when he dips the brush into the paints he painstakingly mixed. He works, and works, until his eyes are dry and his wrist hurts. Ekko doesn’t stop until he loses light and when he steps back, he is looking at Jinx. Equal parts chaos and something ethereal. 

He wipes angrily across his mouth when he tastes saltiness pooling there and goes home. 

There’s no sleep that night. 

.

Time is a strange thing. It weaves and flows. Without his Z-Drive, he has no control over it. Time simply goes on, and he’s the passenger in a vehicle he doesn’t want to move. 

He’s important these days. He’s one of the few bright minds still left, and he’s endlessly busy with something. City of Progress needs every mind that can be spared. Wounds heal, and time dulls the memory, but not everything is so easily forgotten. Piltover moves quicker, but the Undercity erects a statue for Jinx beside Vander’s. He sees Vi at the ceremony, and they exchange strained smiles. They speak sometimes, but it’s not as often as it used to be. They’re both dealing with their grief the best they can.

At least Vi has Cait. Ekko has nothing but a cold bed and purpose. 

He and Sevika make a good team. It almost makes him wonder what could have been in a universe where they were on the same side from the start. His Zaun, cracked but not broken, is resembling the bright version of the Zaun and Piltover he saw in the alternative verse. There're years of work still left, but there’s something like hope in him, fragile and misplaced as it might be. 

A year passes. Then two. He visits the graves; he lights candles for those lost. Some days Ekko sees her, other days he doesn’t. He hopes for a glimpse, even when he knows he shouldn’t. It should be easier to let go of what you never had, right? 

His mural for Jinx grows. Other faces join her, people who died believing in her, surrounding the one they placed their trust in. And, at the centre of it all, her, her, her. 

Still her. 

Always her. 

. 

He’s not sure what arouses him. He hasn’t slept well in years, perpetual exhaustion clinging to him like a shawl. Some would call it the weight of living, no doubt. 

There’s a shift in the air, a disturbance that’s not enough to make Ekko jolt awake and reach for a weapon, but enough to make his eyes flutter open. He breathes the cool air, pushing his grogginess away. 

There’s a shape at the foot of his bed. Small and round. It takes several seconds for his vision to adjust, for him to realise that a hooded figure sits perched on his bed, knees pulled to their chest.

Ekko hasn’t had to rely on his battle instincts in two years, but there’s enough left in him to attack without hesitation. His fingers tangle in the cloak, shoving the figure down, his knee pressing harshly into their abdominal, hands seeking the intruder’s throat—

“Wow, little man, you sure know how to roll out the welcoming mat,” the all too familiar voice drawls before his fingers tighten instinctively around the slender, warm throat. 

A haggard breath forces from Ekko’s parted mouth. In the wild struggle, the stranger’s hood has slipped down, revealing a familiar face with a startling crop of blue hair. His heart squeezes painfully, forcing him away from Jinx’s apparition. 

“Leave me alone,” he croaks, rubbing his eyes till his vision swims. “Just leave me alone! I don’t want to see you anymore!”

“Huh, fine. I thought after two years, the welcome would be a tad warmer. Brrr.”

Ekko pushes himself to his feet, stumbling away, watching warily as the young woman sits back up, picking at her messy hair. She looks different. A little older than Jinx from his visions or memories. Her hair is longer, though nowhere near the same length she once had braided into two twin braids. She swings her leg back and forth, another pulled up to her chest while she watches him. And… her eyes. Ekko was the last person to see her with blue eyes before their battle on the bridge. The last time he saw Jinx alive, they were a dangerous, burning violet. 

Now, even with the shade of the night, they’re a muddy mix between the blue he once knew, and the piercing violet that made her so deadly. As if that restless edge in her has calmed down and settled. 

Ekko’s chest heaves as he stumbles back a step. 

“Soooo—” she begins.

“You’re alive.”

Jinx shrugs her shoulders. “Yup. Clearly. In the flesh even,” she crows, but it’s more muted when compared to the wildness he once faced off against. 

His hand flies to his stomach, and Ekko distantly wonders if he’s about to throw up in front of a girl he’s spent his entire life loving. 

Mercifully, his stomach settles, but his heart beats so loudly he can hear the blood rushing in his skull. 

“You’re alive,” he repeats, harder this time. “It’s been two years.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t offer more than that, but there’s a shadow over her narrow face. She’s healthier. There’s more weight on her bones, her skin has lost some of the pallidness. As if someone took Powder and Jinx, split them clean down the middle, and fused them into one body. Stronger, more self-reassured, less teetering on the brink. 

“Would have written but mail is crappy where I was,” she jokes, her voice a familiar, drawling litany. “Besides, this is so much more mysterious—”

He closes the distance between them in two steps. His room isn’t big but he would have walked, ran, sprinted if needed to close the distance between them. His arms wrap around her and Ekko squeezes her so tightly he hears a small breath escape Jinx. She’s solid and warm. Smells faintly of sea and something metallic. Ekko buries his face in the soft crook of Jinx’s neck, gasping for breath. 

“Woah, hero, you’re gonna break my ribs,” she whispers, but her arms wind around him, more careful, unsure. “I thought you hated me?”

Even when he releases her, Ekko’s hands linger on her, go to her face, examining her through the crack of light illuminating his room. 

“I saw you,” he breathes, devastated. “I saw you everywhere. I hoped to see you everywhere.”

Something flickers over her face, an unknown thing, secretive and distant as she’s always felt to him. 

“Geez, seeing things? And they call me crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.”

There’s such vehemence in his voice it startles them both. Jinx nibbles on her inner cheek, searching his face cautiously. “I thought you’d be mad.”

Ekko laughs, a low huff of amusement. “Do you think I care for you so little, huh?”

Too late he realises he’s without a shirt, and is, in fact, mostly bare before the girl he’s harboured a crush on for years. Near boyish shyness forces Ekko back, making him clear his throat. His hands tremble when he reaches for a discarded t-shirt, hoping it doesn’t smell bad when he pulls it over his head. When he glances at her over his shoulder, Jinx is still there, still watching him, though there’s a thoughtful air around her. 

When she notices him looking, she offers him a sarcastic grin.

“No need to get shy, stud.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles.

He plops down on his unmade bed, watching her watch him. Her face is half hidden by her arms propped on her bent knee, but the silence between them isn’t awkward. They’re taking each other in, taking in the changes that have touched them both in the last two years.

“Why come back now?” he asks, eventually. 

Jinx blinks, near feline-like, dropping her head back to stare at his ceiling as if it may offer an answer. “I’m a crappy friend, but not that crappy. Happy birthday, wonder boy.”

There’s a creak in his heart, a lightness in his ribcage, a balloon of affection despite their troubled history that inflates just for her. “You remember my birthday?”

She makes a sound at the back of her throat. Glances at him from the corner of her eye. “Well, we picked it together, silly, so sure I do.” Shadows fall over her features when she angles her head away. “I… I never thought I would come back—that it was better this way.”

“I’m glad you did.”

Something close to a smile ghosts over her face at his response. Ekko can’t rip his gaze away from her. He fears that if he does, he’ll wake up and she’ll be gone again, and he’ll have to relive the agony of losing her again. 

“Does Vi—”

“No. No. And it’s better this way.”

“But—”

“Drop it, Ekko. Please.”

