#the very next morning. that is absolutely horrendous timing my love <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[riddlerosehearts]

and next up on the list of things from EA that i really wish could've been worked into the full release somehow: this dialogue you get when kissing gale at the party.

[majoryeager104]

Could you write about a horrendously down bad Tomura reacting to the reader speaking in their native language (and maybe even learning it for them)?

(this is totally not for my oc btw cough cough)

gahhh I love this so much ofc <3 so sorry this took me a little while to finish

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Tomura had been staring at you for a while. Stealing glances here and there, looking away a few times to make sure you didn’t notice just how much he was admiring you, even in a moment like this. You were fooling around with Himiko, running around the base and laughing. It was cute. Really cute, he’d think, his chin on his palm as he watched your movements. One thing he specifically focused on was your eyes- a vibrant and lovely shade of e/c that he couldn’t help but adore.

It didn’t take long though for the moment to end, especially considering you’d just stubbed your toe on the corner of a table. “Fuck!” You exclaimed, not realizing you’d said it in your native language until everyone was staring at you perplexed. Even Twice had stopped bugging Compress to look at you and tilt his head, letting out a very simple “huh?”

Despite the initial confusion everyone had caught on, and while you and Himiko now sat opposite him, while the latter girl smiled and asked you about your language, Tomura sat there, still staring. He listened to you speak that language again when Himiko asked you to. It sounded pretty, especially in your voice. He thought about it late into the night.

But he’d never tell you that. No, no, he’d much rather just overthink telling you how pretty your native language sounded while pacing back and forth in his room. There had to be some other way to say it, some other way to convey how much he liked it, how much he liked you.

So, instead of being upfront, he got to studying. His usual hours on his computer late at night were now spent learning, and practicing phrases, quietly sounding them out hours into the night.

It wasn’t until the next morning that all his hard work came to fruition, when he approached you during breakfast, and as per usual, you were walking around with that content look, those pretty eyes landing on him as you waved hello.

He picked up a conversation with you, trying to figure out a way to slide in the phrase he’d learned. He was so nervous, fidgeting and getting quiet here and there, looking down or away from you, needless to say it was a little perplexing from your point of view. When he noticed that, he panicked, and blurted out the words he’d been intending to say since last night.

“you have pretty eyes”

He cringed after he said it, already feeling stupid for it. That was, until you smiled, really, really smiled. “Thank you, Tomura” you replied, and thanks to his all nighter, he caught it, a small smile forming on his face too as he scratched the back of his neck. Success.

You were smiling about the moment well into the day, and to be honest, so was Tomura. So much so that he spent even more time practicing in your native language. After a few months, he got to a point where he could hold a basic conversation with you, and he absolutely loved it. Being able to speak to you so intimately, because no one else in the league knew it, just you two, it made him blush to just think about it.

And as a cherry on top, he did in fact (eventually, when he got the confidence to,) ask you out in your native language too.

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A/n; when I read the request I knew I knew in my left asscheek that reader would curse after stubbing their toe. I don’t know why, but it was perfect to me, and I hope you liked it <3

[heygerald]

As always, I adore your writing and am so excited to see a new chapter up (saving it for bedtime with a cup of tea <3) but I had an amazing idea I must share thinking about birthdays, particularly Parker’s. 

Tom has always had an element of wealth behind him, yes? But after meeting Parker his sense of sentimentality increased tenfold, and in wanting to represent his love for her he realises he doesn’t want to buy something, doesn’t want to only open his wallet for the woman who opened so much of his heart. As an actor he’s a creative agent, and automatically assumes that some level of that skill should translate to other creative pursuits. So, when he saunters past a little book binding workshop while walking Jean Claude, he immediately knows what to do for Parker’s birthday, and believes he has it in himself to excel. 

He attends in his most anonymous clothing possible (which may consist of one of Colt’s old jumpers left in Parker’s home), sunglasses sitting low on his nose despite the late afternoon sunset, and pulls out three copies of Parker’s favourite books, pilfered with the help of Melissa and some very poorly concealed questioning over morning yoga / reading. 

He’s absolutely horrendous at bookbinding.

Despite expert instructions, Tom finds his fingers thick with glue and tinged ultramarine from the leather dye. His ties are loose and stripped string litters his workstation, and he leaves with one shoddily bound novel and a heaping of frustration. 

Despite this, he’s back again next week. And the week after next. And again and again he attends, until he is able to shed his disguise and second skin to ask for a one-on-one lesson, to let the owner know love is what is driving him and this seemingly hopeless pursuit.

By the time Parker’s birthday rolls around, there’s on little rectangular gift somewhat misshapenly wrapped on her bedside table, along with her coffee perfectly made. Tom’s early call time stopped him from physically being there, but never emotionally. Never for her.

As Parker’s lithe fingers slide under the papered creases, pulling it free from tape and mystery, she’s greeted with a beautifully bound copy of Contact. It’s complete with skilful leather indents, gold leaf detailing, and a ribbon bookmark. When she flips open to the title page, a familiar coffee stain greets her, one Mrs Grobowski apologised for distant years ago, when she first bequeathed the box of books to Parker’s then humble shop. 

It’s the copy she passed onto Tom, back when his asshole facade was beginning to chip away. And as she cards through the pages, meeting frantic annotations and highlights and little doodles in the margins, the grin nearly splits her face in half. There are plentiful allusions to her own opinions, along with 12 (she counted) reminders to call her about this or that particular passage. Being able to hold such an important piece of their shared history maker her heart swell three times its size. 

It nearly stops when she gets to the back cover, where a yellow sticky note is crowded by her boyfriend’s familiar handwriting:

“Ask Parker to marry you.”

Stopstopstopstopstopstopstop—

This is quite literally too beautiful and cute and on brand and Parker/Tom and—UGH

❤️♥️❤️❤️❤️♥️♥️❤️♥️🩵💚💚🩵🩵💚 literally thank you so much for this talented headcannon it is so beautiful and makes me so happy my story can inspire this sort of stuff 💚❤️💚❤️🩵💚💚🩵🩵♥️

[gwynrielsupremacist]

A COURT OF LIGHT AND SHADOWS

Chapter 1: Voices

Read at AO3.

Gwyn's afternoon couldn't get any worse.

First of all, the morning's training had been horrendous.

Three weeks after the Blood Rite, Cassian and Azriel had thought it was time to start practicing again, since according to them, they had made a lot of mistakes that could very well have cost them their lives.

She was still alive, just like Nesta and Emerie, so at least one thing they had done well, survive.

After 3 weeks of not doing any sports, it was noticeable when you came back with all the energy, especially on a day where the sun was literally burning.

She noticed as she did push-ups that morning how her arms were trembling dangerously, the sweat running down the curve of her breasts, soaking the shirt she had worn.

Gwyn had promised herself that she would go out into the outside world.

That year she had made a lot of progress, she supposed she should be ready to enter society again, but no.

After the events in the Blood Rite, what she wanted was to lock herself in the darkest corner of the library, with a good book, and stay there to live.

Obviously, she couldn't do that. But she would have liked it.

With all the sore muscles, having failed almost all the obstacles the two Illyrians put them, showing a regrettable endurance in each and every one of the exercises, she had to go down to the library to have a pleasant chat with Merrill, who did not understand why her performance hadn't been 100% in recent weeks.

"I don't know, Merrill. Maybe because they pulled me out of bed against my will, left me in the middle of a forest full of Illyrians, while I had to fight to stay safe, as well as having to kill people? Maybe because I had never left the library after Sangravah, and I suddenly found myself in the same situation? " She reasoned, trying to control her pulse, having remembered the events in the Blood Rite.

She detested Merrill.

More than anyone else, she hated her. She often thought that life would be so much easier if people like Merrill just didn't exist.

After leaving her a ton of work to do, the female disappeared, leaving Gwyn with about seven books resting in her arms, already numb from the morning exercises.

She ran to the nearest table, relieved when she put the books down, with a thud.

She rubbed her dazed hands, wincing at the pile of books that awaited her to spend hours and hours together.

She had to research one of Merrill's new obsessions, the ancient and forgotten Prythian gods.

"I didn't even know they existed", she opined, opening a random book to a random page, flipping through the contents.

She got dizzy from so much information she did not understand, closing the pages with force, grabbing a cart that was nearby, leaving the volumes in it and going to her room, to calmly read those pages and pages of useless information, and then do a chapter-by-chapter summary for Merrill.

"Great, it's a good way to spend your free time if you love reading junk." She groaned as she carefully lowered the cart down the stairs.

"It is not junk. It is information that may be useful at some point", answered her subconscious.

At least she thought it was her subconscious.

She didn't remember when she had started to hear that voice, just one day it had appeared, and now it was considered the voice of reason.

Everything that voice said, it was true.

"I know, but I don't know how knowing which are the main and forgotten gods of Prythian is going to solve my problems." She attacked, greeting one priestess that came close to her, passing by her side.

The voice fell silent, apparently it had nothing more to add.

At least Gwyn could answer the voice in her mind. It would have been a strange thing to see a person argue with herself.

Upon reaching the room, which was a simple square with a bed, a wooden desk with a wooden chair that had more splinters than wood itself, and a modest closet, also made of wood.

Yeah, in summer the termites would destroy all the furniture if she wasn't careful.

Closing the door with the latch, one of the little luxuries she had on it, she put the books down with a thump, brushing her hands on the skirts of the gown, which was already heavily encrusted with dust.

She thought of taking off that long dress, which after so many washes the initial blue had ended up in an almost invisible gray, but she did not feel like going to the common baths of the priestesses, because every time she went there, they peppered her with questions about the Blood Rite.

And the last thing she wanted to do was talk about it.

So she collapsed on the bed, pulling back the covers and hugging the pillow with one arm, as she got into a fetal position.

"You have to go out, you can't hide in the bedroom all afternoon." It protested, to which she responded very kindly with a growl as she turned, trying to make it understand that she was going to do whatever she wanted.

"Alright then. If you get caught between the sheets and can't get out, don't come running to ask me for help." it threatened.

Gwyn didn't know how she was going to ask for help to a voice. It was disembodied, how the hell was she going to beg for help if she didn't even know what that murmur was?

She rolled over on the bed, rubbing her eyes and exhaling, disappointed.

She hated not being able to get out of that damn room.

She hated her insecurity and her irrational fear.

"It is not irrational, Gwyn." It assured her.

"Leave me alone." She begged, getting it to shut up.

She lay on her stomach, breathing deeply.

She looked at the time on the only clock in the room, located above the closet.

19.36.

It appears that she had a lot of time to do absolutely nothing.

Maybe she was going to pick up a book that Nesta and Emerie were reading.

Honestly, she was dying to sink her teeth into one that had caught her attention. According to her description, a maiden sent by the gods fell in love with her bodyguard...

Determined, she bolted upright, unlocking the latch, happily heading for the book.

There would be time to examine the books Merrill had passed her.

Anyway, she had a lot of time, reading something that interested her was not going to do anything bad to everyone.

With a broad grin, she made it to the fiction book section. She opened one of the books, tucking her nose between the pages, an exhale escaping from her lips when she smelled the wonderful book scent.

Her gaze sparking, she searched for the novel she was looking for.

"Didn't you forget something?" It asked.

She stopped short in the middle of the shelves, alarming a passing priestess.

Bowing her head in apology, she went back to searching, her eyes narrowing as she searched the thousands of spins with her eyes, finding none that bore the name of the book she was looking for.

"I don't have any errands to deliver to Merrill." She snapped, frowning when she finally found it.

It was at the top of the shelf.

She made a long face, standing on her tiptoes, stretching her arm as far as she could as she stuck her tongue out, focused.

"I don't mean Merrill, Gwyneth."

"Mysterious voice, what are you talking about?" The priestess demanded in a tired voice. She did not arrive. Why did they make the shelves so high? It was not possible that someone could reach them.

Although, don't get it wrong, Gwyn adored the voice. It was equal to the voice that we all have within us guiding us.

The problem was that the voice that she had was a little… annoying.

She looked at the shelves next to the floor, no books in sight.

Maybe if she got on them…?

She put one foot on it, skipping little hops as she judged whether the bookcase was going to fall or not.

Realizing that it was unlikely, she lifted her other foot, raising her heels as much as she could while she stretched out her arm, feeling her muscles go numb.

A little more ... just a little more ...

"You remember that your friend Nesta has a mate, right? And that you promised them that you would go to her ceremony?" As soon as she finished the sentence, Gwyn stopped.

Shit.

Seriously, had she forgotten that?

"There is still time… There are five days until the ceremony." The voice tried to calm her down, but nothing was going to do it now.

She jumped down from the shelf, as she began to walk from one place to another, in circles.

She had to go.

She couldn't do that to Nesta.

"I don't even have a dress. What am I going to wear?" Alarmed, she slightly stretched the strands of her coppery hair, thinking of a way to solve all the problems that had suddenly befallen her.

I have to leave the library to go to the mating ceremony.

I have to leave the library to go to the mating ceremony.

The female began to hyperventilate, forgetting the book that she had held less than 3 centimeters from her hands.

That was far more important.

"I can't tell Nesta that I forgot about her mating ceremony. I can't do that to her." Gwyn protested, running her hands over her face, rubbing her temples angrily, forcing herself to search for solutions and solutions and solutions.

But neither of them was going to work.

She had to get out of there, no priestess was going to leave her a suitable dress for the mating ceremony.

But she couldn't go alone. She did not dare to go down to the city alone.

Emerie couldn't help her. It had started the illyrian high-selling season and the illyrian needed the money. She only went to training, then she quickly returned to her store, not staying a minute longer than necessary.

Cassian and Nesta were completely out of the question.

Azriel...

"Ask him." The voice advised.

She needed to name that voice. She could not continue calling it "the voice", that was beginning to be uncomfortable.

"Maybe he can help you get the dress." It continued.

Would it be male or female? Or rather, what the hell was it?

"Are you listening to me?"

She definitely had no idea what it was.

"What are you?" Gwyn questioned, curious as she left the fiction section behind, walking aimlessly through the library.

She loved to wander aimlessly through the thousands of bookshelves, silent priestesses, the whisper of books her only company.

Besides that voice, of course.

"Have you heard anything I've said to you in the last two minutes?" Her voice roared.

"I've heard nonsense, so no, I haven't heard anything." She claimed. "But anyway, you haven't answered my question. What are you?"

"I am everything and I am nothing at the same time."

Now was it was being funny with her?

She rolled her eyes, annoyed "That is not an answer."

"It's an answer if you know how to interpret it." It answered.

She rolled her eyes again.

"Well, at least tell me what I can call you, it's uncomfortable to think of you as 'The voice'" She asked.

The voice fell silent, which she thought meant the end of the conversation.

She decided to head over to her room, assuming she should start Merrill's work, until 'the Voice' answered her.

"Elián"

Gwyn stood in the middle of the bedroom hall

"That is your name?"  She asked.

"My real name would burn your lips if you were able to pronounce it" It replied. "But yes, Elián is my name, and I am 'him', I have noticed how you struggled because you did not know if I was a man or a woman. The definition of gender is much more complicated than that, but it will be enough".

"G-Good." She answered.

Elián was quiet at last, leaving her with her own thoughts, as she opened the door, her own scent of jasmine feeling welcoming.

And the proposal he had made, although obviously she had ignored it, she was not wrong to consider.

Perhaps the Shadowsinger would help her out, aiding her finding a decent dress for her.

She closed the crank behind her, sitting on the small bed, wondering if it would be smart to ask him, risking him saying no, or not asking him and risking not having a dress for the ceremony.

Sighing, she figured she should go to the bathrooms to get the sensation of dust - and the dust itself - off her body, so she grabbed change clothes and headed there, deciding at that moment that tomorrow she would ask the Spymaster if he could accompany her to buy a dress.

Inside her, she could feel Elián nodding his head, giving his approval.

TAG LIST (tell me if you want to be tagged or deleted) @bookish-isha @imsointobooks @shisingh @feyretale @niaacotar @flora-shadowshine @tealnymph24 @trashforazriel @hlizr50 @meher-sumedha @heyovivi @positivewitch @greywarens-magician @sageofthegalaxy @valkygwyn @verifiefangirl @verifiefangirl-mainblog @snickerdoodlechittybangbang @genya-berdara @katekatpattywack @frulyall @mercurianbisous @rainbowcheetah512

[rhysismydaddy]

Fanny Pack Sexiness (Nessian Smut)

Prompt: *sensually unclips fanny pack* this is weird, i know. but i just saw a tweet and i thought if anyone could write this, it would be you.

Laughed so hard when I read this. If this isn’t Nessian, I don’t know what is. NSFW warning because I do love a fanny pack moment ;)

_________________________________________________________

Nesta glared out the window, keeping her unspoken vow to not look over at the atrocity that was her boyfriend. 

Well, that wasn’t not fair. 

The boyfriend himself was actually pretty nice to look at. 

Broad shoulders, a tall frame filled with meaty muscle, curly brown hair, and golden eyes made him interesting enough, she supposed. 

But it was what the bastard had chosen to wear that had driven her insane all day. 

The monstrosity was strapped around his waist currently, and she could’ve sworn it was laughing up at her. 

Consider this the first and last time she would ever travel with him. 

Because since it wasn’t obvious enough they were American, Cassian had chosen to wear a fanny pack. Over an I <3 LONDON shirt. Which he’d paired with khakis. 

He looked like the cover of a tourist’s guide made for forty year-old, single men who lived with their mothers. 

And she knew it was at least partly her fault he was dressed so stupidly, but she refused to apologize. 

Last night, they’d been heading out to dinner, when she commented that almost always, he wore all black. Honestly, it wasn’t even a complaint, considering she was guilty of the same thing. 

Why bother trying to put together prints and fabrics and colors, when black looked so nice on her? 

Anyway. She hadn’t been complaining. Teasing, but not complaining. 

But noooo. He’d immediately gotten that annoying, competitive look in his eyes that both made her smile and want to strangle him. 

“What would you like me to wear, Nesta?” he’d asked, golden eyes practically glowing. 

She’d sighed, probably making things worse. “I’m just saying, we look a little goth when we’re together.”

Cassian had just smiled down at her, then walked out of their room. She hadn’t thought any more of it when he’d slipped back in later that night, but then this morning, when he’d gotten dressed in the bathroom and opened the door with a flourish, she’d almost hit the floor. 

He was not built for fanny packs and khakis. 

He was built for... well, he was built to be naked all the time, but since that would probably get them sent back to the states, tight black shirts and jeans was a decent second option.

Plus, as if it weren’t bad enough already, he’d been adding to the ensemble all day, building up to the horrendous outfit she was currently avoiding looking at. 

His faded combat boots had been replaced with flip flops. His hair was tucked under a very large hat with a Big Ben outline across the front. He’d even stopped to buy a fucking old-fashioned pipe from the William Blake exhibit they’d gone to see. 

He was trying to drive her crazy. 

But little did he know, she had a few tricks up her sleeve. After three years together, she knew how to drive him crazy, too. 

So she’d plotted and schemed all day. And as they rode back to their hotel in the cab, it was finally time for it to come into play. 

Trying to be discrete, she nodded at the driver.

Cassian’s eyes shot to her as the man slammed on the brakes. It had costed her twenty Euros, but seeing the look of shock on her boyfriend’s face was so worth it. 

Especially as she shouted, “Drive him to the other side of the city and kick him out!”

And jumped from the cab. 

It was still moving a little, but she’d been prepared and hit the ground at a run. 

Manic laughter came out of her as Cassian turned around in the now-speeding cab, shouting something unintelligible back at her. 

He wanted to dress like a tacky tourist and drive her crazy? 

Fine. 

She’d just have to show him what he was missing out on. 

~

A little over an hour later, the door to their hotel room swung open, hitting the wall angrily. 

“That asshole took me halfway to fucking Essex, then had the audacity to charge me for the ride. Next time you have someone kidnap me, at least pay the fee, woman! I swear-”

Whatever he was about to say lodged in his throat as he took a look at what she was wearing. 

It was all new, and his eyes took in every piece of the wardrobe with a predatory gleam that sent her toes curling. But she acted unaffected, even as she bent down to fix the strap of her very high, very uncomfortable shoes. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, voice rough. 

Straightening, she shrugged and fluffed her hair. “I’m going to dinner.”

“You mean we’re going to dinner.”

Finally. 

Nesta turned towards her boyfriend, enjoying the way his eyes dipped to the almost indecent amount of cleavage on display. 

She traced her eyes over his entire rumpled, touristy outfit. “I’m not going in public with you while I look like this and you look like that.” 

His eyes narrowed as he finally caught on to what she’d done. “I’ll change then.”

It was a struggle not to laugh. “Well, you seemed so intent on replacing your wardrobe, I figured I’d help you out and dumped your suitcase.”

That was a lie. It was safely hidden down at the front desk. 

“You did what?”

Ignoring the question, she said, “You’re welcome. And since you can neither change nor go like that, I guess I’ll just see you later.”

Making her way to the door, she was abruptly stopped by a hand smacking into the wall closest to her, an arm now blocking her path. “Nesta Archeron, you are not going out looking like a goddamn supermodel while I sit here with my thumbs up my ass.”

“How you fill the alone time is irrelevant to me, Cassian.”

His other hand made its way to the wall, too, caging her in. 

“I know you wouldn’t throw my clothes out. Where are they? Tell me, and we’ll go to dinner.”

She shrugged, resolve to keep the secret building by the second. 

She was aware they were both a little competitive, but she didn’t care. She was winning this, one way or the other. He’d admit he’d been wrong to dress like an idiot today, then--and only then--she’d give him his clothes back. 

“I know what you’re doing,” he told her, the tone of his voice proving that it was working. 

He was suddenly so close she couldn’t think about anything else. 

Even dressed in head to toe tacky, he somehow managed to suck all the air out of her lungs. 

One hand turned his hat backwards so the brim wouldn’t poke her, and he leaned in close enough to run his nose down her neck. 

“Tell me, Nesta.”

“No.”

His teeth nipped at her skin, and she shivered. “Do I need to fuck it out of you?”

Gods, yes. Please. 

That hadn’t been her plan at all, but her body was more than on board with it. 

Except there was a bit of a problem. 

“You are not fucking me with a fanny pack on, hate to break it to you.”

Cassian pulled back far enough to wink at her, then his mouth was on hers, dominating her in the way that she’d only ever let him do. He pressed her against the wall, chest tight against hers, as he slipped his tongue in her mouth. 

Hands on her waist lifted her, and then she was being thrown halfway across the room onto the neatly-made bed. 

Propping herself up on her elbows, she glared over at him. 

“I was being serious, Cassian. You’re not getting any while you’re dressed like Uncle Sam.”

He swaggered over to the foot of the bed, the comment not at all impacting his confidence. 

“Allow me to remedy the problem then, princess.”

The hat’s the first to go, and it was a relief to see his unruly hair finally free. She heard the slap of his flip flops on the floor and figured he kicked them off, too. Cassian tugged the horrible, bright yellow “I <3 LONDON” shirt over his head, then stared at her, eyes narrowed. 

“I’m keeping the fanny pack.”

It was adorable how wrong he was. 

Raising an eyebrow, Nesta leaned back and let her thighs fall open, keying him into the fact that she’d somehow forgotten to put on underwear tonight. 

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t move to take off the damn pack. 

So she ran a manicured nail over her bottom lip, then slipped it in her mouth and sucked on it. She was pretty sure Cassian was about to pass out as she released it with a pop, then brought it between her legs. 

“Nesta.”

“Hmm?” she responded, the sound drawn out and breathy as she pushed the finger inside herself. 

“I like the fanny pack.” He sounded so sad, it was almost comical. Like a kid on Christmas who’d just been told Santa hadn’t come.

Too bad.

“Then stand there and watch.”

Oh, he did. His eyes were intent on her hands, both the one between her legs and the other that made it’s way to her breast. 

She rolled a nipple between her fingers and groaned, and he leaned down to fist the sheets at the end of the bed in his hands. “Fuck.”

Nesta refused to give first. Absolutely refused. 

And she knew what it would take for him to give in. So she added another finger, back arching off the bed, and worked herself until she was so close she couldn’t stay still. 

His knuckles were white as he gripped the comforter tight enough to threaten the strands, but it wasn’t that that forced him to lose their little battle. 

It was the sight of her coming undone before him. 

She moaned, and it might’ve been his name that fell from her lips, as release found her. When she heard the strangled, creative curse he let out, she knew she’d won. 

Forcing her eyes open, she watched as he finally unhooked the fanny pack and let it drop to the floor. 

It was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. 

Cassian quickly kicked off his hideous khakis, then prowled up her body, dropping little love bights on her thighs, her hips, her breasts. 

“That was so hot,” he groaned as he settled between her thighs, bracing himself on his elbows. 

“That was the idea, idiot.”

He stopped for a moment, pulling back to give her a sour look. “I think I’m going to make you apologize for that.”

Before she could tell him there was a fat chance of that happening, he pushed into her. Nesta gasped, and his mouth was suddenly on hers, absorbing the sound. 

After a brief moment to adjust, his hips grew rough against hers, the grip he had on them almost bruising, but she didn’t care. 

“Fuck, Cass,” she groaned, arching into his touch as he drew little circles on the bundle of nerves between her legs. 

He picked up speed, pounding into her so hard she started shifting up the bed until he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, keeping her in place. 

Release started building up in her, and she could tell it would be almost too intense when it crested. But just before she got to find out, he slowed his rhythm, swirling his hips slowly against hers. 

An indignant, hateful sound left her mouth, and he pulled back enough to smirk down at her. 

“Say it,” he commanded, eyes like molten caramel as they watched her hips try to gain more friction. “Say you’re sorry, and I’ll give you what you want.”

“Fuck you,” she panted, barely resisting the urge to punch him. “You insufferable, arrogant bastard.”

“Not exactly what I want to hear, but close.”

A maddeningly slow circle of his hips had her regretting ever going out with him. 

Another had her planning his murder.

Yet another had her cursing the day he was born.

“Say it, Nesta. You know you want to.” He dipped his head to kiss the base of her throat. 

Her body was so strung out it was a miracle she didn’t burst into tears, but she somehow managed to hold off for another few minutes.

But then he grabbed her hands and pinned them above her head and all but growled, “Just fucking say it. Say it so I can fuck you like you deserve.”

And she was just desperate enough that she said, “I’m sorry I called you an idiot, you horrible asshole.”

He smiled down at her, and she glared. “Such beautiful words.”

“Cassian, I swear-”

The words became lost in her throat as he finally, finally started moving again, somehow harder and quicker than before. 

Release immediately crashed into her, and she moaned as she drew tight around him. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, and even though she currently hated him, the words just made the release that much sweeter. 

Especially as he didn’t stop. Her body was trembling underneath his, but he kept going, even dipping his head to kiss his way down to her breasts. 

His tongue swirled around the peak of one, and she groaned loudly as the wave inside her seemed to crash once more, leaving her scattered and broken in the aftermath. 

Cassian finally followed her lead, collapsing on top of her and pressing her into the mattress below as he said her name in a helpless, loving sort of way. 

Their breath was uncontrolled and loud, and it took a few minutes before either of them could speak. 

Then he asked roughly, “Now, where’d you hide my shit?”

“Front desk,” she panted, pushing her hair off her forehead with a tired hand. 

He drew back, looking over her partially-clothed body in a satisfied, male way that made her smile. “I really like that dress, in case it isn’t obvious. Want me to go change so we can eat something?”

Before she could respond, his mouth was at her ear, hot breath raising goosebumps across her skin. “Or do you just want to eat here?”

Suddenly, food was the last thing on her mind. 

Her hands found their way to his hair as she drew him back down to her. 

“Just get it tomorrow,” she murmured, lips finding his again. “And never wear that fanny pack again.”

_________________________________________________________

Like I said, I had WAY too much fun writing this hahaha. Kinda really loosely based on when Joey (Friends) went to London and dressed like a tourist :)

Tags: @sjm-things @santas-dwynwen @thebitchupstairs @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @highqueenofelfhame @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[crispyjenkins]

Me again, hope you don’t mind... anyways could you do Cody and Obi wan First Meeting out of Cody’s POV and he slowly realizes that this isn’t you usual Jedi general but that Obi-Wan Kenobi is not only beautiful but also 1. Incredibly good at words 2. Actually cares about the Vode 3. For that reason dislikes fighting and casualties and actually shows his compassion to the Vode 4. Is an absolute badass and 5. Absolutely insane

(Obi-Wan defying the troopers' expectations is the reason i'm alive, and the vode being intimidated by this scary magic man only to find out he's a reckless dumbass who cares more about them than actually winning the war is just. yes. not actually sure how it happened in canon, my brain is being mean, but canon is nebulous and i do what i want. 

so here's Cody being surprised by Obi-Wan's endless love for absolutely everybody, and obi being surprised that Cody is surprised.)

  Cody is running on six hours of sleep in two days following General Rret So’s reassignment, and he isn’t even close to being finished cleaning up that... disaster. They’ve got a new batch of shinies to paint and name, bodies to bury, a new general to meet, and to be honest, Cody doesn’t have all too high hopes for their next one. It’s already kriffing clear that none of the Jedi have proper military training, and while Cody isn’t one for gossip, he’s also heard rumors that Kenobi hasn’t been in the field since Geonosis. And they want him to lead an attack battalion.

  But when Cody arrives in the hangar of their current outpost to make sure it’s in shape before Kenobi arrives, there’s a Jedi near the center of the room, sitting on the floor. Or sitting... a few inches above the floor, only one hand gently touching the durasteel below him, and Cody halts just inside the door.

  It doesn’t take much to guess his identity, what with the Jedi robe mostly pooled on the floor, whose edges drift in lazy swirls. The man has his eyes closed, several small stones levitating in equally lazy spins around him, but the casual show of power doesn’t put Cody on edge the way their Nautolan general had; the air around Rret felt like static when he meditated, but General Kenobi effuses warmth and calm, his expression as thoughtful as it is peaceful. 

  Cody skeptically takes in the armor under Kenobi’s robe, modified clone armour; General Rret never touched anything not sent directly from the Temple. And Kenobi is... smaller than Cody had expected of the famed Negotiator that had helped lead at the Battle of Geonosis, more lithe, more compact. His hair is longer than regulation (not that that has ever stopped Tup), just enough to pull back, with an endearing curl that’s escaped the elastic floating at his temple.

  Cody was created for problem solving, for analyzing patterns and information where his rank-and-file brothers could not, but all these little details just leave him confused.

  The stones gently and slowly settle back onto the ground, followed by the general as he inhales a deep breath, and that aura of tranquility does not leave when he opens his eyes. 

  And then he smiles at Cody.

  Cody snaps a salute, nerves jumping despite the general’s expression, and tries to raise his mental shields like Jango had taught them to. “General, sir,” he greets, keeping his gaze just below Kenobi’s eyes, which unfortunately has him pinned on his lips.

  “Commander Cody,” he returns warmly in High Coruscanti, rising in a fluid motion and holding out a hand. Cody stares at it for a moment before he realises General Kenobi means to shake his hand, and he almost thinks it’s a trap, but he hesitantly reaches out all the same. That smile grows as Kenobi then moves to grip Cody’s forearm like any proper Mando, tapping his other fist to the center of his chest. “It’s good to finally meet you, Commander: I’ve been assured that we will work quite well together.”

  Reeling, Cody almost forgets to respond. “Sir?”

  “I’ve heard nothing but compliments from your men, and from other battalions; Captain Rex in particular speaks very highly of you.”

  Does he know Cody was almost court martialed for arguing with General Rret? Does he know about the multiple complaints submitted by the Nautolan for insubordination? 

  The way Kenobi’s eyes crinkle at the corners doesn’t assure him that he had. “I like to get my information from multiple sources,” Kenobi explains, finally releasing Cody to tuck his arms behind his back almost at parade rest. “You’re here a bit early, aren’t you? Excellent, that gives us some time to chat before your men arrive.”

  It’s enough that General Kenobi went out of his way to learn his name, and then use it, leaving Cody absolutely helpless as Kenobi launches in questions about the cleanup from Rret’s departure.

-

  Kenobi growls like a stampeding reek as their next assault goes to kriffing shit. No sooner had Kenobi managed to greet Ghost Company, that the call to arms had blared through the outpost, a droid battalion approaching from the South. Which was something Rret had apparently anticipated but not felt the need to tell anyone, including the High Generals.

  And Kenobi had loaded up with the rest of them, speaking quickly with the pilot, and surely his general wasn’t planning on— on actually fighting with them? 

  But he had indeed leapt from the transport into the dense forest right alongside him, and Cody had realised, kriff, he has to try and keep this crazy Jedi alive long enough for him to ask what the kriff he’s thinking.

  And then things just keep going wrong, from misinformation about droid numbers, to being cornered in a ravine, to Cody having to step over a Shiny that hadn’t even been named yet. Kenobi whirls through the droids with his lightsaber, but the B1s seem to just keep coming, and Cody has almost resigned himself to dying here, because Rret would never let them change the plan this far in—

  “Commander!” Kenobi shouts, shoving a B2 droid off his ‘saber. “Full retreat! Evac is inbound, get your men to the top of the ridge!”

  “Sir?”

  Appearing at Cody’s side and handing him a fresh blaster, Kenobi’s serene expression is traded for troubled rage, but it’s by some miracle not aimed at the vode. “We’re not winning here today,” Kenobi says, jerking his chin towards the ridge as he tugs Cody behind a boulder. “We need to regroup, your medic is already overrun.”

  Which doesn’t quite compute. It’s not as if they haven’t lost entire squads in similar conditions, what does Kenobi hope to achieve by—

  “I’ll hold them off,” he says, making Cody choke on his spit. “As long as I can.”

  “General!” By the Force, he can’t honestly think that Cody will let him stay behind, that Cody will leave him here.

  “That’s an order, I’m not losing any more men today,” Kenobi says firmly. He checks around the boulder before spinning back to Cody. “I was told you were by the book, that you were a stellar soldier with his brothers’ best interest at heart. Are you going to make me a fool for believing that?”

  “General, I don’t think—”

  “I’ve given you an order, Commander. Retreat. I will meet you back at the outpost.”

  Swallowing down the urge to throw up, Cody nods and salutes, and prays to whatever deity listening that he’ll wake up tomorrow with absolutely no memory of today.

  Kenobi gives him a small smile, before reigniting his ‘saber and rushing back into the battle.

-

  Cody is just beginning to wonder if they’re going to have to get another new general when Kenobi shows up in the last search party before they call it off for the night, stepping off the transport with several more injured brothers that hadn’t made it back with the first two evacs. A squad of shinies runs up to get the stretches to the medbay that is indeed overrun, but Cody doesn’t worr— can’t worry about that right now, marching up to Kenobi with a comm disk.

  “Sir, welcome back,” he greets, taking quick stock of the minor grazes on Kenobi’s face, how limp his hair has turned, but he otherwise seems fine, which is a miracle in it of itself. “High General Mundi—”

  “Later,” Kenobi cuts him off, not unkindly, but with an air of unspeakable exhaustion. “Master Rret So restationed your secondary medics, yes?”

  “Yes, sir, but what—?”

  Kenobi nods once and starts to follow the shinies, Cody matching pace with him even as he’s sure he’s broadcasting his confusion into the Force. Kenobi offers him a tiny smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Your brothers aren’t going to last the night if I don’t go help Wupi, and you’re horrendously undermanned as it is.”

  Another name casually thrown out, as if General Rret hadn’t even bothered to learn their numbers, and if Cody wasn’t already a whirlwind of emotions, he might have some feelings about that. Later. Everything later.

  A thought occurs to him. “Sir, General Rret said they were needed elsewhere. The secondary medics.”

  They arrive at the medbay that is in utter chaos, too small to house so many vode, already filled from their last skirmish and now completely overflowing. Kenobi looks around almost as if he’s going to cry, before he clenches his jaw and turns to Cody.

  “General Rret was mistaken. I hailed the 501st from the transport, they’ll be here tomorrow afternoon, but until then, it’s my duty to keep your men alive. Can you help me do that, Cody?”

  Cody simply nods, wondering if he had been concussed during the battle. “Yes, sir. What do you need.”

  “I need every sheet you can spare, and the emergency medkits from all the transports. I need you to hold off General Mundi until morning, I know he’s expecting a long conversation. And please, tell him in no uncertain terms that I plan to have very harsh words with his former padawan as soon as the 501st arrive.” Kenobi takes a deep breath, seeming to draw energy in from everywhere, and then puts a hand on the side of Cody’s neck for the briefest moment. Almost like static shock, Cody flinches, but suddenly doesn’t feel so exhausted, and he blinks down at Kenobi.

  “That should hold you over until morning, I trust you to handle the rest of the outpost?” He raises a single brow, but kriff if Cody is going to tell him no.

  “Yes, sir.” He salutes, feeling a green warmth brushing against his mind that certainly was not there before, but belongs there all the same. 

  That warmth stays with him long after the 501st arrives with aid, and Cody intends to hold onto it for as long as his cannon-fodder life allows. 

[omg-someone-actually]

Remus feels miserable. He's also hiding under the covers. He knows it's childish and probably useless because the one person he's trying to hide from shares the flat with him, but the uselessness of his solutions has never stopped him from executing them before so why start now.

He can hear Sirius shuffling in the kitchen, the kettle whistling and the mugs tinkling. The strong, sweet spicy aroma of bergamot is slowly wafting through the open door to their bedroom.

Remus exhales. Earl Grey then. That means Sirius is making tea for Remus as well as for himself. Remus doesn't drink any other but Sirius prefers green tea and yet he always makes Earl Grey for both of them whenever they're home together. He says he doesn't mind having the same as Remus but Remus knows he does it just because the water for Earl Grey needs to be heated just slightly under the boiling point whereas the water for green tea should be around 80°C. He told Sirius multiple times that he can make his green tea first and Remus can boil the kettle for his Earl Grey later but Sirius just looked at him while walking to the couch with their mugs and answered, "But then we would never get to drink the tea together," like it's the most obvious thing on the planet. Just like that, casually hitting Remus' feelings in all the right places. How dare he.

He secures the blanket over his face tighter and burrows deeper into the pillows.

Footsteps. Sirius is walking over and placing something on his nightstand.

"Love, I made us some sandwiches and tea. Marlene is coming to pick me up for the Order mission later. I thought we could eat together in bed before she arrives so you don't have to get up?"

Remus groans. He doesn't deserve this man.