He does. Because this is too good to be true, and he doesn’t want this to end. Emotions mix inside him, battling for dominance, so he sits there, letting them all wash over him. 

“You’ve been busy,” she says abruptly, nodding her head in the general direction of the outside world. “Their new wonder boy. I’m not surprised. You’ve always been good at creating things. Good things.”

“And you’ve always been good at fixing them,” he says. 

Ekko thinks back on the countless times she helped him to fix up old rubbish others have discarded and sell them in Benzo’s shop as small treasures. It feels, now, like a lifetime ago. In a sense, it has been. 

She snorts; it’s an ugly, hateful sound. “Not always.”

There’s weight to how she says it. Pain lingers in each syllable, more so a whispered confession. She’s thinking of others, those lost through accidents or her own direct involvement. 

“I’m sorry about Isha,” Ekko says carefully, thumb pressing into the hollow of his bare knee. He itches to take her hand, to smooth his thumb over her knuckles instead, but he doesn’t. She’s never been his to touch. “Vi told me about her.”

Jinx shrinks, turning away and he mentally curses. A sore spot even years later. Understandably so. 

“I… shit. Sorry.”

“What’s with the long face?” she exclaims suddenly, jumping to her feet and twirling. Her hands drop to her hips and she grins at him, all mischief. “C’mon, we gotta get out of here.”

Ekko squints. “Uh, what?”

“It’s your birthday, silly,” she says, like it should be obvious. “We’re going to spend the day together.”

.

Jinx keeps her hood up, her gait steady. Any sign of blue tucked away. She’s changed her attire to draw less attention, and as they walk in the hazy dawn light towards the bridge separating the sister cities, it feels almost normal. Casual. Not at all like the last time they spoke, they were about to fight side by side in a battle for their lives. Not at all like he spent two years thinking she’s dead. That still stings, but knowing how she felt back then, the state she was in before he talked her down from the edge, the pain she’s been through, Ekko can’t bring himself to feel resentful. He only wants to hold her and tell her it’ll be okay because she’s not alone. 

“You’re not saying, are you?” he asks, hands in his pockets. 

“Nope,” she replies, popping the p. “Can’t.”

Words rush to his tongue. Insistence that she can and should stay—that there’s space here for her, not just in his life, but in the new Zaun he’s helping to shape. He almost admits it to her then. That he’s built this for her and the ones they lost along the way. 

Ekko continues walking, staring at the ground, noticing too late she’s fallen behind. He peers over his shoulder and freezes when he notices what’s caught her attention. The mural. Welcoming anyone coming into Zaun. Her face, slightly younger but now immortalised, peers back at them. 

“You drew this.”

He loosens a breath. “Yeah, I did. I, uh, just…”

Jinx reaches for her own face, fingertips ghosting over the painted wall. There’s tension on her face when she turns to look at him, something piercing and hard and thoughtful. Same pinch to her eyebrows he saw earlier in his bedroom. 

“I won’t let them take you,” he says softly. “If they came for you. I would fight for you.”

She doesn’t break their eye contact. “I know. You shouldn’t, but I know you would.”

“Then stay.”

She saunters forward, stopping only when they’re almost chest to chest. “I’m not her, y’know? The other me. The one you love.”

He smiles, huffing a small breath, refocusing on her and her small pout. Ekko reaches forward, tucking a few stray strands back under Jinx’s hood, lingering for a beat. “I wasn’t her Ekko, either. That’s why I came back. I like this version of you just fine. But just so we’re clear, every version of you is a pain in my ass.” He tugs on a small braid, grinning when she shoots him an annoyed glare and slaps his hand away. “But I won’t have it any other way. Wait, no. It sure as hell would be simpler if you didn’t try to kill me anymore, but I guess I’ll deal with that, too.”

Jinx snorts, absently reaching for the spot he touched, her gaze softer than before. “Ha! You hit like a girl, by the way. I never got to tell you.”

“You tried to blow us up.”

“Eh,” she whines. “That was one time. You gotta let that go.”

Ekko exhales a small laugh and realises he hasn’t smiled or laughed this much in years. Joy was leeched from him with her absence, and while he did his duties, there was no security of Jinx’s usual push and pull to keep him balanced and focused. Even when they were enemies, hunted each other down and attacked each other, they existed on opposite sides of a perfectly balanced sphere. 

Her nearness, the relief of having her there, overshadows the darker recollection of that afternoon when she tried to blow them up more than once. Memories so painful Ekko wishes to scrub them from his mind forever, yet they remain seared into his psyche. 

She grabs his elbow, dragging him forward, breaking the surrounding gloom. “Come on then,. Things to do, things to see.”

And Ekko does what he’s done since they were young. He follows her. Because they might not have tomorrow.

.

The day goes by too fast. Almost a blur. A series of snapshots Ekko will lock away in his mind forever. He never expected he’d get to do this again. This is something his younger self could have only dreamt about once. When they dreamt of simpler things; flashy toys and delicious sweets, things only a young boy could fantasise about, aside from a loving home, because at least that much he had. 

They walked and talked and joked around, eating street vendor food all day. Ekko knows they’re pushing their luck, but he can’t help himself. Jinx grew up here. This is her home too, and he wants to show her the progress they’ve made. There’s something comfortable about her snarky commentary and ill-timed jibes at the Council members. She asks about Vi only once, in relation to Cait, and Ekko tells her the truth. 

They’re happy. They’re together. She nods, satisfied, and moves on.

“We should go see Jericho next.” It’s an offhand suggestion while they walk the newly paved river path. Now people from the Undercity can enjoy the same luxury of having a peaceful sidewalk to take their kids down. It’s amazing how it’s the small things that bring people happiness. 

“Can’t,” Jinx replies, glancing towards the setting sun. Her smile twists; it’s still a smile, but it’s sad, in a way. “Sorry, hero.”

He takes several seconds to speak. “So, you’re leaving anyway.”

“Yes. I told you I can’t stay.”

“It’s a pity, then.”

She tilts her head. “Why?”

Damn her for even asking. Damn her and all the shitty circumstances for keeping them apart. Damn her for picking him during that game of hide and seek years ago. Damn her for being there for him and not being there at the same time. Damn her for being his entire world for years. Even when Ekko thought he hated her, he wasn’t free of her. He never could be. His girl with blue hair. 

He’s in love with her, in every possible way, but they both know they can’t work like this. There’s too many ghosts for Jinx here, and despite the changes, Ekko can’t promise her she won’t get dragged off to Stillwater the moment authorities find out she’s alive after all. 

Ekko frowns, clenches his fists, and walks away. 

But she’s like an anchor to him. He stops several paces away, tied to her. “You’re gonna break my heart.”

They’ve been everything from friends to enemies and strangers to reluctant allies again. So much of his life has revolved around her. Continues to revolve around her. Past and present. But if Jinx sends him away now, if she walks away, Ekko will let her go. Because he can finally rest easy, knowing she is alive and well, even if they’re apart.

“In any other universe, I might have loved you,” she breathes. 

He pivots towards her, his nostrils flaring. “Love me in this one,” he insists, reaching for her. Ekko cups her cheeks, tilting her head until her hood slips back down, exposing her blue hair to the setting sun. He’s glad there’s no one in sight because he can’t think straight right now. “Choose me now. Ask me to go away with you. Ask me.”

He presses his forehead to hers. Jinx’s empty gaze appears glazed over, her thoughts far away no matter how hard he tries to grip her and hold her close. 