Yesterday's full moon was terrible. He hasn't had a bad one like that in years. The deep exhaustion is still lingering in his bones, his joints ache and muscles feel strained, stretched on a body that looks way too old to be this young. He's normally somewhat functioning the evening after. Not today.

He fell asleep right after Sirius healed the worst wounds on his ribs and thighs and apparated them back to their flat. In times like this, he's beyond grateful Sirius chose being a healer as his career. It makes the post full moon mornings so much easier.

He slept like the dead through most of the day and if that wasn't any indication of how bad the night was, the dull pain in his entire body should have been enough. But none of that prepared him for the shock he found himself in when he stumbled to the bathroom to use the loo and saw his face in the mirror.

There, still red and not fully healed yet, was a new scar across his face.

Now, scars weren't anything new. He's used to having them all over his entire body and finding new ones after almost every full moon. But never before has a scar appeared on his face. It's strange really, that he has managed to avoid his entire head for so long. He probably didn't have this big area of smooth unblemished skin anywhere else on his body. Well, not anymore. Run out of luck, I suppose, he ponders.

Remus never thought of his own face as something exceptionally beautiful or desirable. But the fresh scar, raised and big and ugly, spanning from his right temple, going under his eye, across his nose and ending on the left side of his jaw, makes him look absolutely horrendous.

He's already self conscious and standing next to his gorgeous boyfriend makes him feel unsure at the best of times and inadequate and undeserving at worst. How much worse is it going to be now?

The bed dips under Sirius' weight as he climbs on the mattress next him. "Come on, Rem. Come out of the blanket cocoon and have some food. You haven't eaten all day," he says softly.

Remus doesn't move. Instead, he asks something he's meant to ask Sirius for a while now. Hidden from view, he allows some of the worry and fear to seep into his voice. "Why are you staying with me?"

"What do you mean?" Sirius confusedly inquires.

"Why are you dating me?"

Suddenly, hands are caressing his curls back softly and trying to take the blanket off his face. Remus just holds it tighter.

"Because I love you. What kind of question is that? What's going on?" Sirius is starting to sound worried.

Remus only grumbles in response.

"Love, take the blanket off your face and talk to me. I'm not having this conversation with you hidden under the covers."

"Well then get used to it because I'm not coming out from under them any time soon," he retorts.

"What? Why?"

"Because my face is disgusting and no one needs to see it, least of all my very attractive boyfriend."

Sirius doesn't answer. Then he shifts his body so he's laying behind Remus and hugs him completely within his cocoon to his chest.

"If this is about your new scar I already know about it. Not only because I saw you make it yourself in the forest but also because I healed the wound and carried you to bed, all the while with your face pretty much visible and I haven't combusted or turned to stone from the sight so I think I'm good. Now, as your official healer I would like to inspect my patient, please."

Hot burning shame runs through Remus' body. Sirius does so much for him - turns into a dog to run around all night every month, has to watch his lover turn into a bloodthirsty beast, he looks after him, heals his wounds and makes him tea and he even reads to him sometimes, when the full moon isn't that bad. Remus really doesn't deserve him.

What does he have to offer in return? Cynicism, snarky comments, empty bank account, and petulance. He could have at least told himself he's a good enough shag but will Sirius even be able to look at him like that when the most prominent feature of his face is forever going to remind him (and everyone else) what a monster he really is?

Tears prickle in the corners of his eyes and he sniffles.

Sirius, alarmed, takes the blanket Remus has hidden himself under and tugs at it again. It comes off easily, Remus is not clutching at it anymore, and finally uncovers his face.

Sirius puts his palm on Remus' left cheek and smiles at him tenderly.

"Here you are, love."

He starts studying the scar with a wrinkle on his forehead that appears every time he's focusing on something. "It's healing very well. The scar shouldn't be too prominent but it will probably stay. I'm sorry about that. I tried to spell it as soon as you transformed back but you know how it is with werewolf injuries. They rarely heal completely."

Remus frowns. "You take such good care of me already, Sirius. Don't you dare apologize for something you can't control."

Sirius grins. "Then there's no need to hide something YOU can't control either, is there?

Remus' frown deepens. "That's hardly the same thing."

Sirius kisses his nose. "It makes no difference to me, Remus. You're still you. I still love you. And I will continue to do so," he traces one of his fingers along the scar, "whether you have ten of these or none".

Remus gazes into Sirius' eyes and when he finds nothing but truth and honest devotion, he lets himself be gently kissed into the pillows.

When he wakes up later, he finds the bed empty but he can hear Sirius chatting with somebody behind the closed bedroom door. Marlene must be here then.

Remus gets up to greet her and groans when his limbs crackle in protest. He's almost at the door when he hears what they're talking about.

"....it was a rough night," Sirius explains.

"I hope Remus is okay." Marlene's voice sounds tired, like everyone's in the Order these days.

"He has some new scars but otherwise he'll be okay."

"Marlene," Sirius growls. She must have made a face.

"Oh no, I didn't mean it like that. Actually I think it fits him. He has this...roguish vibe and the scars just make him look edgy. Not that I would be into it even if I swung that way but I always wondered if you…"

"What are you on about?" Sirius demands, his voices still a little angry.

Marlene takes a deep breath. "So many pretty people chasing you, but it was only ever Remus for you. Why?"

Sirius sighs and stays quiet for a minute. Remus almost thinks he's not going to answer. Why should he, anyway? Maybe Marlene just made him see the truth, maybe he realized he would like to date someone else after all, maybe he finally sees the stark absurdity of someone as gorgeous as Sirius dating someone as hideous as Rem-

"You know, sometimes you meet someone so beautiful, and then you actually get to talk to them and five minutes later, they're as dull as a brick. Then there's other people and you meet them and you think, "Not bad, they're okay." And then you get to know them and… And their face just sort of… Becomes them, like their personality is written all over it. And they just… They turn into something so beautiful."

He pauses and then exhales, "Remus is the most beautiful man I've ever met."

Remus doesn't come into the living room to say hi to Marlene for another ten minutes. And if it's because he had to sit for a moment and dry some tears, who's to say?

A/N: The last thing Sirius says in this is inspired by this scene in Doctor Who

Big thank you to @kattlupin for her quick betaread! <3

[ihatetaxes99]

A Brief Retrospective Look At MVA (In The Anime)

Well. Here we are. Every end of the time is another begun. After what has felt like years of anticipation (mostly because it actually has been years), My Villain Academia has been fully animated. Well, "fully" may be the wrong word here, but that's something I'll get into later.

To honour the end of the arc, I decided to do two things: One, I re-read the entirety of the arc in the manga all in one sitting; Two, I rewatched all five episodes of the anime's adaptation back to back once again. My life is pain and I know not of sleep. Anyway, the reason I did this is because of a little project I proposed to myself back just before the first episode aired; Once MVA was done and dusted, I would go back and give my own retrospective on the whole thing. Because why the hell not, sounds like fun. This will also hopefully be less emotional than my thoughts I shared as the episodes were still airing, but who knows?

So, let's begin. And I wish to start by stating that My Villain Academia is my absolute favourite arc in the manga. It did a lot of things right. It focused entirely on my favourite faction, the villains. It offers a glimpse into their lives and goes a long way in humanising them, particularly Spinner and Shigaraki. It sets up key points for others too, such as Mr. Compress' habit of thinking more about the bigger picture than the others, which would factor into his major reveal during the Paranormal Liberation War and of course the formation of the Front itself. It introduced us to Rikiya Yotsubashi, one of my favourite characters in the manga, even if he honestly peaked in this arc and was never as good again. And it gave us a large-scale, grueling fight for supremacy in which I found myself actively rooting for the League. It is, in my mind, the very best of BNHA, the only arc I would want them to do well in the anime. They could screw up literally everything else and I would be happy if MVA was even just as good as the manga, it didn't even need to be better. I would have been delighted to have an excuse to experience the arc all over again, seeing my favourite moments with the sublime soundtrack and voice acting.

Yeah… 

But before I get to that, let us take a little trip of sorts down memory lane to see the road to MVA, what led to it. So, 2021 rolls around. What a fun year. It's just 2020 without the excitement of everything being so uncertain, and frankly it's been really fucking boring as a year. However, BNHA Season Five was announced. In February, we get the first trailer for the upcoming season. It's... It's fine. Obviously, it focuses heavily on the Joint Training Arc (in fact, that is all it shows) and although I despise that arc with a passion, it's not too bad. I had not watched the anime since Overhaul ended, so my plan was I just wouldn't watch JTA and would wait until the big attraction, MVA. And so, Joint Training starts. And it goes on. And on. And on. I checked back almost two months later to discover it still wasn't over yet. Now I found this odd. Joint Training Arc was horrible for many reasons, but the big one was that it dragged on for so long as a result of Horikoshi's health complications, which is by no means his fault. But, surely the anime, which would consistently release on a weekly basis, wouldn't have the issues associated with this. Episodes of BNHA have always encompassed around three to five chapters, and Joint Training's were shorter than usual, so why was it taking more than ten episodes to adapt it? 

Very strange, but I didn't question it much. Then, the key visuals released, confirming that MVA was at the very least happening. Great, wonderful. I love it. We've got the whole gang there, seeming like they're in Deika, looks pretty good.

Wait, did I say whole gang? Yeah, my bad, there was someone missing. Spinner. Now, I am not the biggest Spinner fan so I wasn't prepared to riot over his exclusion like I would have been if Compress wasn't in it. But this was starting to get strange. Spinner was the main narrator of MVA. Even if his importance was not on the level of Shigaraki, Twice and Toga, it was certainly more than Dabi and Compress, who did both appear in the art. Why was he excluded? Obviously, I bet you're all having a good old chuckle to yourselves right now because in retrospect, this makes perfect sense now.

Alright, then. I heard from a friend around June time that Joint Training was finally over. Awesome, great, time for the good stuff- why is there a Christmas episode here?

Yes, this was probably what really started to get the alarm bells in my mind going. The Christmas episode- in June. Very, very strange. Also, absolutely no mention of Rikiya, which even if they were reshuffling things, I would have expected him to appear in the episode of Bakugo and Todoroki getting their licenses, since it directly ties in. Concern levels rising, I shrugged it off and waited for next week.

Bam. Major reshuffling. Now, Endeavour Agency comes first, fuck you if you want context for who the hell the PLF are or the significance of Destro's memoirs. This was really starting to worry me now. I told myself that the key visual meant that MVA had to be happening, but it was starting to seem like the villains were being shafted. A fact not helped by the new OP.

Look, I'm sorry. I don't mean to complain or whine, but season five's second OP is just bad. The music is fine, I have no problem there. But the visuals are just awful. Not only is there an extended focus on that stupid bloody trio of Midoriya, Bakugo and Todoroki, not only is there more screentime given to characters who don't appear in MVA or EA than the main cast of the former, but the animation itself is just so stiff and lacking. It had potential, but the visuals are the worst out of any recent anime opening I've seen in a good few years and this was what got me really panicking.

Boom, a beach episode smack in the middle of Endeavour Agency to promote the upcoming movie. Boom, adapting two chapters per episode during EA. Boom, the Shirakumo episode, which I always thought was part of the War Arc and not EA. But finally, mercifully, the title leaks came and it was revealed that episode 20 of season five would be the start of MVA.

20. Out of 25. And it was pretty obvious that they weren't going to end the season with MVA, so really, up to 24. Ohhh no…

But hey, I'm an optimist sometimes. I was excited to just finally be clear of all this nonsense and get to the real good stuff. Hell, in preparation, I watched the entirety of the season up to that point. I finally realised why JTA took so long and it's one of the most depressing things I've ever learned, in a bad way. Were all those flashbacks really necessary? EA was okay, as someone who as a manga reader, already had the necessary context for the PLF stuff. The beach episode, I watched half of, got too bored and skipped the rest of. And you know what, I liked the Shirakumo chapters. They weren't as good in the anime, but it was nice to see.

And then, finally, in comes episode one of My Villain Academia, on a cold, dark August morning. I even bought Crunchyroll Premium to watch it as soon as possible, I was excited. All the messing around, all the crap, it was finally over and the time had come to enjoy what this season was really all about.

I can now safely say why Bones kept pushing back MVA, because if I was them, I would be embarrassed to show this.

No, that's not fair. I promised I wouldn't get too snarky, so let's reek things back in. As a whole, MVA has been… fine. Just fine. Not good enough to justify the bullshit, but not horrendous (mostly.) In fact, right now, I'll give a ranking of the episodes, my worst to best:

5) Episode One 

4) Episode Two

3) Episode Three

2) Episode Five

1) Episode Four

Yeah. So, there's a clear pattern here, that things more or less got better as time went on. From just straight up bad, to still not great, to alright, to the final two episodes being what I would comfortably call good. This is not a good look. I'm sorry, but Episode One, an episode that I just called bad, is still one of the season's best in spite of that. That spells out awful things for this season as a whole. But what exactly made this such a disaster?

Well, cut content is the big thing. MVA in the anime cuts out:

The League's battle with the CRC

Their struggle with poverty

The sushi joke setup

All of Spinner's character

All of Rikiya's character, including most mentions of Detnerat and Miyashita

Fairly integral pieces of Skeptic's character

Most of Giran's integrity and bravery

This doesn't look too bad at first. It could be far worse. We got basically everything else from the arc, so what? Well, I would already be annoyed about all of these cuts, but the issue is that they cause a knock on effect. Without the establishment of the League's poverty, the payoff of Toga's duffle coat now makes no sense. Without the setup of Spinner's characterisation, his battle with Hanabata now feels hollow. Rikiya's surrender to the League now makes even less sense, as his love of human life and desire to cause no more death is completely non-existent. The first time Rikiya being a CEO is mentioned is in the closing minutes of the arc. The sushi scene is hamfisted into a two second flashback just so that the payoff makes some sort of sense, but again, it is hollow without it being at the start (this is also the first mention of the League's poverty and it literally happens just as they are freed from it.) Can you see how these little seemingly unimportant cuts spiral into bigger problems? I would have been pissed even if they hadn't caused some tremendous cascades, but the fact that they did just makes this from a subjective issue to an objective one.

Yes. They did some things well. Toga's backstory is mostly intact, SMP is just as satisfying as the manga, Tenko's backstory is one of the best things the anime has ever done, the awakening is very well done, I adore the PLF formation as much as I did in the manga. Everything important is intact, but as I keep saying, you cannot just keep the bare minimum and expect it to work. How about in the next arc, they decide to cut everything involving Bakugo out, and only keep him jumping in front of Midoriya because it's the only absolutely necessary thing he does in the arc? People would be pissed, and it's the same thing that's happening here. It's a problem, it's not just a bad adaptation, it leads to bad storytelling in general.

The animation. Now, I do not believe this is a be all, end all. BNHA's anime is never going to look as gorgeous as Horikoshi's art, that is a fact and I do not begrudge them for that. They have a week to draw hundreds upon hundreds of frames, it's not a process that lends itself well to good looks and the animators and artists do their best with what they have. This does not change the fact that it is extremely hit or miss. Some things, Tenko's backstory in particular, look fantastic. Other things, mostly every action scene, make me laugh at how bad they can look and some things, particularly Twice and Re-Destro's hideous designs in the anime, make me cringe. The lighting is also an issue. Garaki's lab looked fantastic, but every other scene is just boring mid-afternoon with dull, basic lighting. I don't expect huge detail, but sometimes, it fails to achieve competency and as an extremely popular show, I don't think that's okay. I don't blame the animators, I blame the higher ups. And while I wouldn't mind the poor animation and art in an MVA that at least has all the story content, this does not have that and so I am even harsher than I would have been.

MVA was rushed. That's not up for debate. It took forever to get to it and once it came, things moved so quickly that they gave me whiplash, with no time to think or lament. Now, this could be attributed to the story structure of the arc, which is essentially a series of big fights, and it just isn't as bad in the manga because I can stop at any time to catch my breath. But I think it's worth noting that the anime at least highlights these issues. Curious dies in the same episode where she first appears, really driving home how pointless she was in the end. Episode Two alone tries to cover everything from the journey to Deika up until Jin finding Toga's body. That's a lot of content to fit in one twenty minute period and it was bound to feel messy in the end. I will say that, much like everything aside from the animation, this did get better as time went on, with episodes three, four and five adapting more reasonable amounts of content, compared to one giving us almost nothing and two giving us too much.

At the end of the day, that was it. The show's over. MVA has been closed in the anime. It will never be given a chance to improve, to go from just fine to anything even close to the manga. Why did this happen? I don't think we'll ever truly know. Some blame the new movie, others the studio's lack of faith in the villains, and there are those who say that it's just how fate turned out. I personally think it's a combination of all of these things. Without the movie, that beach episode wouldn't exist, giving more time to MVA, without the studio's hesitation, we'd perhaps get stuff like an actual good OP and perhaps some more general hype for it (I mean, MVA didn't even get a trailer.) Whatever the reason is, we got what we got. My verdict is something that's very overplayed as of late, but seriously, just read the manga with the fantastic soundtrack playing in the background. The anime's adaptation of MVA is not worth the time investment, when you could read the manga in roughly the same length of time and get more content, a more coherent plot and beautiful artwork.

So, what may come next for Season Six? I don't know. Season Five has definitely been one of the most unpopular seasons in the anime, with a lot of people speaking out against it, but this mostly seems to come from the Western fanbase, so it's up in the air if Bones will learn from their mistakes. Since they'll have a full season to do presumably the War and Rouge Deku arcs, then I feel like they'll put on a better show. But we just don't know. Spinner had his spotlight stolen this time around, will Compress suffer the same fate in Season Six? Dabi and Toga will probably be handled well, since they have inexplicably high amounts of popularity, but with his own lack of recognition rivalling Spinner's, I can see Sako ending up much the same way. Time will tell, I suppose.

[lunaverseimagine]

Wedding Gift

Request:  “Hi!!!!! I was wondering if you could write a Cedric Diggory imagine where takes place after the battle of hogwarts and he and his gf (the reader) get married and she tells him she is pregnant?” ~ anon

Pairing: Cedric x Reader

Summary: It’s Cedric and reader’s wedding day, and she has some big news for him.

Warnings: Mentions of war, death, grief, and contraception.

Word count: 1.2k

Fic:

Your wedding day. There had been so many times that you thought this day would never come, and you knew Cedric had the same thoughts. Only two years after you started dating, Cedric was almost killed by you-know-who. If he hadn’t have jumped behind the gravestone in time to dodge the killing curse sent his way- you can’t imagine what life would be like now. You don’t even want to try. Then a few years later the very same dark wizard waged a war on the school that was your second home. You and Cedric fought to defend Hogwarts and those you loved; often you’d be back to back protecting each other from countless death eaters. You had moved in sync, feeling his back against yours, his presence helping to dampen the terror that threatened to paralyse you. You felt a heaviness just thinking about the war: your fear of losing Cedric, your grief for all the people you did lose, horrendous sights you could never unsee. Honestly you had no idea how the two of you managed to survive. And yet you had.

Today was a day of celebration, a day to commemorate the boundless love you had for the beautiful man standing in front of you. But it was tainted. Tainted by the absence of the loved ones you’d lost, tainted by the memories that always came creeping back. You were so grateful to have Cedric to help you through the dark and difficult times: both the war and its aftermath. You said so in your vows.