“I don’t deserve you, boy saviour,” she whispers emptily. “You’re good.”

“No one decides for me, Jinx. Not even you.”

She blinks owlishly, searching his wild stare, a pained expression on her face, her fingers knotting against her chest. “What if you don’t want me after a while? I’m… different and if I get bad again... What if—”

“Ask me, damnit.”

Jinx loosens a shaky breath, jumping through a hundred micro-expressions in a few seconds. A painful mix between hope and dread. 

“C…” Her eyes squeeze shut. “Come with me.”

Ekko sags in relief. “Yes.” He holds her, wraps his arms around her despite the unsure way she folds against him. As if she’s unsure where to put her hands. If she should. “Yes, I’ll come with you. I don’t care if you’re different. I want you as you are, okay? No matter where we are.”

A tremulous breath wheezes past Jinx’s lips. But with that, she melts into him, burying her face against him. Her embrace grows desperate and tight, a tremble shuddering through her body. 

“Always a dance with you, huh?” he says after a moment.

She chuckles, the sound warming his collarbone. “And you still got two left feet, boy wonder.”

Constants and variables, young Ekko, Benzo told him once. Everything bad that can happen in this universe might come to pass, but so might everything good.

----

an: ahh I know this isn't really my usual offering but I really hope you guys enjoyed, it's been a while since i've cared enough about canon/canon ship to do this.

[neyafromfrance95]

i feel like when we talk about sauron x galadriel we often focus on either the dynamic itself or sauron's pov, and we need to talk about galadriel's pov more bc it's really fascinating and complex.

for starters, galadriel loves halbrand. it's been confirmed by the creators and by her reaction to him in 2.08. and it was simply obvious from everything leading up to that point. he is her one true love. the only being with from she established a true connection. a comrade with whom she found companionship. she found herself in a soulmate hurt/comfort au when she was with him. and it seems like, no matter how she feels about sauron, she will always love halbrand. what an epitome of tragedy it is to eternally love a man who never existed?

sauron implied that he wanted to heal her when he said that if he wanted forgiveness, he would need to heal everything he helped to ruin, and he took accountability for galadriel's trauma when he apologized for finrod and everything. and i think one of the reasons halbrand had such an effect on galadriel is that his presence really was healing for her. for the first time since finrod, she wasn't alone. she felt understood and believed. he made her open up to him. she could be vulnerable with him. i find it interesting that she mockingly asks him "do you want to heal me", as if making a point that he can't heal her so that she can pretend like he didn't at some point. it adds another layer to her shame too, bc as much as she believes he can't heal the middle-earth, he was able to heal her when he "created" halbrand for her.

she has spent a lifetime harboring a deep hatred of sauron. her main goal in the life being to take revenge on him for her brother. for her, he is a sworn enemy that she's destined to slay. her hatred and ambition to kill him so all consuming and intense that she turned her back on heaven for him and basically willed him back into life.

galadriel is sauron's mirror. she has gazed into the abyss for so long that the abyss gazed back into her. her fight against him has became an intrinsic part of her identity, and we see how now sauron binds her to himself several times, either by guilt or by stabbing her with morgoth's crown, so we can say he has become an intrinsic part of her very being. always there just above her heart.

i think that sauron believes when he says that he would make her his equal queen, i believe that this is what he wants deep down (she is a natural leader, he is a natural follower). but would that actually happen? i don't believe that galadriel would ever willingly join him in mordor not only bc of the light her gaze is fixed on and bc of finrod, but also bc her pride and fear wouldn't allow it. what sauron offers galadriel is basically what jareth offers sarah (labyrinth) - "just fear me, love me. do as i say and i will be your slave." sauron wants galadriel to tame him, in a way, but she wouldn't be able to torture him into submission like morgoth did, as she could never match his strength, even as a dark!witch-queen, and she knows that. unless he repents and joins her in valinor, as a couple, sauron will always dominate galadriel in their dynamic.

trop recontextualizes what we know about galadriel's future. nenya is a symbol of her relationship with sauron and it causes her an extreme sea-longing, and the sea is another thing associated with her bond with sauron. even tho she has family and friends, she feels alone and her heart has greatly desired what sauron's proposal tempted her with for 3000-5000 years! she didn't go to valinor when celebrian did, didn't stay in the middle-earth while celeborn did, she only left the middle-earth for valinor when sauron was gone! and she took nenya with her! with trop context, it doesn't only signify her holding onto power/fight, it signifies her holding onto the only one thing that materialized as a symbol of her connection with sauron/halbrand! so while she passes the test and resists the one ring, i believe she will always yearn for both power and halbrand.

the dichotomy between her love for halbrand and her hatred for sauron is such an interesting concept, as is the dichotomy of her opposing the darkness of the dark lord as the lady of the light while being the perfect mirror of sauron, completely understood only by him, being the only one he is capable of loving, cosmically bound to him by the sea and the blood.

[nanaarchy]

Hey chat !!!! I'm going insane.

Ever since my first listen to TMA, I've had a huge question that NEVER got answered.

Never. Not in the whole series, not Q&As or the wiki or anything. I thought I would never find answers. I thought it would be forgotten. I thought it was a small insignificant detail and I'd have to live with never knowing the truth about it.

Now with TMAGP 19, I might finally know the answer.

Maybe. Maybe maybe. But It Could Be. And now I'm losing my mind at the implications.

((For the record, I know that the stories and worldbuilding are inherently separate - hell, there are even timeline differences in the cases I'm using as evidence. But the overlap might be important, especially when it comes to the Web.))

Spoilers for both shows below!

Its branches were exquisite, and delicate, swaying slightly from small eddies in the liquid, and they shone with every spectra. I must confess that to look upon it, one was – (sigh) filled with profound wonder at its exquisite elegance. [...] Even I, steeped in worldly matters as I am, recognized The Lord’s words to Adam, and was much dismayed at the implication. Isaac then plucked the delicate fruit with ungloved hands and held it before me. [...] The creature was taking root. Strands of its mottled brown hair were extruding downwards between the floor, seeking the dark earth below. Then, too, its back began to sprout, radiant branches unfurling and thickening before me, reaching upwards towards the sunlight with a seemingly insatiable desire. [...] I tell you here, Robert, it saw me, and it knew me. (TMAGP 19 - HARD RESET)

It was an ornate wooden thing, with a snaking pattern of lines weaving their way around towards the centre. The pattern was hypnotic and shifted as I watched it, like an optical illusion. I found my eyes following the lines towards the middle of the table, where there was nothing but a small square hole. Graham noticed me staring, and told me that interesting antique furniture was one of his few true passions. Apparently he’d found the table in a second-hand shop during his student days and fallen in love with it. It had been in pretty bad shape but he’d spent a long time and a lot of money restoring it, though he’d never been able to figure out what was supposed to go in the centre. He assumed it was a separate piece and couldn’t track it down. (MAG 3 - ACROSS THE STREET)

Re: Magnus Institute Ruins. By RedCanary on Saturday April 23 2022 12:17pm. The photos from the spelunk seem properly gone, but I did find an old wooden thing with a bunch of similar symbols on. Some kinda empty box, not really sure what for, though. Gonna see if I can get the light right for a decent pic. Edit: No dice, I’m afraid. Must be something up with my phone camera. Really not helping the whole paranoia thing either. Anyone know anything about photographic distortion? Gonna see if I can borrow my dad’s SLR tomorrow. (TMAGP 1 - FIRST SHIFT)

Adelard Dekker stood in the corner. He was straight and motionless, his lips moving rapidly, though no sound came out of them. In the centre of the room, stood a table carved from dark wood and wrapped all over with a sprawling, intricate pattern. And in front of that table was the thing that had said it was my cousin. It was long and thin, the tops of it bent against the ceiling and its stick-like limbs flailed from too many joints and elbows. Wrapped around it were thick strands of what I think was spider’s web, stretching back into the table, which I now saw pulsed along its carved channels with a sickly light. The face at the top of that gangly frame was like nothing on earth. (MAG 78 - DISTANT COUSIN)

Now... Now I get it. I get it. I finally gave an answer. Or, at least, I think we'll get a concrete answer soon. But I think I get it.

I think I get where the web table comes from. I think I know what it's made of. why it glows. why it had a hole in the middle. I think I might know how the web gained control and sentience so much faster than the other fears. and, if it still manifests in the same way in the Protocol universe, how it also quickly became "the manager" of other fears, as theories suggest.

More importantly, I think I know what was up with the mysterious tree from so, so long ago.

Now I have an answer.

Why was there an apple buried in Hill Top Road?

I opened the box and sitting inside was a single green apple. It looked fresh, shiny, with a coat of condensation like it had just been picked on a cool spring morning. I picked it up. I wasn’t going to eat it, I’m not that stupid, but more than bleeding trees or phantom burning, this confused me. As I took it out of the box, though, it began to turn. The skin turned brown and bruised and started to shrivel in my hand. Then it split. And out came spiders. Dozens, hundreds of spiders erupting from this apple that was rotting right before my eyes. I shrieked and dropped it before any of them could touch my arm. The apple fell to the ground and burst in a cloud of dust. I backed away and waited until I was sure all the spiders had left before retrieving the box. I smashed it with a crowbar, and threw the remains into a skip. (MAG 8 - BURNED OUT)

And now I have an answer. Maybe.

[bohoteacher]

Navigating Betrayal: Reconciling Admiration with Disillusionment

Like many Neil Gaiman fans this month, I've been shocked and distressed by the news regarding the SA allegations. I won't go over the details, as they're readily available online. I'll start by saying that I believe the accusers, and even the most lenient interpretation of events is still troubling enough to discredit Gaiman. For a long time, I didn't know what to say. I was just shocked and, somewhat naively, felt betrayed. I don't typically idolize actors, authors, or other public figures—I'm here for the characters, they're who I love and believe in. So, how did I end up believing in this man and his rhetoric?

I only had a parasocial relationship with him, which is to say no real relationship at all. But I took his Masterclass on writing, spent hours taking notes, and learned from him. I feel betrayed by someone I saw as a beloved teacher. I know this is insignificant compared to what the women who came forward experienced, but it's a valid feeling, and I needed time to process it. My initial reaction was to throw out and discount everything he’s ever written or done—of course it was.

This isn't just about my love for Good Omens, although how can it not be? I learned so much from this man—about writing, about not being too hard on myself, about the creative process. I read his books to my middle school classes, and we all learned how to be better people from them. Today, I saw and bought Instructions, a children’s book by Neil Gaiman illustrated by Charles Vess, from the used bookstore where I volunteer. It was a used copy, so no royalties will go to him. It’s a beautifully illustrated book where the main character walks through a land that clearly symbolizes life, learning lessons like saying please and "if any creature cries to you that it hurts, if you can, ease its pain." How could someone write this and then do what he did? I asked myself. "What an evil hypocrite," was my first thought. But then I recalled a line from another author, Stephen King. In The Stand, a character is described as "awake at the lectern, but asleep at the switch," meaning they know the right thing to do and can talk about it, but in the moment of choice, they act without integrity.

I don’t know if I’m making sense, but I think it’s too easy to label Gaiman as simply evil, as if he intentionally manipulated us by saying the right things just to make us read or watch his creations. The reality is likely far more complicated. Within this man is the amazing, thought-provoking, life-affirming wisdom that many of us have tried to live by, but also the hard, thoughtless, selfish cruelty that led him to abuse young, vulnerable women. The wisdom does not justify the abuse, and the abuse does not nullify the wisdom.

I think it's too simplistic to say Gaiman is despicable and always has been, hiding it from us all along. This doesn't acknowledge the complexity of human nature—that there is potential for both good and bad within us all. As it’s said, possibly by Terry Pratchett or possibly by Neil Gaiman, “It may help to understand human affairs to be clear that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people.”

Gaiman is a man who has done some fundamentally good things and some fundamentally bad things. I can’t forget either one.

This is just my opinion. I know some people want to cancel him, while others want to exonerate him. You do you. As for me, I will continue to love Aziraphale and Crowley. I will continue to read and create fan-fiction. I will continue to find comfort and wisdom in books that have meant so much to me over the years. But I will also remember that they were created by a very flawed man whom I can no longer trust.

I understand that opinions on this matter vary widely. I know some people might feel that not discarding everything associated with him is wrong, but this is where I stand. I’m not looking to debate this or be told how I should react. I just needed to process my thoughts in writing and move forward in the way that feels right for me.

[moonydustx]

How does it end?

info: yes, we have reached the end of this story! obscenity, of course. Presence of a slightly toxic ex. Sweet boy (and jealous) Law.

italicized text blocks are flashback

MDNI | MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

PART 01 - PART 02 - PART 03 - PART 04 (you're here)

"Do you intend to stay alone there for long?" Your captain's voice caught your attention, dragging you out of a book. "Everyone's going to drink. I think we deserve a celebration."

"I'm right here, captain."

"I insist." He held out his hand, lifting you from the cold floor of the submarine. "I can tell you the end of the book while we drink."

The vivid memory still made you laugh a little. That night, Law not only told you the story of that book, but also the sequel to them, and even so, you read them one by one. At that time, you were still just captain and subordinate. It seemed like something very distant.

You never imagined that you would spend nights stuck in his room, feeling on the edge of precipices full of pleasure. You couldn't imagine that your favorite place to sleep would be one, in your captain's bed, two, in his arms when he refused to go to bed in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, some nights this was impossible, which meant spending a few hours a day in his office, even if it was just to work together and do nothing else.

Your right ear was ringing with the explosion near you, an annoyance that nauseated you and made you dizzy. Who would have thought you would fall into an ambush? Before you could gather the strength to stand up, your feet left the ground and you felt yourself being thrown against someone's shoulders, someone who wasn't wearing the same uniform as you. It was impossible to see the person's face, so you could only pray that they were taking you to a safe place.

The beaten earth floor that you saw below you soon turned into simpler footsteps and cracks against a metal ramp. Trying to stand up, you noticed that you didn't have that much strength and that you could see the symbol of your crew against the yellow wall. You were home.

The sounds were still muffled when you were placed back on your feet.

"You?" Your voice was exasperated as soon as you noticed who had carried you into your submarine.

It wasn't that you hated him or held a grudge against him. But the last thing you expected was to be saved by your dear (not so much) ex-boyfriend. Teru still looked the same as when you broke up and he left the crew, the only thing that had changed about him was his normal civilian clothes.

"Let's disappear from their radar. Everyone at your posts now!" Law's voice sounded too loud for you, forcing you to hide your own head between your arms.