Cedric’s vows almost made you melt into a gooey puddle of adoration. He said that when he was facing death, the only thing on his mind was staying alive so that he could be with you. You made him feel joy and peace in the midst of a war, and every day he fell in love with you more and more. He never wanted to know a life without you, and putting a ring on your finger was symbolic of how he could never feel complete without you by his side.

The party afterwards had been wonderful. During your first dance he held you so gently and yet so firmly that you knew he’d always be there to catch you if you fell. You rested your head on his chest and heard his heartbeat, such a precious sound that was almost taken away from you. You hugged him and promised yourself you’d never let him go.

There was something you hadn’t told him yet though. Something important. You had only found out the day before. Your period was over a week late and you felt a bit sick in the morning, so you thought you’d buy a test just to be on the safe side. You never really believed that the test would be positive. It wasn’t as though you’d been trying, but you knew that contraception was never 100% effective. You’d done another test today just to be sure it wasn’t a false positive, and when you saw the same two lines appear you knew you’d have to tell Cedric. Not wanting to throw him off right before the wedding, you thought you’d wait until after the evening celebrations to let him know.

Now the two of you were entering your hotel suite. It had a grand four poster bed with curtains that shimmered gold, and a window overlooking the sea. You could hear the waves crashing against the shore, the sound almost peaceful.

“I love you y/n Diggory.” Cedric had repeated this so many times throughout the day, and every time it made your heart leap with happiness.

“I love you too Ced.” you replied, holding his hands in your own. He placed a featherlight kiss on your forehead, followed by one on the tip of your nose, before landing on your lips. You kissed him back, gratefulness bubbling inside you for this one-in-seven-billion person who you had the absolute honour of calling your husband. But before the kiss went any further, you knew you needed to share your news. You broke off the kiss and pulled Cedric down next to you on the bed. You were sitting with your knees touching, so you could see each other clearly.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” You bit your lip and looked down at your lap. This was massive news. How was he going to take it? Should you have told him before the wedding? What if he wasn’t ready for this? Would he.. Would he leave you?

Cedric gently squeezed your hands, which were still holding his, and brought you back to the present moment.

“What is it?” He asked kindly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m-” you felt tears forming but you steeled yourself, remembering that you’d decided to marry Cedric for good reasons. He was loyal and kind, and had the purest heart of anyone you knew. Even if it was a shock, you knew he would stay by your side.

“Ced, I’m pregnant.” The tears began flowing freely, and you couldn’t quite explain why. You waited for Cedric’s reaction with your heart thumping. His hands left yours and you felt your stomach plummet. 

But then he wrapped his arms around you in a fierce embrace, and repeated his earlier words.

“I love you. I love you.” He sounded choked up too, but you couldn’t tell if it was due to sadness or joy. “Y/n, this is wonderful. We might not have planned this, but I can’t think of a greater wedding gift.” He pulled away from you and tenderly kissed your lower abdomen.

“I love you y/n, and I love you baby Diggory.” You let out a laugh, and wiped the tears from your face. Yes, this was scary, but Cedric was right. It was the most wonderful wedding gift, and you couldn’t think of a sweeter man to be the father to your unborn child. You shared a comfortable moment of silence, letting him digest the news properly.

“We can do this, right Ced?” your eyes searched his for confirmation.

“You’re going to be the best mother, and I’ll be right there by your side doing my very best.” He let out a small chuckle. You brushed your knee against his.

“You’re going to be the best father, you know that right?” 

“What I know is that this precious baby growing inside you right now is never going to know war. I’ll do whatever it takes to fill their life with love and joy. Y/n, we’ve been through so much-” he paused. Talking about the war out loud was still difficult for you both “-but this little life is our new beginning. Our hope.” You were on cloud nine. You and Cedric were going to start a family together. It was really going to happen.

The happiest day of your life came 9 months later when you and Cedric welcomed baby Hope Diggory into a peaceful world.

End

Thank you for the request anon, this was so fun to write! I love any AU where Cedric lives past book four...  My inbox is open for imagine requests, so please feel free to send some in! If you enjoyed this then please like/reblog/follow, it’s super encouraging <3 

[imposterellie]

Imprisonment - Febuwhump Day 3

Peter doesn't know where he is, or why his powers aren't working; all he knows is that he's desperately hungry, and that Tony doesn't know he's missing.

Will he be found in time?

**TW - violence, swearing, description of vomiting, pain infliction, food being withheld from characters, passing out, panic attacks**

@febuwhump

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The air was bitingly cold as Peter swung among the streets in Queens. This patrol had been quiet, and he’d spent most of it sat on the rooftops, trying his best to keep himself warm. Even with the built-in heating system in his spiderman suit, it was still bitter outside, and he was beginning to consider calling it a night. He harboured too much guilt to go inside sooner than was absolutely necessary; what if he woke up and there was a story on the news about someone who had been robbed and he wasn’t there to prevent it! So no, he would brave the weather until he could barely feel his fingers, just so that it was still safe to swing home.

He sighed in relief, upon deciding it was best that he went home, and leapt off the side of the building he’d landed on 20 minutes earlier. He swung towards his apartment building, looking forward to getting out of his suit and snuggling up in his bed. It was the weekend so he could have a nice lie-in in the morning whilst he let May sleep in from her night shift. Peter was invested in the thought of a hot shower and his cosy bed, so invested that he didn’t pay attention to his spidey senses. He didn’t notice the drone until it was far too late. By the time he realised something was wrong, the drone had fired a shot of electricity at him that was specific to his suit and powerful enough that it short circuited the systems. He lost control of the web shooters and dropped like a stone. Plummeting towards the ground, Peter tried everything to get Karen back online but to no avail. He hadn’t been too high off the ground when he was shot but he hit the street head-first and it was enough to knock him out.

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

Peter woke slowly, his head throbbing fiercely. He groaned, thinking his enhanced healing would take care of it soon enough, before realising with a jolt that he was not at home as he had expected to be. The room felt wrong, even laid down with his eyes closed, he felt off balance somehow. He fought past the pain in his head to open his eyes carefully and was surprised when his vision was blurry. He squinted and tried again but his sight didn’t change. He couldn’t see anything clearly much further than a metre away. It was like his sight before he had been bitten by the spider.

“What the…?” He mumbled to himself, confused, and becoming a little worried. It was then that Peter came to a little bit more and realised his wrists were restrained. But it was weird, the cuffs didn’t feel like the ones he was usually tied up with (he’d think about being concerned how normal being tied up was once he was out of the situation). He spent a few minutes messing around with them, seeing if they had any mechanism, he could use to get out of them but he had no luck. They were staying on until he was let out of them. He felt that they were digging painfully into his wrists, so he shifted to try and dislodge them, but a bright flash of white, hot pain seared in his head. He paused to let the pain subside, breathing heavily. The second he halted his movements, the pain stopped.

“Ah shit.” Peter whispered as it dawned on him just what the cuffs were doing to him. Somehow, someone had figured out a way to dampen his abilities and had practically reverted him back to his pre-bite self. Ah shit indeed. This was not an ideal situation at all. Especially as he remembered the massive hit to the head he’d gotten which he was very, very aware was not healing itself.

He sat up gingerly, careful not to worsen his headache, and took a look around him. The lack of windows and only a bed, toilet, and iron bars in the room indicated to him that he was very clearly in a cell. Where though, he had no idea. He also had no idea why. From what he could remember, he hadn’t pissed off any bad guys recently so he couldn’t fathom why anyone would have cause to kidnap him. And yet, here he was.

Peter spent what he assumed was a few hours just sitting there, waiting for someone to come into his cell and start torturing him or something but no one did. He just sat there, wallowing in self-pity and boredom. After the first few hours he realised just how desperately hungry he was. And yet no one came.

At one point, he tried to bend the bars, but with his power dampened it barely even creaked. He was well and truly stuck. And no one was coming for him.

He lost track of time. What could have been days was merely hours. The lack of sunlight to track the time meant he just had to sit there, getting hungrier, thirstier and more frustrated as the time went on. He tried to yell out, but his voice just became hoarse without a drink to keep him hydrated, it also made his headache worse as his voice echoed around the small chamber. Without his enhanced eyesight, Peter didn’t see the camera in the darkness. It was in the corner of the chamber outside his cell, just recording consistently and that recording was being streamed directly to a phone. It was a good thing Peter didn’t know about the camera because if he knew who the footage was going to, he’d want out faster.

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

Tony Stark was sat in his lab tinkering away at one of his newest inventions. It was 6am and he had not yet ventured to bed. Pepper would be furious, but he was so excited to show Peter, that he couldn’t possibly sleep until it was done. The hours following passed by quickly, Tony periodically checked the clock and ate food every so often before finally stopping at around 4:30. It was Friday, the day Peter came up to the compound to spend the weekend with Tony. As much as tony wouldn’t admit it, he counted down the days until Peter would be coming over. He loved that kid as if he was his own, but again, would never tell him that.

There had been radio silence from Peter the past few days but that wasn’t concerning, Pete’s finals were coming up and Tony knew he would be busy so just sent a quick check-up text and left it at that. The next two hours dragged by slowly and Tony began worrying. Peter was often late but he’d usually text to let him know. Nothing. Until FRIDAY said,

“Sir, there is an incoming video call from an unknown number. Would you like me to answer it?”

Tony felt his stomach drop. Usually that meant Peter was injured or in hospital or something. He knew he should better answer it in case it was the kid’s friend Ted. Ned.

“Yeah, patch it through to the tablet.” Tony said as he picked his iPad up off the table, preparing himself for the worst.

“Already done sir”

The image that came through was worse than the worst that Tony could’ve possibly prepared himself for. It was video footage of Peter, trying to yank apart the bars of a cell he was in, yelling. Tony turned to the side of the desk and vomited straight into his bin. Peter looked awful, malnourished, bruised, and he was squinting as though he either couldn’t see or had a horrendous headache. Why couldn’t Peter get out of the cell? He had superstrength, Tony couldn’t help but wonder what was going on. It took Tony a minute of staring due to the grainy footage to notice the cuffs around Peter’s wrists. They were menacing looking things, causing blood to trickle down his arms if he moved and Tony immediately realised they were dampening Peter’s abilities. He vomited again.

“FRIDAY?” He said quietly. “Can you trace the IP of the stream?”

There was a moment of silence.

“I’m sorry sir, the IP has been heavily encrypted. I cannot get through.” Tony wracked his brain, trying to come up with another way to find the kid.

“See if you can find locations in a 30-mile radius that fit the specs from the stream. Anything with basements that are in a quiet area where no people walking past would hear a kid shouting. And do it quickly.” Tony stood, clutching the tablet in his hand. He brought up a large hologram map of the area, watching as FRIDAY indicated locations that matched the description.

“Sir, there are 5 possible locations that Peter could be. I’ve also scanned his condition and it appears as though his metabolism is still intact, despite his main powers being dampened. There is no evidence that this video is live so there’s a high possibility that Peter will be very dehydrated and malnourished when he is found.”  Tony paid very little attention to the information his AI was presenting him with. His logical brain had shut down, panic starting to take over. He retrieved his phone from the desk and tapped on the speed dial. The phone rang several times before someone picked up.

“Tony?”

“May.” Tony sighed a little in relief to hear her voice.

“What’s the matter? Has something happened to Peter? Do I need to come and get him?” May asked, suddenly frantic. Tony was confused, it sounded like May already knew Peter was in danger.

“May, where is Peter? Is he at home?”

“No. He left a note saying he was spending the next past few days with you. Has he not been at the compound?” May panicked further, “What’s going on?”

Tony settled himself, knowing that if he panicked too it would only make things worse.

“I think you should come over here as soon as you can, that note wasn’t from Peter. He’s in trouble.”

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

FRIDAY barely had time to announce May’s presence when she burst in through the doors. She looked a mess. It was clear she had just finished a long shift and she’d spent a lot of the drive over crying, due to the tear tracks staining her face. Tony met her in the communal room, it was a slightly more welcoming environment than the entrance lobby.

“Where’s my nephew?” She demanded as soon as she saw Tony. Tony didn’t say a word, just pulled up the footage that had burned itself into his memory. When it finished, May’s face was grey.

“Oh god.”

“I know, we’ve narrowed down the places he might be and I’m getting the team together to go looking for him right now.”

“He looks so ill.” May’s hand covered her mouth, she was swaying on her feet so Tony took her arm and guided her gently to a seat. He crouched down in front of her, meeting her eyes and grasping her hands in his.

“I promise I will find him May, whatever it takes. I’ll find him and I’ll fix this mess.” She nodded blankly and stared into space, as if she had lost the ability to function in her grief. Tony’s phone rang, the name ‘Steve’ popping up on the screen. He took one long look at May before leaving the room and answering.

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

Time was nothing anymore. Nothing but pain filled his senses. He could barely breathe without pain in his head, in his chest, in his everything. He’d been tortured before, sure. But this was a whole different level. He’d never been starved before and he’d decided very quickly that he never wanted it to happen ever again. Peter had no energy at all. His injuries weren’t healing and he could barely keep his eyes open. He’d given up shouting for help what felt like years ago.

His throat was dry and every time he swallowed, it felt like knives raking down into his lungs. Is this what it felt like to die? Alone and hungry in a tiny cell, drifting in and out of consciousness with nothing but the ever-present darkness as company.

He closed his eyes as the pounding in his head grew louder. He just wanted it all to go away.

“Tony. ‘m sorry.” He mumbled, letting himself finally start to drift off.

“No you don’t kid, we’re gonna get you out of here.”

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They had found him. It took the whole team and several breakdowns from Tony to pinpoint Peter's exact location. They fought the guards enough for Tony to get through and find Peter. The rest of his team were upstairs, dispatching the culprits. He got to work lasering through the bars with his suit.

“Ben?” Peter whispered, “Tha- you?”

“No kid, it’s Tony. You’re not dead, not if I have anything to do with it.” Tony felt his heart shatter, he knew they were running out of time. His lasers were struggling to get through the cell bars; It was very slow progress but it was working.

“Good.” Peter smiled softly, “knew you’d come for me.”

Tony spoke past the thick lump in his throat, “Always Underoos. Always.”

Peter didn’t respond, he’d finally passed out.

“We’ve dispatched all the guys upstairs; Nat is interrogating the ones who are still alive now.” Steve spoke from behind Tony.

“Good.” Tony replied grunting with the effort of keeping the lasers steady, he was almost through the thick metal, almost had his kid back in his arms. The metal split with a groan and Tony leapt into action, attempting to yank the bars apart where they’d been split. He kicked it hard in frustration when it refused to budge, even with the suit’s extra strength.

“Here. Here Tony, we’ll do it together.” Steve interrupted before tony injured himself. He positioned himself on the other side of the bars to Tony and braced himself to pull them apart. “Ready?” Tony nodded, barely concentrating but a new set of determination in his eyes. “Pull!”

The bars groaned as they bent apart, Steve’s muscles straining. They reached a point where Tony could exit his suit and squeeze through the gap. He rushed straight to Peter’s side. The boy was out cold, thin and shivering. Tony bundled him into his arms and squeezed straight out of the cell, dashing up towards the Quinjet. Steve was covering his back as they ran through the building, though there were no men left to fight. Their shouts could be heard throughout the area as Nat went to work extracting information. Tony had no idea what they were doing to them, and quite honestly, he didn’t want to know.

They reached the aircraft in record time. They could’ve flown home in Tony’s suit but Peter’s condition was too severe. A medical team met them on the ship, Bruce Banner at its lead, as they took Peter from Tony’s arms and got straight to work.

They took off immediately. Tony collapsed against the wall, sliding down onto the floor. He felt the panic rise up in his chest, the fear a tight ball in his lungs. His breath became sporadic and short as his vision became fuzzy. His jumped as a hand rested gently on his shoulder.

“Breathe Tony.” Steve said quietly, crouched down in front of the man. “They’re looking after him, he’s safe.” Tony continued to hyperventilate.

“Tony.” Steve said more forcefully, “look at me.” Tony managed to look at him, his vision still blurry but he focused on Steve’s face. “I need you to breathe with me, I’ll show you look, breathe with me.”

Steve started to breathe loudly and steadily, focusing on Tony’s chest. His breathing slowly started to even out as his panic subsided. They sat in silence for several minutes, both using each other’s company to combat the fear.

[janeyseymour]

Dangerous Desires- pt 5

chapter 1. chapter 2. chapter 3. chapter 4.

The night that Katherine had come home to live with Jane was like no other. Really, it was nothing out of the ordinary for the young lass. The family she had been placed with had enough and had turned to abuse. The father had grown annoyed with Katherine’s failure to be the perfect child they had wished for. She didn’t do what normal teenagers did. She was skittish and waited for the family to tell her what to do. She tried her hardest to be the perfect child, and it still wasn’t enough. One night, it had gone too far and the kind neighbor next door to them heard the commotion. When she saw Katherine attempting to run out of the house bruised, bloodied, and limping, she couldn’t let the girl disappear into the shadows with good conscience.

“Katherine?” The neighbor, an elderly woman named Margaret, called out into the darkness. Katherine would silently place a finger to her mouth and continue on with her journey. Or she would attempt to anyway. The slicing of the plate on her leg was excruciating.

“Katherine darling,” Margaret let out a breath of relief when she caught up with the teen. “Oh my god,” she mumbled as she looked the girl over. She was in worse shape than she had originally thought.

“Please just let me go,” Katherine pleaded. It wouldn’t work. The older woman would coerce the girl into her car and take her to the hospital, vowing to herself that she would never let another foster child step into that blasted household again.

Of course, the woman would not be allowed back with the girl as there was no familial relation, but she left her number with Katherine and made her promise to inform her that she was placed in a different household as well as to keep in contact about the healing of her injuries. (Katherine would call the woman once to tell her that her injuries healed and that she was supposedly going to be placed with a woman named Jane. She would thank her for her kindness, and never speak to the woman again.)

Katherine Howard had been in the hospital so many times that she was on a first name basis with most of the nurses. She was kind and courteous to each and every person who would enter her room. They were no strangers to the domestic abuse that the young teen had faced in the short time she had been alive, and most couldn’t believe that sweet and innocent Katherine could find herself in so many horrendous situations.

Kat’s social worker Abigail had briefly spoken to the girl about being placed in a different home before relaying the information that an emergency placement was on their way- a woman named Jane Seymour.

It would be approximately fifteen minutes before she heard muffled conversation outside her door.

“Before you go in and see her,” the teen could hear her social worker say. “I just wanted to talk to you about this girl and her situation.”

“Oh,” the newly arrived woman sighed. “Of course, yes.” She sounded quite put together, like most of the other foster parents who had arrived to take her into their care from the hospital.

“Katherine... She's come from a very hard life. It’s a shame really. But, this girl has been through a lot of homes. She doesn’t last places very long for differing reasons each time. Now Jane, I know we’ve worked together on cases before but-”

Her social worker, the woman who was supposed to be on her side, was warning this woman about her. She knew this woman would run for the hills just like every other first placement call to the hospital did. She was certain of it, or she was... until the woman who was supposedly going to take her to a different foster home spoke up.

“Abigail, you know that it doesn’t matter to me.” That was different. She had heard time and time again her social worker preparing the foster placement for her case, and almost every time she had heard that “she was just going to be too much for them” or “I don’t think we can handle that”. (Of course she was. Of course they couldn’t. How these people could become foster parents only to turn away a child in need was beyond Katherine. And how her social worker was mildly working against her when she should have been doing everything she could for the girl was even further beyond Katherine.)