"Captain, I need to talk to you."

"Later." Law's voice sounded even lower as you felt his hands gently rest on your arms. "I'm going to take you to the infirmary."

You expected him to guide you to the place and not transport you with his powers. As soon as the environment transformed into the small white room, you felt one of his hands hold you by the waist and the other lean on one of the walls.

"It's going to be a difficult descent, I'd rather not take any risks."

As soon as the submarine stabilized and you were far enough away from the reach of enemies, Law guided you to the nearest bench, lifting you up and sitting on it without any effort. Quietly, you watched him walk back and forth gathering what he needed. You could tell he was too quiet. The first touch near your ear made you flinch.

"Sorry babe, this is going to bother you a little." He simply said, focused on cleaning the injured area.

He spent a few more minutes cleaning and medicating the area in complete silence. As soon as he finished the area around your ear, he started treating the few wounds spread across your face.

"Is there any salvation for my case? I mean, you didn't say anything."

"Your eardrum is a little damaged, it'll be fine in a few days. Some shrapnel caused the whole problem, so it's pretty easy to heal." he explained in an almost professorial tone.

"Are you sure? You're all tense."

"Do you want the honest answer?" he asked and laughed when he saw your eyes widen in fright. "I'm kidding."

"Still, I can see that something is bothering you."

The hands that were caring for your face went down, contouring your body and resting around you as a sigh that bordered on frustration escaped him.

"I don't know how comfortable I am with seeing you on the shoulders of a man with blood all over your head." he finished, seeing you blink a few times and nod. "Now I'm relieved that it was just that."

"Well, we have to consider that the man who brought me was Teru."

"I couldn't care less about that." Law's professional demeanor slowly faded, allowing him to fit between your legs.

"So I'm discharged?" the tone of your voice along with your fingers trailing a dangerous path up his shirt, towards the back of Law's neck. "I could really use some other treatments."

"You make things a little more difficult." Even if out of the corner of his eye, he followed your nimble fingers and began to undo the buttons on his shirt. "Very difficult."

"I think there's too much adrenaline in my body." The last words came out as a whisper from your lips before you stole his for yourself.

Occupying the little space that still existed between the two of you, Law pulled your thighs in order to fit between your legs while he felt the taste of your tongue against his. Your nails had already found his tattooed abdomen and slid as if you knew every inch of his skin. A path that was becoming increasingly familiar.

"Captain?" Teru's voice caught the attention of both of you, forcing you to move away just enough for Law to be able to answer.

"What do you need?"

"Can I talk to you?" Law's eyes met yours and for a brief moment they seemed to ask permission for him to leave you there and solve whatever problem awaited him. Seeing you nod, Law completely disconnected himself from your body.

"Meet me in my office, I'll be there in a few minutes." the captain replied and took the silence on the other side of the door as an agreement.

"Work calls you." As much as you tried to avoid it, the discouraged tone remained in your voice, which earned a simple smile from the man in front of you.

"Before I go…" Law approached again, this time with no other intention than conversation. "I have a feeling he's going to ask for something and since we're en route, it's going to be very difficult to return to the surface now."

"So we're stuck here with Teru?"

"Is that a problem? I know you broke up amicably, but I don't think it's right to let him stay here without at least asking what you prefer."

"I'd be lying if I said I think it's the most amazing thing in the world to have my ex back here, but he saved me, I think it's the least I owe him."

You explained and saw him nod, processing the words into something that only his head could understand. Law considered walking away for a few seconds, but the doubt that plagued his mind would never allow it.

"Do you still feel something for him?"

"For Teru? I believe that, besides being grateful for his help today, nothing more than that." When you noticed Law's vacant gaze, you didn't hesitate to turn his face towards you. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing you should worry." He said in a gentle tone. His lips quickly found the top of your head. "Now go rest."

"But I…"

"Captain's orders." He mumbled with an almost cretinous smile drawn on his lips. "If you behave, maybe you can include a few more things in your rest."

Well, resting wasn't exactly the easiest thing. The injury had been minor and as much as you took Law's considerations into account, something told you deeper down that it was an exaggeration of concern. However, from that moment on, some things started to get strange.

Immediately, it seemed like all eyes were on you. You wondered if they had seen, heard or suspected something about you and Law, but it seemed unlikely. Even more so when Ikkaku pulled you by the arm.

"So… Teru?" she whispered as if you weren't alone there. "Don't tell me you're back together."

"Are you crazy? Never!" the idea would never, ever cross your mind. Even if you were single. Well, technically… "He just happened to be in the right place and time."

"And what happened, were you hurt badly?"

"No, the captain said it was just some shrapnel." You preferred to avoid the more detailed explanation that Law had given. The truth is that the little incomplete session between the two of you had taken up a good part of your memories.

"Hey, I found you!" your ex-boyfriend's voice filled the entire room, with a joy that sounded shrill to your still sore ears.

"I'll leave you two alone." Ikkaku blinked and walked away with a gentle smile towards his former crewmate.

"So, how can I help you?" Your solicitous voice hid your laziness. Honestly, it wasn't like you wanted to avoid him, but you would certainly trade those minutes there for a few more lying in your bed. Maybe with someone else.

"You're still here under Law's orders." He said, trying to bring up a subject that was still unclear to you.

"Of course, it was never in my plans to leave. And you, how has your exploration been?"

Exploring. Ah, the dear excuse for exploring. When Teru decided to leave the crew, he wanted to take you with him. "A great adventure awaits us." But you weren't interested, not at all. In a way, it was as if a weight had been lifted from your shoulders.

"Teru will leave us tomorrow morning." Law leaned against the doorframe, analyzing your figure sitting on the bed. "Have you made your decision?"

"Of course, I never really had any doubts."

"Then why can I see your red eyes from here?" He walked over, leaning on the edge of the bunk. "Do you need me to fix something before he leaves?"

"Fix something?"

"You know, in case he messed up everything." Law explained as if it were obvious, seeing you immediately deny it. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Captain. Unless he wants you to solve something for him before you go. Then we'd have a problem." You tried to sound more humorous, smiling slightly when you saw the same trace appear on Law's lips.

"Nah."

"Now you take sides?" Your voice came out intoxicated by a light laugh. "That's surprising."

"I mean, you've been here since when Sachi and Penguin couldn't decide on a menu or when my voice wavered much more than my mood." He himself laughed at the realization. "I mean, there are no sides to be taken." He emphasized the plural.

"He and I don't want the same things. I think it's been a while." You simply answered.

"That relieves me. You know, not having to put up with Ikakku burning panties or Bepo devouring everything in the submarine as a form of protest to defend you." he commented still humorously, but his smile quickly disappeared. "Promise you're okay?"

"Yes, Captain."

For a while you lost yourself in the memory, knowing that it had been so long since Teru had left there and things seemed to improve exponentially.

He wasn't bad or that typical evil guy from the books, he just wasn't the right one for you and that was okay.

"And you, after we broke up, did you meet anyone?" the direct question dragged you back to reality, even though you had ignored the entire summary he had given about his last years.

"Yes, I did." you limited yourself to answering. Theoretically, the person you met you already knew, but those were extremely different circumstances.

"Is he here?"

"Can we not talk about it?" you asked and saw him look suspicious. You didn't want to let this conversation go on long enough for a piece of information to be revealed. important thing escaped. "I believe the captain gave you some tasks, I highly doubt he would leave you idly by."