“Jane,” the social worker continued on cautiously. “I know you-”

“Yes Abigail. You do know me. So you know that I am here to take this child into my

home. Whether it be for a night or the indefinite future, I will do my best to take care of her.”

“You’re positive you can handle this? She’s in pretty bad shape right now.”

The defiance in this woman’s voice was like no other as she stated determinedly, “Absolutely I can handle this. And I would advise you to stop opening her case like that. It’s not doing her any good. Let people make their own judgments of her. Perhaps she wouldn’t have gone through so many homes if you were a bit gentler with her case.” This woman couldn’t have been more different than the others.

Katherine heard a gentle knock, a knock different from her social worker’s. Abigail’s was slightly rough- tense. This one knock on the door had already conveyed a gentleness and kindness the teen didn’t know.

“Jane, are you sure?” Abigail’s voice rang out again.

“Stop trying to convince me otherwise Abigail. It’s never worked in the past, and each child that has come through my door that has left is not because I’ve decided I’ve had enough or they didn’t want to live with me anymore, or whatever these other foster parents do, but because they are placed back with their families. If I do remember correctly, isn’t that the entire point of fostering in the first place? To get the children reunited with their families?” Katherine could practically feel the condescending look this woman was clearly giving her social worker given her tone was rather pointed, and she hadn’t even met her yet.

“Of course, of course. Go on, knock again.”

Three gentle knocks rapped on the door again, and this time Kat responded with a meek, “Come in.”

A kind looking blonde woman walked into the room exuding elegance. Her eyes landed on the girl in bed, softening immediately.

“Hi Katherine,” she spoke softly. “I’m Jane. It’s lovely to meet you.” That was odd. Most people would have looked at her in this bed, bruised and bloodied (although the hospital had done what they could to get rid of most of the blood) would have turned to Abigail and told her they couldn’t do it. It “broke their hearts” too much.

“Hi,” the teen squeaked out. “Uhm, you too. Thank you for coming.”

“I’ll let you two get acquainted.” Abigail shot Jane a kind look before slipping out of the room.

Jane, who still stood at the door, asked, “Would you mind if I came closer?” Now that was really different. No one had ever given her an option before. They would simply come over and invade her space as if she wasn’t a trauma survivor.

Kat nodded, and with permission Jane moved into the chair next to her bed.

“So,” she began, just as gently. “The doctors are saying that they have to monitor you for just another hour to make sure you don’t have any reactions to the medicine before they can release you. And then, if you would like, you’re able to come home with me.”

Kat sat in silence for a few moments mulling over a few thoughts in her head. No other person to walk through those hospital doors or the social office doors had given her a choice before. In fact, she realized no other foster parent had even given Katherine this much time to think about it. She stayed silent for a few more minutes thinking about how no one else had ever treated her in such a kind manner or even looked at her with this much kindness in their eyes.

“Yes please,” Kat smiled shyly. “And thank you, of course.”

“Of course love. I’m more than happy to have you for as long as you’d like.”

“Why didn’t you give up on me right then? No one else wanted me. People have taken one look at me and turned away saying they couldn’t handle it, or me. Even my case-worker has worked against me and warned people about me. I heard her warning you,” the present-day Katherine sighed sadly before smiling slightly as she curled into her foster mother’s warmth. “But you... you were different.”

Jane sighed. She knew others had turned her sweet girl away, but it still broke her heart every time it was brought up. “Kat love, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I would never give up on any child, especially when that child is you.”

“I mean, I know that, but like... so many others have?”

“Let me tell you my side of the story,” Jane laughed quietly before diving in.

The night that Katherine had come home with Jane was like no other. The woman was used to being woken up in the middle of the night to run to a child’s rescue. Jane Seymour was at the top of the fostering list- mostly due to the fact that she had such successful stays that any child was considered lucky to be put into Jane’s custody. Most children who had been in Jane’s care at one point or another were still in contact with her, happy to tell her about their times back at home and to thank her for such kindness that not many other foster homes offered. But most of these children were brought back to the office for the blonde to gather. A one Miss Katherine Howard was still at the hospital and wouldn’t be released for at least another hour.

“It’s understandable if you can’t make it here until tomorrow morning but-”

Jane, who had already finished changing out of her pajamas and was slipping on her shoes, interrupted the social worker. “-I’m already heading out the door. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

The drive to the hospital was nerve wracking to say the least. What could have happened to this poor girl that she was still in the hospital? What kind of monster would cause such damage that this child was still in the hospital?

The woman parked her car and all but burst into the hospital, bombarding the front desk woman.

“Hi, my name is Jane Seymour. I’m here to meet with a social worker Abigail about taking Miss Katherine Howard into my custody once she’s been released?”

“Ah yes, Katherine,” the woman at the front desk softened her tone. “Sweet girl- poor thing has gone through so much in her young life. Follow me.”

“Jane, always nice to see you,” the social worker said cordially as she stuck out her hand for the blonde to shake.

“Abigail.” Jane took the hand. The two women would walk down the hospital halls quietly.

“Before you go in and see her,” the social worker looked at Jane warily.“I just wanted to talk to you about this girl and her situation.”

“Oh,” the newly arrived woman sighed. “Of course, yes.” What could there possibly be to talk about that couldn’t wait until she had met this girl.

“Katherine... She's come from a very hard life. It’s a shame really. But, this girl has been through a lot of homes. She doesn’t last places very long for differing reasons each time. Now Jane, I know we’ve worked together on cases before but-”

Jane cut her off rather hastily“Abigail, you know that it doesn’t matter to me.” From the way the woman at the front desk spoke of the teen behind the closed door, she couldn't fathom why the girl would bounce around from foster home to foster home.

“Jane,” the social worker continued on cautiously. “I know you-”

“Yes Abigail. You do know me. So you know that I am here to take this child into my

home. Whether it be for a night or the indefinite future, I will do my best to take care of her.”

“You’re positive you can handle this? She’s in pretty bad shape right now.”

“Absolutely I can handle this. And I would advise you to stop opening her case like that. It’s not doing her any good. Let people make their own judgments of her. Perhaps she wouldn’t have gone through so many homes if you were a bit gentler with her case.” How any case worker could speak of a child with this sort of connotation was beyond the woman. She noted silently to reach out to the offices later about Abigail's rather interesting take on this case.

Jane hesitated for a few moments before raising her hand to the door and knocking on it gently. Best to not scare the lass before she could even enter the room.

“Jane, are you sure?” Abigail’s voice rang out again.

“Stop trying to convince me otherwise Abigail,” Jane’s tone was rather annoyed at this point. “It’s never worked in the past, and each child that has come through my door that has left is not because I’ve decided I’ve had enough or they didn’t want to live with me anymore, or whatever these other foster parents do, but because they are placed back with their families. If I do remember correctly, isn’t that the entire point of fostering in the first place? To get the children reunited with their families?” She gave a pointed look to the social worker from behind her glasses.

The social worker cowered a bit at the look that Jane was giving her. It was quite mindblowing to see a woman of such elegance and poise give her such a dirty look. “Of course, of course. Go on, knock again.”

The blonde knocked again gently three times before she heard a rather mousy “Come in.”

Jane walked into the room as slowly as she could, making herself appear smaller in order to not frighten or startle the girl in the bed. Her eyes landed on the girl in bed, softening immediately.

“Hi Katherine,” she spoke softly. “I’m Jane. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Hi,” the teen squeaked out. “Uhm, you too. Thank you for coming.” She was shy and skittish- that was for sure, but her manners were already worlds above a few of the teenagers she had housed before (Of course they would all have impeccable manners by the time they left the Seymour household- even one night would fix the issue of no manners).

“I’ll let you two get acquainted.” Abigail shot Jane a kind look before slipping out of the room.

Jane, who still stood at the door, asked, “Would you mind if I came closer?” Rather than invading the girl’s personal space, she figured she should give the girl a choice. More often than not, this tactic had proven to be useful for the foster mother in making the children more comfortable and open to her.

Kat nodded, and with permission Jane moved into the chair next to her bed.

“So,” she began, just as gently as she possibly could. “The doctors are saying that they have to monitor you for just another hour to make sure you don’t have any reactions to the medicine before they can release you. And then, if you would like, you’re able to come home with me.” Jane silently prayed that Katherine would agree to come home with her, but she understood if the girl had her hesitations, especially considering the past she must’ve had if she had been through so many foster homes.

Kat sat in silence for a few moments seemingly mulling over a few thoughts in her head.

Jane’s gaze would never leave Katherine. She too would spend this time thinking. How could anyone look at this girl who was clearly so completely terrified and hurt- thinking that they simply couldn’t do the job of looking after her? Even though the girl had only spoken a few words to her, the blonde could already sense that this girl was different from what they had said about her.

“Yes please,” Kat smiled shyly. “And thank you, of course.”

‘What a sweet girl,’ Jane thought. “Of course love. I’m more than happy to have you for as long as you’d like.” And the woman meant what she said- she was more than happy to provide a safe and loving home to a girl who was so desperately in need of it.

The present-day Jane pressed a kiss to the girl’s hairline. “After so much heartache you must have gone through love, I knew that I had a chance to make a difference in your life and provide you with a safe place, even if just for a night.”

“You have made a difference. A good difference. The best difference,” Kat affirmed, finishing her tea.

The blonde had finished her tea a few minutes prior, and now that the teen was finished, she plucked the mugs up from the table. “Should I make us some more, or was that everything love?”

“I wouldn’t mind another cup, although do you think we could sit on the couch?”

“That sounds fine to me dear. Why don’t you head on in and make yourself comfortable? I’ll only be but a few moments,” the older of the two suggested as she made her way to the kettle once more.

“I’d rather just be with you tonight if that’s okay with you,” Kat admitted rather shyly as she followed her soon-to-be mother to the kettle and tucked herself into Jane’s side.

“That’s perfectly fine with me, my love.” The woman wrapped an arm around the teen tightly, a smile clear on her face as she looked at the girl before her with love in her eyes.

[writingwithacupoftea]

It’s been one hell of a week, and I want to share a life update with you all...

I don’t really know what this post is gonna be. I think it’s gonna be kinda like journaling, but I actually wanted to feel like I was talking to someone about it, even if no one reads it. I’m going to put everything below the cut, and if you wanna read it, cool, and if you don’t, that’s equally alright. I’m not scrapping for sympathy, I just want to talk to people that aren’t in my quote on quote ‘real life’ (pls don’t be offended, I love you all dearly).

So, feel free to ignore, this is going to be completely unedited, raw rambling about stuff that I need to get off my chest.

I guess I’ll start with the good stuff: I got accepted to interview for my teacher training course!!!!! I’m absolutely over the moon, and incredibly grateful to have this opportunity 🥰

I’m having a long weekend at home with my family, which is lovely, because it feels like ages since I was back at home. My amazing bestie/house mate sent me the cutest little care package this morning and omg I love her so much 🥺

I’m also finally starting to get on top of uni work, which is a big weight off my shoulder now I need to start with interview prep as well.

Now, before we move onto the bad stuff, a bit of backstory...

In December 2019, I got into a relationship with a guy who, quite frankly, is unlike any other boy I’ve ever met. He’s so kind, considerate, selfless, generous, funny, caring - basically every girl’s dream guy. We have similar interests, have never fought once, and were friends before we got into a relationship.

We had an incredible 3 months together as a couple, with so many incredible memories and laughs... and then lockdown happened in the England.

The announcement on 23rd March this year that England was going into lockdown sent me spiralling into my first ever panic attack (which was an absolutely horrendous experience) and my Mum drove up to my uni house in the middle of the night to bring me home.

I anticipated being at home for a few weeks, and then it turned into months. But these months were some of the best months of my life - Mum and I would go walking in the fields around where we live and have tv nights together, me and my friends from held games nights over zoom every Friday night so that we could see each other - it was incredible.

It was during these months at home that I decided, on a whim and not telling anyone other than my parents, to email my old school to see if they were part of any teacher training courses. At this point, I didn’t know for sure if I wanted to go straight into teaching after finishing my degree or if I wanted to do another job for a few years before committing myself to teaching. I’m a big believer in fate, and thought the response that I get to this email will decide.

So I sent it and, miraculously, got a response within a week, saying that they would be delighted to have me. I was ecstatic. Obviously nothing had been confirmed, because I still had to apply and be interviewed, but I had been given the confirmation that I didn’t realise that I so desperately wanted.

I texted my boyfriend and rang my best friend to tell them the news, and they were over the moon for me. But I also had to tell my boyfriend that this meant that I would be moving back to my home town once I finished my degree, something which is now mere months away.

I now had a clear direction in which my life was going, I’d smashed my second year at uni with flying colours, and my confidence in myself had flown up to an all time high. I had completely fallen in love with the person that I had become. Lockdown had also meant that I regained my love of my independence, and I realised that I wasn’t missing my boyfriend at all. In fact, the main person that I was missing was my best friend.

It was at this point that I started to have doubts about my relationship. 

Surely after months of being apart I should’ve started to miss him? I even found myself not looking forward to going to see him for our birthdays as planned. Our text conversations had grown stale, and I didn’t want to call him because I had no clue what to say to him.

I’ve always been very career-minded. My focus was completely on my future plans, and he wasn't there in my visions as my boyfriend. He was there as a friend, yes, but not my boyfriend.

When I went to meet him in our uni city for our birthdays, I felt more like I was meeting up with a good friend and not my boyfriend.

I think by this point I had built all these feelings up so much in my head that it was always going to be hard to move past them. But I said to myself that I wasn’t going to make any decisions about what to do with my relationship until I had moved back to uni for a couple of months and we spent some time together again properly, going back to near enough the way that things used to be before the pandemic took over.

So I moved back to uni, and this takes us nearly up to present day.

First of all, we both worked to run some of the event during the uni’s freshers’ week, which left us exhausted and busy. The week after we went into lectures, and the pressure hit me straight away.

To work at my dream school, I need a first-class degree (that’s the highest ranking of undergraduate degree that you can get in England). Yes, I’m already averaging at a good first, but the pressure to keep it up is immense. If I don’t get this grade, all the things that I’ve worked so hard to achieve will go down the drain.

On top of all my degree work, I was completing my teacher training application, running weekly events at the Students’ Union (SU, for short), being dragged into meetings every other week...it’s been insane.

So me and my boyfriend hadn’t had a single date night since we got back. Again, I hadn’t missed it and I was completely fine with it.

I then got invited for an interview for my teacher training course, and realised how busy I was going to be for the rest of this academic year. I didn’t know how the hell I was going to maintain a relationship on top of everything else. I then thought about what my life would be like when I started my course next September. If I was being realistic, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to maintain a long-distance relationship.

I also didn’t think that I wanted to maintain it. I missed being single, I was putting off date nights that he was trying to arrange in favour of chilling by myself in my room. But I also felt bad that I was essentially going to be putting my relationship on hold for a semester, to then resume as usual for a few months at the beginning of 2021, to then say actually I don’t think I can make this work when I moved home.

So on Tuesday, after much deliberating and talking, my boyfriend and I mutually decided to part ways as a couple after 10 months of being together, but remain the best of friends.

I was a lot more upset than I thought I would be, considering that I had brought the topic up and essentially instigated it (although the decision was mutual).

I sobbed and sobbed, and it was then that I started to doubt my decision. He’s devastated, my Mum too, and I started to wonder if I’d made a mistake.

When talking to my Mum on the phone, I listed all of his good qualities and how amazing he his and my Mum just asked “If he’s this good, as I know he is, why did you want to break up with him? There’s not many like him out there.”

I’m still thinking about that question. It genuinely haunts me.

I’ve been alright for the past few days. After a good sleep on Tuesday night, I woke up feeling okay and like all my doubts about my decision had vanished.

I’ll be honest, I’ve always been a Mummy’s girl. Her opinion and advice mean the world to me. And I know that she disagrees with the decision that I made to leave my boyfriend, she’s said it to my face multiple times. And now, the only thing making me doubt my decision is the fact that she is completely in disagreement, saying how amazing we were together as a couple and questioning how I could let him go.

I know it’s my decision, but her opinion means a lot to me. She’s always known what’s best for me, been so right about so many people, and that’s scaring me beyond belief.

We’re going to talk about it later today, and I have no clue what’s going to happen.

So I’m feeling a bit all over the place at the moment, that’s the only way I can describe it. Who knows what’s going to happen next - I sure don’t...

If you made it this far, honestly congratulations because I don’t think I would’ve 😂

Thank you for listening to me ramble, and thank you for being there for me to talk to.

All my love,

Emily x

[moombeamsandstardust]

akrasia(n) lack of self control

Warnings: demon jk,jimin being a peeping tom, sir kink,fingering, mentions of cum 

Rating: 17+

Pairing: jungkook x reader x jimin with mentions of taehyung

Word count: 1306 words

Moodboard by @today-we-will-survive​

This was ridiculous absolutely stupidly ridiculous Jimin could go on and on about how ridiculous it was completely horrendous.

“This is by far the stupidest thing you’ve ever convinced me to do, honestly what was going through your mind when this came to your mind?”

“Pretty baby are you stalling so you won’t have to ask him?” Taehyung asked

the blond haired boy while looking at you with a small smile on his face causing you to blush. Jimin really wanted to slap that smile off his face, this was completely unfair. How dare Taehyung go on a trip without him for three whole days how dare he knowing he’s Jimin’s rock and now he’s leaving both of you at the hands of an actual demon. Being a fairy sucks ass wait no correction being a weak fairy named Jimin who can’t protect both of you sucks ass. Before he can let out another complain Taehyung walked out the room.

“Babe just ask him, he’s not gonna kill you.” Taehyung snicker

“Fuck you first of all and as my friend you aren’t supposed to ask me to ask THE Jeon Jungkook to babysit y/n and I for 3 weeks.”

Taehyung looked at Jimin and felt a ping of pity for the boy but it wasn’t his fault he had to go back home but he knew that tiny girl he took care of had a huge ass crush on Jungkook who also happens to be friend of Taehyung’s so he knew under the earrings,long nails,horns and leather jacket Jungkook was a quiet love bug but Jimin didn’t care all he knew was he was a demon and demons are scary. Shifting his eyes to you, he let out a long sigh.

“Princess are you ok with Jungkook staying with you for three weeks?”

“O-o-once it makes u-us safe,” you whispered.

There wasn’t much you could do in this situation considering you were a weak fairy and you couldn’t stay by yourself and if Taehyung was willing to ask his friend to basically babysit who were you to complain.

The next morning there was a knock on the apartment door, looking through the peephole you were greeted with the sight of long black hair and two tiny horns, adorable you thought as you opened the door.

It was almost amazing how you went from opening the door to the position you were in now.

The tiny fairy you were in his eyes. Adorable, precious, he could wrap you in his arms and take you away. it took everything for him not to coo at you as he smirked seeing the pink meet your cheeks and your gaze fall to the floor. Your button nose twitching him suppressing the urge to lean over and press you against his chest just so he could see his fairy wither and let out that sweet melody of a squeal from his bold moves. You were the fairy who was way too shy to accept his flirtatious words and would stutter over your words as your face went from pink to red. The cute fairy who would ignore him or shy away unless Taehyung or Jimin was there.His fairy who looked like a goddess reincarnated in his coat and unknowingly (or knowingly) ruffled his inner demoms (even though he’s the Prince of hell) with so much as one look. He swears every part of him felt what could be equivalent to a drug haze. Arms tied above your head with a cardinal satin piece of cloth.Your dress, removed, allowing the voluptuous breasts of yours he so often wished to have in his mouth to suck and nip out for his display. Marks covered them entirely, reminding you of his actions. Sweat coated your body, a trail from your stomach leading down a trail where only your black lace panties barely covered you. His strong gaze sees the slickness sticking and coating your captivating thighs left with bruises made from his hands and mouth. How was it you, his shy fairy who still blushed when your gazes met, release this submissive underneath begging for him inside of you? Holding a gaze that was pleading to be ruined, dominated, and treated like the fuck doll you were.“Y/N,” Jungkook called your name, and you shivered just from his deep voice.

“You look so fucking needy, like you’re asking me to ruin you” he breathed out, had you almost losing your breath from the intense pleasure burning inside you.

“Baby, does it hurt? Need to get off so badly?” The voice, so sinfully familiar, coos into your ear, “But baby, I don’t want you to cum without me, don’t you think it’d be so unfair to me if you got to cum, and I don’t?”  “P-please…” You whimper, choking on your own spit. “You’re being so fucking filthy my precious,“ he kissed his teeth

Jimin senses something off with your presence which is how he finds himself apparated to the very room you reside.

You’re laying in bed, much as Jimin would expect, only Jungkook is on top of you, to Jimin’s surprise. And in panic he flees into the wardrobe opposite the huge bed that you’re laid upon, making sure to leave it a crack open. Jimin’s mouth goes dry at the sight of your naked body pressed against Jungkook ’s built chest, bulge tightening uncomfortably in his leather pants. “So sensitive, aren’t you baby?” Jungkook  chuckles into your ear, cooing when try to reach your hand upwards to grab him. Ignoring you his hands clasp at your hips, carefully dragging you up and down his thigh, groaning lowly when he feels you cover his leg in slick. Jimin watches with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth as your legs were lifted to throw them over Jungkook shoulders, causing the fairy to become jealous. He can smell you, but he doesn’t get to touch you like, he can’t watch your little cunt accept him, regardless of how sensitive it is. Above all, he doesn’t get to whisper pretty things in your ears like Jungkook’s doing at the moment.“Does that feel good, kitten?” Jungkook coos into your ear, hands holding tight to your hips as he presses you harder against his trousers. You circle your hips, but the stimulation isn’t enough.He snaps his hand into your hair, pulling your head back so that you are staring him straight in the eyes. “I asked a question little one.”

“Yes sir.”

“You know, baby, I think someone’s watching us, should we give them a show?” Jungkook presses into your ear, lips ghosting over the shell. One of his fingers trail between your legs, tapping against the wetness. Your legs tremble And as much as you are flustered, you are just too frustrated to deny anything, so you resort to pouting as you lie down in your bed, rubbing your thighs together to relieve the tension between your legs - which actually doesn’t work at all when he yanks them apart.

“Tch guess I’ll have to punish you.”

He dips his fingers back into your wetness and feels he feels his heart swell with pride, knowing that you are needy enough to grind your hips on his fingers.It doesn’t take long for you to come all over his fingers, moaning his name loudly.While letting you catch your breath, he finally moves to pull his fingers out, causing you to whimper and sigh in disappointment. And he brings them to his lips, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on yours as he licks your essence off of his fingers, leaving some on his full lips.

“You looked fucked out,” he chuckled

“I’ll go get something to clean you up,” He said as he walked pass the closet making sure the send the fairy inside a wink and a smirk. Jimin had a scrawl on his face but he couldn’t deny what Jungkook said, you looked fucked out but so pretty at the same time god he wished he made you feel like this.

[jabbajambler]

3

Human

The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x f!OC

Word Count: 1,988

*GIF by @fluffyapplecat​*

         The golden sun was beginning to set behind the rolling hills of Arvala-7, causing the sky to turn all shades of purple and pink. It was a beautiful sight, for sure. I couldn't help but wonder why there were so few inhabitants of the planet.

         I suppose I always had a fascination for these sorts of things, you know? Bits and pieces of beauty even in the most horrendous times.

         I was beginning to fall in love with the deserted planet. Granted, we had only been here a few hours, but it was beautiful nonetheless. There was no one to bother you, no distractions or problems to run from. You only had yourself.

         Which also made it very lonely.

         Mando and I had joined the Ugnaught in his small, strange home. It was dark and we had to crouch or sit the entire time to avoid hitting our heads on the low ceilings.

         Mando sat by a small lamp that cast a dim light through the home. The shadows emphasized the well-sculpted curves of his helm and left a vague outline of his face through the tinted visor. He was distracted by his wrecked vambrace, completely unaware of my staring from across the room.

         I stuck by the entrance to watch the pastel sky. The serenity of the planet tempted me to stay, but I would just be running away once again.

         The Ugnaught entered his home, paying no mind to me while he turned to talk to the Mandalorian. "Many have passed through. They seek the same one as you two."

         "Did you help them?" The Mandalorian's muffled voice cut through the air.

         Now that I had time to sit back and listen to him, his voice was somewhat enchanting. It was a tenor sort of voice and despite the modulator's muffling, it sounded smooth and relaxing.

         It wasn't what I expected from a man of his reputation, but at the same time, I wasn't sure what I expected. He held this aura of confidence, even after being beat down to his lowest point. It was admirable.

         Honestly, I was kind of jealous.

         "Yes... They died."

         I scoffed and began walking towards the two, my arms folded across my chest. "Well, then, I'm not sure we really want your help." I spat.

         "You do." He put a hand on my shoulder, patting it comfortingly and pulling me down to the seat across from Mando. His subtle arrogance was rather irritating. "I can show you to the encampment." He stood before the Mandalorian, his hands on his hips.

         "What's your cut?" Mando spoke, staring down at his crushed vambrace.

        His armor was worn and sort of gross, I hadn't noticed it before. Most Mandalorians were kept pristine and up-to-date. His armor was kind of ugly.

          "Half."

         I choked a bit on the air in my lungs. "Half the bounty just to guide? Are you insane?" I watched as he pulled up a little puff seat next to me.

         "No. Half of the blurrg you helped capture."

         "The blurrg?" I questioned.

         "You can keep them both."

         "No. You will need one... To ride. The way is impossible to pass without a blurrg mount."

         "I don't know how to ride a blurrg and I doubt she does either."

         "Don't speak for me." I snapped. I didn't necessarily want to be on Mando's bad side, but I didn't have a choice after I held him hostage.

         "I have spoken."

         The Mandalorian sighed and stood up, walking outside of the house. I quickly moved to run after him, refusing to let him out of my sight, but was pulled back by a small hand on my arm.

         "You are welcome to stay the night here if you two would like."

         I stared down at the Ugnaught with wide eyes. He had been friendly the entire time, I suppose I hadn't expected it to continue with our coldness towards him. I offered a small but friendly smile and nodded my head. It would be nice to rest for a few hours.

         "We would appreciate that."

         "Then I'll prepare something for my guests." He stood, making his way towards a small kitchen. I opened my mouth to stop him, to refuse his generous hospitality. "Go talk to your Mandalorian...I have spoken."

         I took a deep breath and turned, walking out the door to follow Mando. He kept looking around, his fists clenched and shoulders slouched. He looked so tense, I thought he just might burst from the seams.

         "Someone on this planet has to have a speeder or something." He growled and looked around, seeing nothing but sand for as far as the eye could see.

         "Yeah and it'll take you two days just to find someone else." I rolled my eyes and stepped towards him. "We have no choice. You might as well relax." I placed my hand on his shoulder, causing him to flinch and pull away at the sudden touch. "Take a breather and get some rest. I promise I won't try to kill you in your sleep."

         He looked over at me and let out a quiet sigh. He must have known that I was right.

         "Why did you do it?"

         I felt my eyebrows furrow together as I stared at him. "What do you mean? That's a pretty vague question, obviously you need to add some details to it."

         "Why did you attack me on my ship? You can do anything you want, any mission, task, reward. Greef would do anything for you."

         "Except give me this mission. Listen, I'm not simply handed things because I live under his roof, okay? I have to work for what I get..." I paused. If I continued this any longer, I would have been talking for hours. "Go get some rest. He offered to let us sleep in his home and I think we should take it... No funny business though, okay? If I wake up with a blaster to my face, there's going to be hell to pay."

         "Don't worry. I think I've learned better than to cross you." He teased with a whisper of sarcasm filling his voice.

         The Ugnaught had made us a small meal, something I don't think either one of us had enjoyed in a long time. He even showed Mando to a separate room so he could eat in privacy. It wasn't long until we were all asleep.

         Tomorrow was going to be a very long day and the rest was absolutely needed. If our encounter with the blurrg tomorrow is anything like the one today, we had a big storm coming.

┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉

         I laughed. I laughed until it was painful to breathe.

         I know I shouldn't have, but it was so funny to see him thrown off the back of the blurrg for the fifth time that afternoon. My stomach was aching from laughing so hard. It was difficult to believe that the 'cold, merciless Mandalorian' was so easily tossed around by a harmless animal.

         Well, sort of harmless.

         "Perhaps if you removed your helmet." The Ugnaught joked, knowing that he wasn't capable of doing such.

         "Perhaps he remembers I tried to roast him." Mando snapped back. I couldn't help but chuckle at that. Especially the word, 'tried.'

         "This is a female. The males are all eaten during mating."

         The Ugnaught was just as quick witted as us. I liked him. I couldn't help but wonder if he had a name. I mean, I'm sure he does. Just like Mando's name can't actually be 'Mando.' I'm sure his name isn't actually 'Ugnaught.'

         The blurrg stood in front of the Mandalorian, watching as he pushed himself up from the ground with a grunt.

         Geez, how old was this guy? Seventy? I thought at most he was thirty. A seventy year-old would make for a very poor Mandalorian.  

         She growled at him when he set his hand on her back, throwing himself on top of her. She roared and began thrashing around, trying to throw the yelping Mando off of her. With a few spins, he was finally knocked off once again.

         Mando had quickly jumped to his feet, his hands raised high in surrender. For a second, I thought I could see him trembling in his boots.

         "We don't have time for this." He began stomping towards us. "Do you have a Landspeeder or Speeder bikes that I could hire?"

         "You are a Mandalorian!" The Ugnaught exclaimed. "Your ancestors rode the great Mythosaur. Surely you can ride this young foal."

         He turned to look at the blurrg, causing it to growl back at him. I couldn't stand to sit around and watch this any longer. It was almost painful. I rolled my eyes and stepped through the fence, taking the Mandalorian's hand in mine.

         "Come on."

         I pulled him towards the animal that stared back at him with a menacing glare. My fingers drifted up, brushing against the skin of his wrist as I held his hand out. He tensed up next to me, trying to rip his hand from my grasp.

         "Easy now, okay?"

         "Easy... Easy." He repeated my words as he relaxed.

         A small smile played at the corners of my mouth, suddenly feeling a bit shy in his presence. I shouldn't have, I had the advantage, but there was just... something. Maybe it was the delicacy he spoke with to the animal, it was such a drastic change from his usual tone.

         The blurrg growled again, forcing Mando to take a small step back. I was quick to grasp his arm, pushing him towards the creature once again.

         "Be gentle with it." I leaned up towards his helmet, whispering.

         Taking another step forward, I led his hand to rest on top of the blurrg's head with my hand laying on his with a soft pressure.

         I expected him to be consoling the animal, relating to it and finding peace with it. When I looked up, I found him staring down at me. I know I can't really see his face or expressions but he seemed different. It was a sort of soft, curious gaze.

         At least it felt that way.

         "What? Don't you have an animal to tame?" I quickly stepped back towards the fence, leaving him with the blurrg.

         He watched me leave before he hopped on the animal's back with surprising ease. She allowed him to lead her around and take control. The sun was beginning to set again and the Mandolorian took that as a signal to end his training.

         "Good. Very good. We'll leave in the morning." I opened my mouth to protest, but was quickly stopped by him holding up his hand. "I have spoken." The Ugnaught left for his home, presumably heading to sleep.

         "Thank you." I heard Mando's raspy voice behind me.

         I spun around to meet him, but that might have been a mistake. Maybe I spun too fast or maybe I was shocked he was so close, but I stumbled back only to be caught by his hands grasping my arms.

         "Oh. Right. Don't worry about it." I shrugged off his hands, wrapping my arms around myself. "You were just too pitiful not to help. Honestly, that was sad. I thought hunters and fighters like you were supposed to be better educated."

         "I thought girls were supposed to have less bite in their bark." I could detect a smug grin behind his mask.

         "Most girls haven't had to deal with you. If they had, they would grow tired of your stupidity as well."

         "You've spent one day with me."

         "One day too many."

          I spun on my heel, swiftly making my way back to the Ugnaught's hut. Something about the Mandalorian made me feel small and shy. Not in a bad way, don't get me wrong. It made me mad, though. I don't like not understanding things.

         Especially when they are beyond my control.

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (36/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: Whaaaat? Two chapters in two days? What kind of alternate universe are we living in?? 😉 This is totally to make up for the last few chapters taking forever even though they’re literally just sitting on my computer!

Thanks to @imagnifika​ for her awesome art, @resident-of-storybrooke​ for reading these words and so many other words of mine (it’s a lot), and to @wellhellotragic​ who prompted me with the idea that inspired this whole thing all the way back in June!

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 |15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35| 36 |

-/-

Killian fucking hates Boston.

It’s a great city full of good food, and in another lifetime, he’d mostly likely enjoy living here. Right now, the air is crisp with the scent of fall, and trees are in the middle of losing their leaves, the ones remaining a myriad of oranges and reds that remind Killian of sitting in a park in Cincinnati with his mother raking up leaves and then jumping into the piles before cleaning them up for the city. He had to have been four or five then, but that’s one of the first memories that he has. Looking out the window of his hotel room to a park that looks almost identical reminds him of that.

He should be happy, more than happy really, but when you’re trying to get to the World Series next week and are currently tied 2-2 in the AL Championship Series against the Red Sox on the way to getting there, happiness isn’t exactly the most common feeling.

And they’re playing in Boston tonight, and despite the fact that they won last night, beating both the team and the deafening roar of the crowd, Killian is not entirely convinced that they’re going to win again tonight. They could still come back from it by winning the next two games at home, but he’d really rather win here and then win the sixth game at home when he’s pitching and not have to deal with the nastiness of going to a seventh and deciding game.

Who in the hell wants to play sports for a living? It’s too damn stressful.

Losing won’t kill him, not at all. The fact that he’s having the season he’s having, especially with all of the ups and downs and lay-offs, is incredible and a full-credit to his team. But he got the taste of being the last team standing last year, and he wants it back.

Some players never get their hands on the trophy, and Killian is greedy enough to want it twice both for himself, his teammates, and his family.

And Emma. He wants it for Emma.

So, Killian really hates Boston and the fact that they keep putting them in close situations like this. Close games are often the best ones, the ones that have everyone on the edge of their seat, but Killian would kill for an easy night.

“The city isn’t going to implode just because you’re staring out at it with evil in your eyes.”

“One can hope though.”

“That’s entirely sadistic.”

He huffs and turns from the window to look at where Emma is sitting in bed (they’ve stopped bothering to get different hotel rooms now) with her knees pulled up so that she can rest her laptop there. He woke up this morning to her typing away. Apparently, she didn’t finish her work last night, so she had to wake up early this morning to send in a report before the deadline. Walsh’s firing has ended up having Emma needing to write more on top of her regular work, and even though she says she doesn’t mind – “I like writing,” she keeps saying – he knows that it’s kind of a kick in the teeth for her to have to do some of Walsh’s work.

The man is never fully going to go away, obviously. He and Brennan are like a bug that won’t die no matter how much you squash it.

“Are you almost finished with your report, love?”

“Yep,” she says. “I’m finished with it and have moved onto doing my prep work for today’s game as well as a little bit of online shopping because there are these boots that I really want but can’t decide if I’m going to buy.”

“That’s the hardest decision you’ve ever made.”

“Says the man who spends hours trying to decide which identical blue button-down shirt he wants to buy to ‘update’ his wardrobe.”

Killian scoffs and walks forward to flop down on the bed next to her, shaking the mattress with his movement, until he’s flipping over on his back and spreading out so that he takes up most of the space. Emma always hates when he does that.

“My clothes may not be as varied as yours, my darling, but it does take effort to look as good as I do on a regular basis.”

He turns his head to the side to look at her, a smile on his face, and she simply rakes her eyes up and down his body, very obviously perusing him. “You are currently wearing a pair of sweatpants that have a hole in the ass and a hoodie that I’m pretty sure has a permanent stain from some kind of baking accident. Your fashion sense is amazing.”

“You are literally in a pair of pajama pants with Snoopy’s face on them.”

“You wear the same two uniforms all the time.”

“Sometimes we wear the black ones.”

Emma hums. “Those are my favorite. I’ll stop making fun of you for things if you can convince the owners to let you guys wear the all black uniforms more often.”

“You were particularly fond of those on Players’ Weekend.”

“I’m a fan of a man in all black.”

Killian shifts on the mattress, propping himself up on the pillows until he’s mostly resting against the headboard. He can see Emma’s computer screen now, half of it covered with statistics and the other covered with Nordstrom’s website and a pair of boots. If there’s one thing Emma will splurge on, it’s boots.

“Buy the boots, Swan. Live a little bit.”

Emma arches a brow. “Am I made of money?”

“No,” he sighs, leaning over to kiss her shoulder. “That would be very convenient if you were. I’d never work again.”

“If you’re living off of my salary, you’re screwed because I’m definitely going to buy these super expensive boots. I think they would look really cute with the black suede skirt.”

“Ah, yes, I know the one,” he says sarcastically.

“Shut up,” Emma laughs, half-heartedly reaching over to slap his shoulder. “You do! I wore it when we went to dinner last week, and your eyes practically fell out of your head.”

Killian tries to think of what Emma wore last week, his mind blanking on everything at the moment, but then he’s brought back to a memory of the two of them going to eat at Palma on Cornelia Street last week. She’d looked gorgeous that night, her legs going on for miles aided by the heels, and they’d been late for their reservation because the street one block over was Jones Street and Emma insisted that he take a picture underneath the sign for her to send to Liam and Elsa.

He had not been amused, but in his defense, he really wanted to eat.

“Hmm, I think I do recall that one now that I think about it. You should definitely get those boots to wear with that.”

“I didn’t need your permission, but thank you for the approval. Do we need to be getting ready to go have breakfast with everyone?”

“I’m pretty sure breakfast is over down in the lobby.”

“No,” Emma sighs, clicking a few buttons on her laptop until he sees that she did indeed buy the boots. “We’re meeting everyone for breakfast at the café at the end of the block at ten.”

Killian groans and throws his arm over his eyes like the dramatic ass that he is. “That means I have to get dressed.”

“Well, I would prefer it that way. Your pants show off what you’ve got going on in both the front and the back, and I think you might get arrested for public indecency. That’d put a damper in the whole trying to get to the World Series thing.”

“Would you bail me out?”

Emma shrugs her shoulders and closes her laptop. “Eh, maybe. I might not have the money with the boots I just bought.”

-/-

They win that night.