"Of course! Actually, that's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. He asked me to accompany you during these days."

Law asked Teru to accompany you? That didn't make any sense. Could that be why he had asked if you still had feelings for your ex? No, that wasn't like him. But after the chaotic morning and the flurry of events, you chose not to question Law. Before you were… (again that question in the depths of your subconscious screamed, questioning what you were)… you were captain and subordinate.

These should have been peaceful days. They should have.

You didn't expect that by accompanying you, Teru would practically become your shadow. Lunches, dinners, absolutely all of your free time, the man seemed to occupy every available gap of air that you had. In the distance, beyond the not-so-warm jokes of your friends, you could see a pair of curious eyes. But you had known him long enough to know that there was nothing curious about that.

What used to be an arm's length away seemed like miles and miles. Law seemed to be looking further and further away, and with Teru at your feet, it was almost impossible to find him alone. This forced you to drag him towards the first bathroom you saw, not caring that it was occupied - thank whatever god that could exist, it was emptier than your brain had been in the last few days.

"Why are you avoiding me?" the question came out harshly from your lips, and with Law looking you up and down, it didn't make you any more comfortable.

"I don't want to take up your precious time…" the sentence seemed to die there. "With Teru." except that the last words came out full of venom.

"Law, you misunderstood."

"No, I didn't misunderstood." He had to control himself and stop acting like a bratty child. But it was impossible. Since when was it so painful to see you interacting with someone else? "I understand that maybe the distance between you two made you rethink something, I understand that…"

"Law, look at me." You tried to reach his chin, but insistent knocks on the door stole your attention.

"Hey, are you there?" Teru calling your name, what a surprise! "I need your help."

"You can go." Law murmured, nodding in the direction of the path.

A few more days, a few more days and this whole deception would be over. Maybe you would sit with Law and finally open your heart and let out all the thousand questions you had. Inside you, there was the fear that he didn't have any of the answers.

The answers lost their importance on one of the nights when a weight settled on top of you. As soon as your eyes opened and met Teru's, you saw your life fly like an arrow between your eyes. That was crossing all limits, absolutely all.

Without needing to hold back, you threw him out of bed and flew at him, your hands reaching for his neck. However, his hands raised as if he were surrendering.

"Calm down, calm down." he asked, trying to get away. "I didn't do anything, I wasn't going to do anything. I just wanted to wake you up."

"And this is how you do shit like this?" you yelled, getting off of him. "Have you lost your fucking mind?"

"I just wanted to take advantage of the fact that you're alone here and talk." Your trembling hands slid through your hair, trying in vain to gather some calm. "I realized that I still love you and after all this time. Aren't you tired of this, of this life? I can give you something better if you give me a chance."

Your mouth opened and closed a few times, ferocity and indignation drawn on the expression illuminated by a small lamp that you barely know how you turned on.

"Get out of here." Your rational side spoke louder. Your colleagues who occupied the other dorms didn't deserve to have to hear you freak out.

"I believe…"

"Teru, I'm trying to be rational here so please leave. Don't wait for me to decide to be irrational, beat you up and throw you out to sea. We both know in a fight like this who would win."

The man still had the nerve to give you a hurt look, as if you were the crazy one in the whole story. That night, you didn't sleep anymore. Nor the next two.

Teru continued to be inconvenient, the others, unaware of everything you had been through, continued to laugh. Law continued to become more reclusive. Apparently the hurricane of things was limited to your brain.

Three days of stolen shifts, after all, if you were busy working you could find excuses to avoid Teru. Three days without sleep, with only light meals and a more than questionable amount of caffeine in your body.

The room was full, a dinner almost in a celebratory tone for the farewell of a long-time friend. Coincidentally, it meant that your martyrdom was coming to an end the next day.

Your colleagues - and the enemy in question - chatted animatedly around you. The fish on your plate had already swum more than it should have swum when it was still alive. You were exhausted. It was just another day dawning…

"I mean, I can stay a few more days…" Teru's voice stood out, as he flicked your plate, catching your attention. "I just need the right chance."

The jocular tone, the false humor surrounded by a promise that was taking away your peace. It was as if the entire Polar Tang or all the seas decided to go silent at the same time. Maybe your exhaustion didn't allow you to notice that your voice had escalated many, many decibels. Your hands slammed hard against the cafeteria table, silencing everyone around and forcing the man in front of you to retreat.

"Shut the hell up." you shouted, not caring about the higher scales your voice reached. "Shut up! I'm tired, exhausted! I don't want to go back to you, I don't want to give you any more fucking chances. I want to be able to go to my room or at least eat in peace." The dark circles under your eyes and tired expression even indicated that you were exhausted, but everyone knew that you had lost your limits by letting yourself go like that. "It's your fault that I'm in this state, the man I love barely looks at me and I haven't slept for days! I don't want to hear your excuses, I don't want you to grab me or invade my room in the middle of the night. I'm tired of trying to be even the slightest bit polite, that's enough. I don't want to know about you!" After saying each word slowly, you noticed the scandalous silence around you. Damn, you had put on quite a show.

Leaving Teru, your plate and the curious looks aside, you left the room, looking for the first place you could hide and try to think about what you had said. And you had said too much. Back in the Polar Tang cafeteria, curious looks alternated between looking at Teru and where you were.

At one end of the room, a pair of attentive eyes followed you, while each drop of blood seemed to heat up.

"I hadn't noticed." Law heard someone say, in a low tone.

"I thought he was a good person." Another comment hit him.

He didn't want - in fact, he couldn't - think about anything else after the avalanche of information. As his mind permeated with the man I love that came out of your lips, he couldn't deny that he was seeing red in front of him. There was no anger - in fact, he knew very well that that wasn't the feeling he had for you - that would stop him from wanting to protect you at that moment.

"I need to go…" Teru began, ready to follow you. "I need to apologize to her and…"

"Move and you'll be dead." Law's voice came out in an almost monotonous tone, like someone listing some items to buy for the next trip to the market. For those who knew him, they knew that it was almost the same as a death sentence.

With one last look in Teru's direction, the captain of the Heart Pirates decided to follow you. He knew that by the surprised and furious expressions he saw around the room, Teru wouldn't be able to leave so easily.

Finding you was easy. The door to one of the rooms was open and you were circling around nervously.

and from one end to the other even though there wasn't much space for your hasty steps to go around. Law closed the door behind him and that was enough to pull you out of that trance. The two of you remained still for a few seconds, just contemplating each other's existence. It had been days since you had barely been close, let alone locked in the same room.

"Forgive me." He began, intertwining his fingers and trying not to appear as nervous as he was.

"About what? The one who made a scene now was me."

"For not realizing that so much wrong was happening beneath my ignorance." He took a small step towards you. Looking at him was like approaching a small, defenseless puppy, shy and tired eyes looking at him. "I was blind."

"You were busy." Your trembling voice was almost the same as having a thousand daggers cutting him.

"I should never be when it comes to you. But the fact is, I was blinded by silly jealousy." He confessed and released all the air he barely knew he was holding as soon as his hands reached the sides of your arms. "Tell me what I can do for you."

"I think after this, there's not much else to do, right?" You tried to give your best smile. "I think I just want to get some sleep, that's all. Try to clear up all this mess."

"Do you mind explaining to me better what he did to you?" Law saw you lower your head trying to avoid the question. "If you prefer, we can treat this as captain and subordinate, you fill out some things, everything formalized."