It’s close, far closer than Killian would like watching from the sidelines, and he chews more gum than he thinks he’s ever chewed during a game. Rum would be preferable, but that’s not exactly the best solution when he’s got two nights until he’s got to pitch in the game that could bring them to the World Series.

Al really has far too much confidence in Killian for putting him in position in the line-up.

-/-

Killian fucking loves New York.

Sure, it’s hot and crowded and sometimes smells absolutely horrendous, but he loves it. He’s lived here for seven years, had his family live here for more than that, and he can’t imagine having to ever live anywhere else.

This is his home.

For awhile, he didn’t have one, not really. Everything changed when his mom died, the house feeling far emptier than any lived-in house should feel, and it only continued to empty as the years went on and Brennan became more and more of a distant figure. And as much as Killian loved Vanderbilt, that was simply a temporary home.

Manhattan? This is home.

One day he may like to move a little outside of the city to a place with a big yard and less traffic, but right now, everything he loves is here.

Everyone.

“Uncle Killian,” Lucy whispers, tugging on the hem of his shirt, “is it time to eat dinner yet?”

“Not quite yet, Luce. We can go ask Anna about it, though, yeah?”

He bends down and picks Lucy up, resting her on his hip while she wraps her arms around his neck so that she doesn’t fall. He’s picked her up thousands of times, had her little head nestled onto his shoulder twice that many times, but there’s something peaceful about it now as they stand in one of the sitting rooms at Liam’s house looking out onto the street in front of them as cars occasionally pass by and the leaves keep falling from the few trees that line the street.

They got in from Boston this morning, immediately went to practice, and then most everyone came to Liam and Elsa’s house for dinner as some kind of pre-game Friday night dinner to get everyone’s minds off of things.

There are more people in this townhome than it has seen in years, and he doesn’t think anyone is complaining.

Killian is a little bit, if only because his mind is very much focused on tomorrow and not screwing up to let everyone he loves down, and that’s why he’d walked away from the crowd in the kitchen and living room and wandered upstairs to the sitting room that no one ever wanders into.

Except for Lucy apparently.

Kids seem to foil all kinds of plans, and Lucy is not going to be having a fun day tomorrow since she’s most definitely up far past her bedtime.

He is officially an old man.

“What are we eating?”

“I think it’s lasagna. You know, like big spaghetti all moved together.”

“I know what lasagogona is.”

Wow, that was a butchering of the word lasagna if he’s ever heard it.

“You certainly don’t know how to pronounce it.”

Lucy scoffs, like she has never been so offended in her very short life, but she doesn’t say anything else as he walks down the staircase with the wood boards groaning beneath him. Immediately, he’s bombarded by people. Will, Belle, and Elsa are sitting on the ground with diagrams of seating charts spread out between them. Killian would have at least twenty-five questions about why they’re doing seating chart arrangements for the wedding tonight, but he already knows that it’s because they’re using Elsa to help figure out where to sit some of the more difficult people.

(He assumes he and Emma don’t count as those difficult people, but it really depends on how Will feels about him that day.)

Robin, Kris, Liam, Roland, and Addison are sitting on the couch in the living watching what Killian knows is Trolls because he’s been forced to watch it exactly seventeen times, and Eric and Ariel are standing in the kitchen with Anna cooking.

And, well, apparently Emma too.

“Are we sure we trust the blonde to cook for us?” Killian teases, putting Lucy down on the barstool. “Because I’ve had her cooking before, and I’m not sure we should allow her to feed so many people at once.”

“I’m blonde,” Lucy interjects.

“Yes, yes you are. Can you cook, little love?”

“Mommy doesn’t let me.”

“Funny,” Emma huffs, her eyes pointedly staring him down, “your uncle doesn’t seem to think I can cook either even though I’m only tossing the salad and am perfectly capable of that.”

“SoSo, we’re just going to forget the entire cucumber you dropped on the ground earlier?” Anna asks as she lays rolls out on a pan.

“What about the nearly slicing your finger open?” Ariel adds.

“What happens in the kitchen is supposed to stay in the kitchen.”

“Technically,” Eric sighs, “it hasn’t left the kitchen.”

“You guys are fu – fun,” Emma stops herself and changes the word, her eyes blowing wide when she remembers Lucy is in the room. “Luce, sweetie, do you want me to get you some carrots so you can take them in the other room to watch the movie with Addy and Roland?”

“Yes please.”

Emma turns around and opens the fridge, quickly grabbing a bag of sliced carrots, and hands them over to him for him to hand to Lucy. She takes them, mumbles a “thank you,” and then is sprinting to the adjoining living room to watch the movie.

“So you’re just bribing children now, Swan?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, “but with carrots so it’s healthy. Babe, can you check my phone and see where everyone else is? Ruby said they would be here by now, but I haven’t heard anything from them. Or David and Mary Margaret. I guess they’re all in traffic or something, but it’s radio silence on their end.”

Killian bites the inside of his cheek to keep from giving anything away, hoping that his tan keeps his cheeks from flaming red. “Where’s your phone?”

“In my purse on the table.”

He nods his head and turns around, thankful that it’s a little bit out of sight of Emma, before he’s shuffling through her small purse to find her phone hidden behind every small object known to men. There is a string of texts from Ruby about Graham taking forever to get home and her almost leaving without him, and Killian sincerely hopes that Ruby didn’t actually leave without Graham. That would go against the plan.

Mary Margaret and David, though, are legitimately stuck in Friday night traffic, so at least he doesn’t have to lie about that.

“They’re on their way, love,” he tells Emma, putting her phone back in her purse and walking back to the island so that he can prop his forearms against the cool countertop. “Anna, you realize a few of us have to play a game tomorrow, right? I don’t think we can eat all of this.”

She waves a wooden spoon in the air, little bits of sauce splattering on the ground. “It’s called portion control. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

“Killian has. I haven’t,” Eric laughs. “Though, I’m more of a seafood man myself.”

“There’s only so much seafood that you can eat, though, before you become a fish.”

“You only say that because you don’t like it as much as I do.”

Ariel pats her husband’s chest. “Exactly.”

“Oh my God,” Will groans out, and everyone in the kitchen turns to look at him laying out on the floor. “This is impossible. Why do people get married?”

“I think you mean why do people have weddings,” Belle corrects him.

“I’m kind of questioning both at this point.”

Belle flicks a little name card at Will, and Elsa immediately snatches it back and puts it at the little diagrammed table where it’s supposed to be sitting.

“Why have a seating chart in the first place?” Emma asks. “Why not just let people sit where they want to sit?”

“My mother,” Belle sighs, this discussion obviously a frequent one, “is very traditional and specific about how things should be. She grew up in high society, cotillions and things like that, and even though Will and I mostly want this to be one big party, she has opinions. This is a compromise to make her back off until there’s something else she sets her sights on.”

“Huh,” Emma huffs. “Well, as long as I don’t have to sit next to Killian the entire time, I think it’ll be fine.”

“Shit,” Elsa mumbles under her breath even though the words echo throughout the room. “We don’t have cards for Emma and Killian.”

Laughter rumbles through Killian’s stomach as he walks back over to Emma to place his hand on the small of her back over her sweater before taking the strawberries and putting them on the cutting board to slice up. “Swan, it looks like you won’t have to sit with me because we’re apparently been uninvited from the wedding.”

“Damn. I guess we’ll just have to be wedding crashers.”

“I was thinking we could stay home and not wear uncomfortable clothes but still eat incredible food. We could probably dance a little too.”

“He means the horizontal tango, if you know what I mean.”

“We all know what you mean, Will,” Ariel sighs with a shake of her head but laughter on her lips. “But there are people here related to Killian who probably aren’t too inclined to hear about his sex life.”

“I’m not particularly inclined to hear about Emma’s,” David says, and Killian whips his head around to see he, Mary Margaret, and Leo walking thoughthrough the open garage door. “Or Killian’s. Though I hope they’re one and the same.”

“Okay,” Emma hums, dragging out the word, “we need a change in conversation, something like everyone greeting my brother and nixing this conversation entirely.”

“I mean, I’m kind of curious, but Leo is right here.”

“Mary Margaret,” Emma gasps, and Killian misses what has to be an absolutely priceless look on her face in favor of putting his knife down and walking over to Leo so that they can do their secret handshake that seems to change every time they see each other.

“I like you hat, bud,” Killian compliments. He tugs on the bill, and Leo blushes underneath it. “I think there are some other guys here tonight who would sign it for you if you want.”

Leo’s brows furrow together and the smile on his face completely goes away. Shit. What did Killian do wrong?

“Maybe another hat. I don’t want this one to get messed up.”

“Why not?”

“You signed this one,” he whispers, even if it’s not quiet at all, “and you’re my favorite player.”

“I thought it was your favorite because I gave it to you, kid,” Emma protests as she steps around him and leans down to wrap Leo up in a hug, squeezing him too tightly out of some kind of silent protest.

“I only asked for it because Killian is my favorite player.”

“You’re my favorite nephew.”

Leo rolls his eyes, and while he and Emma may not be related, Killian knows that he got that from her. “I’m your only nephew.”

“Which makes me your favorite.” She kisses his cheek, which makes Leo’s cheeks turn as red as the strawberries. “All the other kids are in that room right over there if you want to go hang out with them until dinner is ready.”

Leo runs off, and David and Mary Margaret take his place by stepping in and greeting everyone with a wave or a hug. It’s so many people, all of them from different social circles, and yet it’s amazing how well they’ve all managed to blend together. Killian knows that he started off with more people than Emma simply by the nature of his job, that most of the people in this house would technically be considered “his,” but he likes to think that they’re Emma’s too.

His phone buzzes in his back pocket, and he pulls it out to see a message from Graham just as Emma sits down and picks up a glass of wine.

Graham Humbert: We just pulled up outside. Can you send Emma out? Say something about needing help with the dessert. I think Ruby would like to tell her before she tells everyone inside.

Killian: Yeah, I’ll send her out. Congrats, mate! I’m happy for the two of you!

“Love?”

“Yeah?”

“I think Ruby and Graham just got here. Do you want to go out and see if they need any help?”

“Why don’t you do it?”

Of course she’s going to be stubborn about.

“I’m finishing this salad,” he lies, even though he really should finish the salad since he took it over from Emma. Will lets out another curse having to do with the seating chart, and there’s a reassurance from Mary Margaret that it will all be okay. “Just go help them. They have the dessert. You love dessert.”

Emma’s brows bunch together and her lips snarl, but she puts the glass of wine that she’s drinking down and stands from the barstool she’s sitting on to go walk out of the garage door and down the stairs. She’s going to be pissed at him for the entire walk out there, but he knows that it won’t be long. And curious as Killian is, he leaves the kitchen to walk over to the bay window so that he can look down at the street where Ruby and Graham are getting out of Graham’s squad car with boxes of pies in their hands. Emma quickly appears, her hands moving as she talks, and then Ruby puts her set of boxes on the hood of the car.

And while Killian can’t hear any screaming or squealing – Emma isn’t really the type – he knows that some kind of inhuman noise just came out of her before she launched herself forward to hug Ruby, squeezing so tightly that he imagined Ruby can’t breathe. And then Graham nearly drops all of the pies when Emma hugs him too. Killian chuckles to himself, a smile stretching across his lips, and then David comes up behind him.

“What’s all that about?”

“You’ll find out in a minute, I’m sure.”

“Secrets don’t make friends.”

“Yeah, yeah they do,” Killian laughs, smiling at David. “And I love how casually you’re referring to me as your friend. It really touches a man’s heart, Dave.”

“Watch it, or I’ll take it back.”

By the time Killian looks back out the window, Graham is gone, leaving Emma and Ruby out to talk. Killian is sure that they’ll be out there for awhile, probably far later than they intend to, and he knows he’ll have to go with them when the food gets here. The door opens then to Graham walking inside with the boxes. Ariel immediately rushes to help him, mostly likely because she likes to talk his ear off about all of the cases he can talk about (she’s very into True Crimes oddly enough), but Killian walks over to save him, grabbing Graham’s hand in greeting before pulling him into a hug and patting his back.

“Congratulations, mate.”

“Thank you,” Graham beams, his smile infectious. “I still can’t believe it.” “What can’t you believe?” Ariel asks as she swipes a finger through the whipped cream on a pie only for Eric to slap her hand away.

Killian looks over at Graham, silently asking if he wants to say something, and he nods, that smile still on his face. “I’ve asked Ruby to marry me today, and she said yes.”

“Congratulations!” 

“You did what now?”

“How could you not tell me this?”

“This is so exciting!”

“Whatever you do, don’t do a fucking seating chart for the reception.”

It’s this big, loud chorus of voices and conversations, and it pulls in everyone from the living room too so that it gets so loud that Killian is sure the neighbors can hear. Killian isn’t even entirely sure which legs belong to who for how much movement there is, hugs being exchanged between people who didn’t even get engaged tonight, and it all starts to calm down a bit only for Ruby and Emma walk in the door.

Obviously, things never calm down again.

Ruby and Graham don’t even get to spend much time with this group of people, especially Graham since his schedule never seems to match up with any of theirs, so it’s nice to see the overwhelming joy that’s there for the two of them.

“Congratulations, lass,” he sighs into Ruby’s ear when she finally makes her way to him at the edge of the room, her arms wrapped around her shoulders. “Were you surprised?”

“Yes,” she sighs, her laughter moving through him. “I can’t believe you knew about it.”

Killian rubs his hand up and down her back. “I had to make sure Emma was out of the apartment when it happened because Graham just knew that she would somehow find a way to show up if left to her own devices.”

“I think I could kiss you for doing that.”

“I don’t think that’s very becoming of a newly engaged woman.”

Ruby pulls back and winks at him before leaning forward and kissing his cheek. “You know that I don’t like following the rules.”

“What is this I hear about you knowing about this before it happened?” Emma questions as she saunters up to him, a soft smile on her face and the slightest bit of mascara smudged under her eyes. “I thought we had an agreement about lying to each other, twenty-nine.”

Killian hums and wraps his arms around her back, pulling her closer to him while her arms lazily hang over his neck. “Yeah, well, I was under strict instructions that you weren’t to know because Graham didn’t want you to tell Ruby.”

“I can keep a secret.”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

Her lip quirks to the side before she presses up on her toes and gently guides her mouth over his. “I’m glad you didn’t tell me. I like that Ruby was the one who got to tell me.”

“Me too, love.”

“All of our friends have to stop getting married. This is getting expensive.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have blown all your money on those damn boots.”

Emma slaps the back of his head even as she kisses him, and he wonders exactly where along the way did he do something right to get to have this be his life.

“Okay,” Anna yells over all of the noise, and Killian looks to see her standing on a barstool as if she needs any help commanding attention, “I know everyone is super excited right now, but let’s all be super excited over dinner. It’s time to eat.”

“Thank goodness,” Lucy breathes out. “I thought I was going to perish.”

“Where’d she learn that word?” Emma wonders as everyone starts laughing. 

“I don’t even know.”

The conversation and laughter never diesdie down, not when there’s that many people around, and Killian’s stomach hurts from it all, his face a little too. His nerves about the game tomorrow and all that’s on the line haven’t disappeared, but they’re not at the forefront of his mind either. He has other things to focus on even if his mind is getting a little dizzy at the thought of keeping track of it all, but it becomes easier as the night passes, the light outside fading away into darkness, and as children move off to go to sleep, Addy and Lucy to their rooms and Leo and Roland stretched out in a guest room until their parents are ready to go home, everyone else settles into the living room with a replay of last night’s game in Boston on so that they can all watch some more footage in preparation.

He’s sitting on the floor in between Emma’s legs, and her hands are lulling him to sleep from the way that she keeps playing with his hair.

It’s like magic, her touch, and he’s utterly under her spell.

“I’m freaking the hell out about tomorrow,” Will whispers quietly as they watch him stumble over a catch in yesterday’s game.

“Me too,” Robin adds in. “Honestly, the only thing that’s keeping me calm, especially since I’m not playing, is knowing that not only did we make it to the Series last year, we won the whole damn thing.”

“Here’s the thing, though,” Killian starts as he leans her head further into Emma’s lap so that she can scratch his scalp. Damn, that might be the best feeling in the world. “No one gives a fuck about what happened last year. That trophy on our shelf from last year? It’s old news. All anyone cares about is what’s happening this year. All we should care about is what’s happening this year. Everyone always complains about those guys who can only seem to live in the glory days when the glory days are long since gone, and we’re not going to be those men. We’re not resting on our laurels. We’re going to win tomorrow, and then we’re going to win the next four games to win the whole damn thing.”

“What if we don’t?” Will questions, and for once, Killian can tell that Will is legitimately nervous.  

“We’re going to, Scarlet. I won’t take another option.”

“Look at my little brother being all motivating,” Liam teases.

Killian does raise his hand and his middle finger at that. “Younger, you ass.”

“You’ll always be my little brother. I’ll stop calling you that when you’ve got three World Series championships to your name, yeah?”

“Oi, I know that I’m good, but I don’t know if I can rely on these guys to not only win this year’s but also another one after that?” Emma slaps the back of his head, and he leans back to look up at her. “I’m obviously kidding, my love.”

“Yeah, but that’s not a great way to motivate the guys for tomorrow when you had a pretty good speech going there.”

Robin coughs, something exaggerated and totally on purpose. “Killian saves his best speeches for right before a the game starts. Probably because he doesn’t have his brother and his girlfriend distracting him by making fun of him. Not that I’m complaining or anything. I’m all for taking that piss out of Killian.”

“Someone hand me a pillow,” Killian demands, looking around. “I want to knock the smirk off of Rob’s face.”

“That’s an impossible task,” Ariel starts, a bright, happy smile on her face. “Let’s go back to loving each other and watching game footage. I don’t know about you guys, but I want that trophy back. I get a bonus from both Eric and Killian’s contract for it.”

“I always knew that I liked you,” Ruby adds in, and everyone starts laughing, the long day and late night probably getting to everyone a little bit. “Do you share the bonus with your husband since he earned it? I’m asking the important questions here as someone who is about to get married?”

“Rubes.” Emma curls her fingers in his hair and shakes her head. “Are you about to be one of those people who works in that you’re engaged all the time?”

“For the next two weeks, you bet your ass I am. It would normally only be a week, but since I think all we’re about to talk about now is baseball, I’m asking for two.”

“I would expect nothing less than you.”

Everyone leaves eventually with sleepy smiles on their faces and leftovers in hand, and as nervous as Killian still is, he finds yet again that it’s not at all like last year when he was going through this all. He’s got Emma curled up next to him in bed and a happy life outside of work, and at the end of the day, his life won’t be over if they lose.

He simply doesn’t like losing.

-/-

Killian’s arm feels fine.

Good. Great even. It’s the best it’s felt in months, even if he’s still a little timid with how much he’s using it and the fear of it screwing up again since there is such a risk for that, but he feels good standing out here under the heat of the sun with thousands of people milling in the stands and thousands more sitting at home watching on their television just wondering if today is going to be the day that the Yankees officially cement their spot in the World Series with the Dodgers already waiting there.

It could be a repeat of last year, just like everyone thought it would be, and Killian damn well intends to make those thoughts come true. They’re not resting on the laurelsrelying on what happened  of last year. They’re doing it for themselves once more like it’s all brand new and they don’t know the high of being at the top of the world.