"Because I have a feeling I have more than one option."

"Either you tell me here or in my room, not to me as your captain, but as someone who really cares about you, someone who…" He paused, trying not to pressure you or corner you even more. "Just let me take care of you, okay?"

"I have this feeling that either choice will result in him being kicked out of here."

"That's up to you." That came out of his lips, while his mind was hoping that you would decide to let him torture Teru in the worst possible ways.

"You're the captain here."

Law took off the hat he was wearing and placed it on your head, carefully adjusting it under your messy hair.

"I'm temporarily naming you captain. I could get some tattoos or find a cooler outfit, but that's going to take a while." He smiled as he heard a light laugh echo from you. "You decide what to do with him. I'll do it, you don't have to deal with this problem anymore."

"Let's just let him go, please. He made a mistake, I know, but I want this to just end, without too much drama." You suggested and saw him close his smile immediately. "Is there a problem?"

"I thought it would be something more like please cut him into a thousand pieces or please beat him up." He tried to imitate it poorly and realized that you weren't joking. "Consider it done."

"Law?" your hands brought him even closer to you and it wasn't like you needed to bring into the world what you wanted.

Before he even reached your lips, Law allowed his face to slide along the side of your neck as he pressed himself against your body. Something exquisite like feeling you there, something possessive like marking you as his.

Only then did his lips capture yours in a way that seemed calm but the more he stole your mouth to his you noticed even more urgency, more repressed desire after the long week apart. He tried to move away just enough for the two of you to catch a few seconds of air to remember that you were in the middle of some random room at Polar Tang and that there was an entire crew waiting for the man to reappear and make a definitive decision.

"I need to go." He murmured even though he didn't want to. There was a strange feeling of belonging every time his arms were intertwined with your body. "I need to tell everyone…" he made a move to walk away but was stopped by your hands.

"We can't leave it for later, it's just… I missed you." you confessed and he nodded, as if he was savoring the words that came out of you.

"I'm sorry, but no." he genuinely seemed disappointed. "I missed you, but I think I need to go there, take sides."

"And then?"

"Then you'll accompany me to my room, more precisely to my bed…"

"Law." your voice sounded like a warning and ignoring what you were saying, he pressed his body against yours, however you couldn't feel any malice in that.

"More precisely to my bed so you can get a decent night's sleep. No one will disturb you there, I promise." he finished, seeing you smile shyly. "I told you, I just want to take care of you."

Like magnets, your hands once again intertwined around him at the same time that your lips sought his. It didn't seem necessary to deepen the kiss, it was as if your own body just needed to feel Law's presence there, his scent.

His lips were mixed with yours, his lips glued to your mouth. Your tongues danced slowly like a small intimate rediscovery between the two of you. It didn't last long, long enough for him to hold you against his arms.

"I was an idiot, I know, I promise never to act like that again." He murmured against your skin, hugging you tightly before letting you go. "Ready to go?" He held out his hand to you. "I just need to talk to Bepo and Clione first."

"But this…" First you put his hat back on him and then you handed him your hand, and he immediately started walking with his fingers intertwined with yours.

"I said. I'm ready to take sides." He simply replied.

The big room seemed intact like a work of art. Everyone was standing in the same position, except that you could hear some murmurs. One of the only things different was Teru. His confident posture had been replaced by him with his hands under his face, looking nervous. As soon as he noticed the presence of the two of you, he seemed to regain a little of what had disappeared. You didn't want to argue anymore, things seemed clearly resolved. So when you saw him walking towards you, your only reaction was to hold the hand tied to yours even tighter, which seemed to catch Law's attention.

"Hey, I wanted to apologize for…"

"Stop talking." Law limited himself to saying even though he refused to look the man in the face. "Bepo, Clione, please let me know as soon as we're ready to dock at the next island. Until I'm informed, no one leaves the Polar Tang."

"Yes, captain!"

"Do you want to go to our bedroom and rest?" Ikkaku approached you, proposing with a gentle smile. "We're sorry we didn't notice anything before."

"It's okay." You nodded, smiling in her direction. "I just needed to get that off my chest."

"Ikkaku, don't worry." Law turned to her. "On second thought, I think it would be a good idea for you to sleep with Shachi and Penguin or with someone, wherever is more comfortable." Law pointed out, unable to resist glancing at Teru sideways. "I won't cage his, but I also don't know how comfortable I am knowing that someone is capable of breaking into other people's rooms."

"That's a great idea, thank you, Captain."

"You're all dismissed."

Law once again began to guide you, this time to the opposite side. As soon as he opened the bedroom door, he made room for you to enter. The environment became increasingly familiar to you, even though it was still full of books and comics scattered around.

"Are you sure I won't get in your way?" you insisted and instead of hearing the answer come out of his lips, you only felt his arms encircle you and guide you in not-so-aligned steps to the bed. "Can I take that as a no?"

"You can take that as a no, it's my pleasure to have you here." He said in a light tone, the opposite of what you had heard earlier. "Before you rest, I need to know something."

"What do you want to know?" Your voice was shaky, thinking about what you had shouted at the top of your lungs. As soon as you sat up in bed, you had to hold back a light laugh when you saw Law lift your legs and arrange some pillows.

"What did he do?" He sat up, indicating that you should lie down. "I mean, I know he did enough to upset you and that you asked me to take it easy, but I need to know under what exact conditions I can send him away from here."

"And what would the options be?"

"That depends on what you tell me." One of his hands rested on your thigh, in an almost imperceptible caress. "He can leave here, walking on his own two feet or he can leave here in pieces, straight to the bottom of the sea. In short, of course."

"He didn't do anything serious. I think that, apart from the day he broke into the room, he was just being inconvenient. I think most of my outburst was just a rant." You explained and saw that he seemed to be thinking about the next words he was going to say. "What I said there…"

"It's okay." He tried to reassure you even though he was mesmerized by how lovely you looked lying on his bed. "You need to rest, we have all the time in the world to talk later."

"Law?" Only a low grumble came from his lips, encouraging you to continue. "Can you stay here?"

"Yes, of course."

The idea at first was to climb over you and head to the other side of the bed. However, you seemed to have very different plans. Your legs closed against Law's waist and your torso raised enough to pull him towards you.

He didn't need any more tips than that. As soon as his body fell on top of yours, your lips were locked against his and even with all the desire, you could feel him withdrawing.

"I need you." You mumbled against his neck feeling him growl against you, fighting against his own will.

"Babe not today."

"I missed you so much, I just need to feel you even if it's just a little." Again the sly tone against him.

God, Law knew he had never needed to have as much self-control as he was having at that moment. And it wasn't that he didn't want you - quite the opposite, since his hips moved in search of some kind of friction against you. It was just a mix of guilt for everything that had happened and concern. He just wanted to see you well.

"You just need to feel me, huh?" His tone was a few octaves lower and rougher as his hand slid down your body.

His lips didn't leave yours as his hand roamed your body. Fingers slowly gliding over your skin, pushing aside any type of fabric he could find along the way. Wet kisses ran down your neck to your nipple, eliciting gasps that matched the arch that was forming in your back. More contact, more pleasure, you needed more Law.

Two fingers slid through the damp fabric of your panties, sliding there unpretentiously, waiting for you to release the last thread of sanity.

"Law, please, I need you."

"Me? What do you need?" He set the fabric aside, letting his finger slide away from where you needed it most.

The blue dome formed over the two of you before you could understand the word he had said and there was something almost poetic about how he could use the same thing to do devastating things - like dismember, kill or press his fingers into the place that burned you the most.

"M-more." A strangled moan escaped your lips in a brief moment you forgot you didn't need to hold back.

"Babe you need to rest so let's not go through much of this today." He said with a mischievous smile as he noticed the frustration in your expression. "I think I can give a little more to my girl." His middle finger penetrated you slowly feeling you contract and moan slowly as your hips sought more and more. "Do you want anything else?"

You mumbled something he could barely understand not that he cared much about it at the moment. The way your body tangled against his made it clearer than any words could.

"Can you take one more?" His ring finger joined his middle finger inside you as his palm began to rub against your clit. "It's right here, isn't it, sweetheart? I can feel it."

"Just don't… don't stop."

"It's just you and me here, babe. Come on, I can feel you squeezing me. I've missed this pussy, so much." The dirtiest words were whispered against your ear as if someone could break the dome between the two of you. "Do you want to cum? I know you do, give it to me. Just give it to me, sweetheart."

Legs trembling, a blank vision and a scream that would surely be etched in your throat. Before you opened your eyes, you could feel something against your face. Once, twice, three times. A few small kisses spread almost chastely across your skin.

"Are you okay?" Law's eyes were immediately above yours. "It seemed intense."

"It didn't just seem like it."

You laughed, feeling the weight of his body on top of yours, but not for long as he adjusted himself and lay down, forcing you to fit into his arms. You could feel his breath against your skin as his fingers caressed your skin. At that moment, you wanted to say so much. So many feelings that could easily become a waterfall of words, but in the end, they were summed up in just three of them. Three words that you felt like they were being said against your skin before your eyes closed.

Maybe it was tiredness or maybe it was because you were sleeping in a much more comfortable place than you were used to. You were definitely getting used to being there, or else you wouldn't have rolled over in bed looking for someone else.

As soon as you did your morning routine and went to find your tasks, you found your corner of the board empty, your tasks redistributed to others.

"You need this." Shachi tapped your shoulder as he passed, knowing that you were probably confused by your huge list. "Take a rest, after all, we're only going to give you this gift today."

"Thanks, I guess."

You could use a few more hours of rest, even though you didn't know if you'd be able to sleep any longer. The small memory of the night before came to your mind. You couldn't have gotten it wrong, could you?

The walk to Law's room seemed like an eternity and you made sure to distract yourself with anything you found along the way, a way to gain even more time for your final decision.

When you opened the bedroom door, you found Law sitting on the bed as if he already knew you'd be back there.

"I heard you got the day off." In an unexpected gesture, your legs guided you until they stopped in front of him.

Your fingers itched, gathering courage or at least trying to find something to do with your hands. They had never been so restless, so lost. Maybe that was reflected in your frightened expression since the reaction didn't come from you but Law. His hands pulled you by the waist until your legs circled his body, fitting on top of him without any kind of malice. It was as if that path had become the favorite route for both of you.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked and you nodded. "And did you eat?" Again, the same gesture. "What's going on then?"

And then there it was. Law's worried yet sweet tone and his eyes attentive to your every move, his hands clasped around your waist as a mix of marking himself present and also as a guarantee that he would keep you there, next to him.

It was almost cathartic to understand that, something so big and in such a few milliseconds. It bordered on frightening while at the same time taking away all the fear you were facing.

"I love you." The words came out like that, light as someone saying a simple good morning. As if it was the thing you said to him every morning. "I think I love you. I'm sure, actually, I love you." and there it was, all the confusion, all the butterflies in your stomach wanting to fly out at once.

Cathartic. Just like the smile that appeared on his lips, that lit up your captain's eyes.

"I love you." Coming from him, it sounded like a relief. As if that secret had been kept for too long. "I've loved you for longer than I can even calculate and that's a little scary. I hate myself for acting the way I have in the last few days."

"Don't worry, I think I love you enough for both of us."

For a long time, you were against romance books. The story of the kiss of love, all the drama surrounding it seemed not to suit you. Or your other relationships. Or Law's stolen kisses. Or the idea that your greatest closeness began with something that goes beyond a kiss.

But there it was, lips on lips, his hands moving up your back and your mouth giving way to him. That was a kiss, one of those that took your breath away before his tongue even explored yours.

His hands on your back were replaced by the comfortable mattress. His white t-shirt was thrown somewhere you would worry about later. Your clothes met the same fate and you both couldn't be less worried about it.

"Just tell me you need me, please." He whispered against your skin, his lips descending to your belly. "Babe, please."

"I'll always need you."

This time he didn't tease you, he just dove into your intimacy. Honey and saliva mixed in his mouth and that was certainly the best thing he had ever tasted. Your hips sought more and more and he would give it to you, with all pleasure. Your explosion didn't take long to arrive and before you became too sensitive, your fingers tangled in his dark strands, pulling him back.

"Any lessons for today?" you teased him as he fit between your legs.

"No. Today I want to learn." His cock rubbed against your thighs, a hard resistance as he was getting closer and closer to where you both wanted. "I want you to tell me what you like, what you want."

"Just you." Your legs circled him, you could feel the tip of his cock brush against your entrance and sink in inch by inch. "Fuck!"

"That's my intention." He chuckled against your skin and swallowed your moans against a kiss as your intimacy swallowed him completely.

Slow thrusts drew small moans from you. Damn, it would be hard to control like this and Law knew he was in no condition to focus on anything other than you. Other than your body around him, your moans and requests for more and more against his ear.

The speed increased and by that time someone had certainly already heard you, not that he cared. His fingers intertwined with yours.

"I can feel you… oh fuck, babe I can't hold it in much longer." He moaned against your skin, thrusting without much rhythm, but more and more intensely. "Cum with me, love, please."

The request was enough, the simple request for you to contract against him and for him to spill himself against you. Almost like a perfectly orchestrated symphony.

Law didn't want to let you go, ever, but even more so at that moment. Only when he managed to breathe properly again - and you were still a little breathless and airy - did he pull out of you, only to let himself go and pull you against his chest.

"Shit." Your mumble caught his attention. "You know everyone heard, right? They're sure to make fun of me."

"It's a shame." He laughed, letting his face sink into your hair. "Lucky for you you're off today."

"Yeah, lucky indeed. I can get locked up here."

"And lucky also that you're dating the captain." He blurted out the information, expecting a reaction from you. A complaint, a grumble, but in return, he only found your almost incredulous smile.

"Are you kidding me isn't it?"

"I can get down on one knee, I can buy you a bunch of flowers, I can book an amazing restaurant just for you." He started listing, seeing you look at him with shining eyes. "Whatever makes you happy, as long as you agree to be my girlfriend."

"I accept. Can you say that again?" you asked and saw him pretend to try to remember something, even scratching his head.

"Okay, low blow." he said with a laugh, as you started to give him some pinches. "I love you."

And little did you know that that morning he disappeared, initially to teach Teru a lesson, to make him regret every single thing. But your words remained in his mind, your request to just let him go and for the first time in a while Law wanted to follow someone's order - your request. That's how he changed his course and didn't add "give you a ring" to the list of things he would do for you, after all the jewel had been bought that morning and he couldn't wait to see you wear it.