Sweat trickles down Killian’s forehead past his cap, and he reaches up to remove his hat for a second while he wipes the sweat away with his forehead. It’s not hot out today, only around sixty degrees, but Killian’s skin is on fire with the rapid beating of his heart that hasn’t calmed down since this morning.

One. Two. Three.

Strike.

One. Two. Three.

Ball.

One. Two. Three.

Strike.

One. Two. Three.

Strike, he’s out.

Travis is out, the top of the fourth inning is over, Killian has thrown some damn good pitches in tight situations to keep the Sox from scoring, and the Yankees are up 4-0.

There’s still a long game to go, though.

Not for Killian, though. He’s out for the day. He knew going in that Al wouldn’t keep him in for longer than this. Honestly, he’s surprised that he allowed it for this long, but this is all so they’ll stay in the correct pitching order if they make it to the Series.

When.

Not if.

Killian wants to stay in the dugout and watch from out here, but he knows that he has to go inside and get massaged and do his cool-down exercises. He can watch from one of the televisions with everyone else who’s inside and make his way back out toward the end of the game.

It’s like all at once these games are five minutes and then suddenlysuddenly, they’re five hours.

But the time does pass as Killian goes through his routines to make sure that he’s healthy and that his arm is healthy, and by the time that he’s back out in the dugout changed into a pair of clean joggers and a pullover, his hat from earlier long gone, it’s the top of the ninth with two outs, only one man on base, and the score highly in their favor.

If they blow a 9-2 lead, they deserve to have to play it all out in a deciding game tomorrow.

“Come on, Lance,” Killian shouts out, banging his hands against the railing. “Just one more throw. One more strike, and you’re done.”

“He’s going to mess up if you keep yelling at him like that,” Al spits out as he chews on the gum he’s always chewing.

“No, no he’s not. He’s got this. We’ve got this.”

“You have far more optimism than any sideline coach should have.”

Killian turns his head to look at Al, a smile stretching across his lips. “It’s a damn good thing I’m not a coach then.”

And then there’s the sound of Lance’s ball hitting Will’s glove, the yell of the word “strike,” and the roar of the New York crowd as the game finishes.

They’re going to the World Series.

Killian’s heart pounds in his chest, emotion welling up in his throat, and all of the sounds become muted. Every single one of them except for his heart and the blood running through his veins. People yell and shout and scream, but he can’t hear any of it as he rushes out into the field to join his teammates where they’re jumping up and down, arms wrapped around each other as they become a mesh of one instead of twenty different men, those who played today and those who didn’t.

Someone pats his back, and the noises come back, cheers of celebration and curses and familiar voices of the people who he spends his life with.

They’re not resting on their laurels of last year, he thinks to himself once more. They’re achieving new things.

“Jones,” Lance calls out as the pile disperses and everyone starts moving around the field, “your girlfriend wants an interview with us.”

Killian arches a brow, spinning on his heel to try to find Emma, and he sees her standing with a microphone in her hand and Jeff standing with the camera behind her. She’s wearing the damn boots, the ones she just ordered, and if there wasn’t already a smile on his face, that would cause his lips to reach his ears.

He has no idea why Emma wants to interview him when there were five innings played without him, when Lance and Eric and Will are the guys who deserve the attention and the praise, but he knows that a lot of the time Emma isn’t in charge of who she interviews. That’s left up to the people behind the scenes.

Killian wants to kiss Emma and the smile on her face, wants to wrap her up in a hug, but he holds back, stepping up to her with Lance next to him as Frank Sinatra begins to play over the speakers. He’d think that he’d get tired of this song, but it never gets old.

“Congratulations,” Emma starts, her hand reaching up to adjust her earpiece. “That was just an incredible game. How does it feel to be going to the World Series for the second year in a row?”

She holds the microphone out to Lance. “No, no. Let Jones answer first. He usually takes the words right out of my mouth.”

“You sure?”

He nods his head, and Emma moves the microphone over to him. “Well, what do you say twenty-nine? How does it feel?”

Killian reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “I can’t curse, can I?”

“Only if you want to pay a fine.”

“Right then,” he laughs, smiling down at Emma and completely ignoring the camera. “It feels good. Better than good. This season has obviously had its ups and downs, especially for me, and I’m happy that I didn’t let this team down when they deserve so much. I’m – ”

Killian stops talking when all of the sudden Emma starts darting in the other direction, and by the time that he realizes what’s going on, the cool feel of Gatorade is being poured down on top of him so that chill bumps rise on his arms and his clothes cling to his skin. Killian sees Lance first and sees him shaking out the sticky liquid from his uniform, and then he sees Will and Eric running away with the orange container where the Gatorade once was. But then he sees Emma a few feet away absolutely laughing her ass off, and even if it goes against their agreement about how they’re going to act when working, he can’t stop himself from running toward her and immediately wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her to him as her hands push at his chest and laughter passes through her lips.

“You’re covered in Gatorade,” she laughs, still pushing at him even if he knows it’s not a true effort. “It’s sticky.” “And you ran way and let it happen.”

“Which was obviously useless considering I’m going to be covered in it now.”

“Exactly the point,” he chuckles while Emma stops squirming against him and casually wraps her arms around his neck, obviously having accepted that she’s going to be covered in Gatorade too. “We’re going to the World Series, Swan.”

“I know.” And then she kisses him.

-/-

-/-

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[7-wonders]

To Fight the Powers that Be

Summary: Duncan Shepherd decides that, before he makes (Y/N) prove that she won’t go to the police about the crimes she’s witnessed, he needs to teach her a bit about defending herself.

Word Count: 3438

A/N: Welcome back to another chapter of Memento Mori, my crime boss!Duncan Shepherd AU story! I sincerely hope you enjoy. Likes, reblogs, and comments are much appreciated, if you feel so inclined, and my inbox is always open for people to chat. Finally, a big thanks to @lvngdvns for thrusting this idea to the forefront of this fandom’s mind, and to my beloved @divinelangdon for being a constant support throughout this writing process.

Warnings: Trespassing, mentions of mafia dealings, guns. All of the knowledge about guns in this chapter is from the brain of yours truly, who has trained around guns since she was 10.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2: To Fight the Powers that Be

In the three days since (Y/N) had been abruptly dumped in the living room of her apartment after being kidnapped, she had gotten a total of ten hours of sleep. It wasn’t that she was scared of the Shepherd family; no, she was downright terrified. Her eyes burned from a lack of sleep, her stomach churned from all of the caffeine she had forced down her throat, and her mind raced with paranoid thoughts at every unfamiliar sight and sound she encountered. Any person she hadn’t seen before, any sound she hadn’t heard before, anything that looked out of place, immediately had her spine stiffening and her heart thumping.

Her friends and coworkers had all been extremely concerned when she showed up in public with bruises of varying shades and a noticeable cut above her left eyebrow. She had been able to convince them that she had been jumped on her way home the other night, but that only served to have everyone try and contact the police on her behalf. Frantically, (Y/N) had to think quickly and say that the police had been contacted and that they were being careful due to the possibility of this being related to gang activity; a half-lie. They had still been worried, of course, but were willing to acquiesce now that they believed the authorities were involved. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them--it’s what they did know that would hurt them.

(Y/N) couldn’t decide if Shepherd and his goons not showing up yet was a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe they had finally come to their senses and decided that she’s not actually a threat to their massive crime syndicate. They could also simply be laying in wait, biding their time for the perfect moment to kill her and make it look like an accident. It seems far more likely, however, that they’re just enjoying drawing out the wait and making her squirm. 

Opening the door to her apartment, (Y/N)’s immediately aware that something is wrong. The door leading to her bedroom is closed, and she’s certain that it was open before she left this morning. A sensible person would backtrack out of the apartment and call the police, but a sensible person also doesn’t get wrapped up in mafia dealings. If (Y/N) calls the cops and it does turn out that whoever’s in her apartment has been sent by Duncan Shepherd to kill her, there’s no telling what would happen to her loved ones and herself, provided she survive fighting off a trained assassin.

Quietly opening the closet door to her left, (Y/N) grabs the baseball bat her father insisted she keep handy in case of intruders. At the time, she had rolled her eyes and made fun of it, but now she’s thankful she had listened. She’s grateful that the door doesn’t bang against the frame, or that the handle doesn’t make a sound when she releases it. 

(Y/N) holds her breath as she creeps closer to her bedroom, the bat clutched tightly in her hands and held up like she’s ready to swing at a pitch. She can’t help but feel a bit like the cliche “final girl” in a horror movie, bravely, yet stupidly advancing towards the danger that lies straight ahead. Stepping over a part of the floor that she knows is capable of creaking loudly, (Y/N) feels a surge of adrenaline rush through her now that she’s right outside of the door. It’s open just a crack, and hearing rustling from inside confirms her fears that someone had broken into her home.

Deep breath, (Y/N) thinks, closing her eyes and attempting to gather up enough courage to actually go in and face the intruder head-on. Her grip on the bat tightens, and she starts to count to three.

1...she moves her knee against the door.

2...she opens her eyes and steadies herself.

3...she kicks the door open with a gusto.

Without giving herself time to think, (Y/N) charges into her bedroom with her weapon at the ready. The room’s dark, so she can’t see who is here with her, but she does see that it’s someone tall and broad-shouldered. She immediately swings for the person’s head, but they’re faster than she is. 

Within seconds (Y/N)’s disarmed and pinned up against the wall, an arm over her shoulders and a hand over her mouth. She’s breathing heavily, shaking from the fear that death is now imminent, when she finally realizes that the blue eyes she’s staring into are Duncan Shepherd’s blue eyes.

“You’re not going to scream if I remove my hand, now, are you (Y/N)?” his silky voice cuts through the air. He’s satisfied when she shakes her head as far as she can with the limited mobility that being caught in Shepherd’s grasp allows, and pulls his hand away from her face. “Good girl.”

(Y/N) scoffs and attempts to push him off of her, but is disheartened to find that he barely budges. “It’s rude to break into somebody’s house, you know. You could have at least called ahead.”

“I’ll remember that for next time.”

“How did you even get in here?” The moment she asks the question, she knows the answer. Choosing to avoid his smug retort, she keeps talking. “For a mafia boss, you’re not very stealthy.”

“Trust me, if I didn’t want you to know I was here, you wouldn’t.” She wants to call his bluff, but the look that he’s giving her lets her know that he’s completely serious. “Nice little place you’ve got here, by the way. It’s...comfortable.”

“What do you want, Duncan? I’m guessing you didn’t come here to make small talk.”

“You’re correct.” He releases his hold on her, and she breathes deeply at the sudden lack of a weight over her chest.

“Need me to run drugs? Go…” she racks her brain, trying to think of what a man like him would need from someone like her, “go and rough somebody up?”

Duncan chuckles, picking up a photo on (Y/N)’s dresser of her and her parents at her high school graduation and looking at it idly. “I actually was going to give you your first assignment, but then I realized: you’ve had absolutely no sort of training whatsoever, self-defense or otherwise. I may be cruel, but I’m not cruel enough to throw somebody into the lion’s den completely unprepared.”

“I know loads of self-defense!” (Y/N) yelps when Duncan crosses the room quickly and grabs her wrist, pulling her arm straight, and examining her palm.

“No, you don’t. Look at you,” Duncan mutters, lightly tracing over the planes of her hand, “these are not the hands of someone who’s fought before.”

“I’ve been in fights before!” A lie, but she might as well run with it now that she’s gone this far.

“Don’t lie to me, (Y/N). You’re lucky that I decided to stop by instead of Langdon; he doesn’t tolerate liars.” A chill runs up her spine at the thought of that horrendous man.

“If you only came here to make fun of me, I’d rather you just kill me instead.”

“Now, that’s not the only reason.” Duncan lets go of (Y/N)’s hand and walks out of her bedroom, leaving her standing utterly confused.

“Wh-where are you going?”

“I’m going to teach you how to defend yourself, of course.” He looks behind his shoulder at her, a small smile on his face. “Are you coming or not?”

//

She hadn’t been expecting Duncan to take her to an elaborate gym tucked in the middle of the city, but she hadn’t been expecting most events that had happened to her lately. “You own this, then?” (Y/N) asks, following Duncan through the deserted lobby. 

“Technically, no. However, the owners of this business have a contract with my family, where we invest in the business and make sure that there’s no competition in this area in exchange for a cut of their profits and use of the property however we see fit.”

(Y/N) wrinkles her nose. “All illegal, I’m guessing?” Duncan remains silent, but the smirk playing on his lips tells her that she’s right on the nose. “So what sort of self-defense are you going to teach me today?”

“Nothing too strenuous, don’t worry.” She comes to a stop at a door marked ‘private,’ Duncan entering a password on the keypad and pressing his hand to the screen that opens up underneath the keypad. The LED light blinks green and a mechanical hissing signify the unlocking of the door, which Duncan quickly opens. “Today, we’ll most likely just work on weapons training.”

“There’s an entire shooting range back here!” (Y/N) notes in awe, taking in the sight of a large gun range behind the inconspicuous door that they came through. Upon realizing that Duncan’s already walked ahead of her and is unlocking a large cabinet, she hurries to catch up to him.

“You’ve never held a gun before,” Duncan notes, opening the cabinet to reveal a large arsenal of guns. All different models, sizes, types; (Y/N)’s pretty sure that if there’s a gun that’s been manufactured before, the Shepherd family owns it. 

“I--”

“Don’t try to deny it. I could tell the moment I looked at your hands earlier.” When she quirks a questioning brow, Duncan elaborates. “You don’t have any sort of calluses on your trigger finger, or where your hands would rest against a gun.”

“I have to admit, I’m pretty impressed at what you can tell just from looking at a person’s hands.”

He chuckles, looking through his catalogue’s worth of guns before grabbing one off of the wall. It’s a handgun, that much she’s certain, but she doesn’t know anything else about the weapon beside that. “This is a Glock.” Duncan holds out the gun to (Y/N), who nods.

“I have no clue what that means.”

“It’s the type of gun.”

“So I’m guessing it’s a good gun?”

“Yes, it’s an extremely good gun.” He notices how apprehensively she’s staring at it and sighs. “Lesson number one: don’t be afraid of the gun. It’s not going to do anything that you don’t want it to. Especially when it’s not loaded.”

(Y/N) bites back a mean-spirited comment. “I’m not afraid of the gun, I’m just not quite sure what I’m supposed to do with an unloaded gun.”

“We’re going to load it.” Pressing a small button on the side, a piece of the gun slides out of the bottom while the top slides back. “This is the magazine, where the bullets are stored. Typically, any gun that you receive will already be loaded, but it’s good to learn how to load a gun.”

He hands her the empty magazine and sets a box of bullets on the table, watching with a skilled eye as she examines the shiny lead pieces. Picking one up, she holds it between her fingers and rolls it around in her palm before putting it in the magazine. “Like that?”

“Yes, perfect.” She repeats her actions until 13 rounds have been loaded. “Now load it back into the gun. Don’t be soft about it, you need to do it quickly so you can hear it click into place.”

This part’s a little more difficult, but she still manages to get the magazine back into the gun. “What do I do now? The top part is still out.”

“Hand me the gun.” (Y/N) does as she’s told, and watches as Duncan handles the weapon like he’s had a gun in his hand from the moment he was born. “Racking the slide back is tricky, as it’s really easy to get your hand pinched when the slide goes back into place.”

She holds her breath as the gun does exactly as he said it would, sliding back into place harshly. If she had been the one to do that, it’s almost a guarantee that she would now have an injured hand.

“Don’t ever point a gun at anything unless you’re prepared and willing to shoot. Hopefully, it will not come to you ever having to actually shoot, but just pointing it at a person takes an extraordinary amount of willpower.” 

Duncan presses a small piece next to the trigger, which (Y/N) figures with her limited amount of firearm knowledge to be the safety. Gripping the gun with one hand, he lifts his arm and points the weapon at a target with the silhouette of a person on it across the room. He doesn’t even have to look through the sight before he fires, staring down the range and delicately pulling the trigger a millisecond after (Y/N) claps her hands over her ears. The gun fires twice, one bullet striking the chest, and the other striking the head.

“Now it’s your turn.” Duncan turns the safety back on before he gives the gun back to (Y/N), and she attempts to mimic the stance that he had assumed when shooting.

The gun feels even more foreign in her hand now, the metal still slightly hot from recently being fired. It’s heavy, and it doesn’t feel right as she holds it like Duncan had. Looking over at him with a frown, no words are necessary when her face expresses her displeasure.

“May I?” Duncan asks, gesturing to her hands. (Y/N) nods, and Duncan moves behind her. “Your grip is too tense,” he mutters, gently adjusting her grip on the gun. 

“Wasn’t aware you could hold a gun too tightly.”

“It affects the trajectory of your bullet, miss know-it-all.” He takes a step back to look over her stance, nodding to himself. “Now place your other hand on the bottom of the gun. You’ll want some more force to keep the gun from recoiling too hard on your first time shooting.”

“I can’t hold it with one hand like you did?”

Duncan shakes his head. “Just--shoot, and you’ll see why you need two hands.” Taking a deep breath, (Y/N) clicks off the safety just as Duncan had and stares down the room at the target against the other wall. 

She’s not sure what she thought shooting a gun would be like, but whatever her imagination had decided was nothing when it came to actually shooting the gun. The moment she pulls the trigger, the gun jumps in her grasp, and she has to hold on even tighter to keep it from flying out of her hands. The sound of the gun going off reminds her of a small cannon, and her ears ring from the proximity. There’s not a third hole to join the previous two on the picture of the target, which means she completely missed.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, shakily turning the safety back on before setting the gun down on the table.

“Told you that you’d need both hands on the gun.” Duncan tries not to sound smug, but that’s impossible when the regular tone of his voice is smug.

“I didn’t think it’d do that!”

Duncan bites his lip to keep from laughing. “Come on, try it again. I want to at least see you hit the target before we’re done.”

Although (Y/N) eyes him warily, she still picks up the gun and resumes the same stance. This time, she’s a little more prepared when she fires, but she still manages to completely miss the target as she puts most of her focus on keeping the gun from jumping.

“It’s useless to try and teach me.” She scrunches her nose, trying to get rid of the ringing in her ears. “I’m not going to hit that stupid target, and if things go the way I’m hoping then I won’t even have to pull a gun on someone.”

“But if it does come to that, wouldn’t you want to have some sort of assurance that you will at least hit somebody if you need to shoot them?”

“Yes,” she admits begrudgingly. 

“Is it alright if I help you, then?”

“Yeah, sure.” (Y/N) watch Duncan closely as he moves behind her again. “Just--no funny business, mister.”

He huffs out a laugh, but nods. “Eyes on your target,” he mutters into her ear.

Duncan’s chest rests against (Y/N)’s back as his arms loop around her, coming to rest on top of her hands. (Y/N)’s breath hitches, imperceptibly to most, but to someone with the ability to read people like a seasoned FBI agent, that small tic of emotion is clear as day to Duncan. Laying his chin on her shoulder, he lifts the gun, and her arms, up to point at the target.

“The key,” he says quietly, his chest rumbling with the vibrations of his voice, “is when you shoot. People think that the way they breathe doesn’t affect the shot, but it does. You want to pull the trigger when you exhale.”

(Y/N)’s shoulders are tense as she tries not to think about the dangerous crime boss that could easily kill her with the position they’re both currently in. “Okay, shoot on the exhale. Got it.”

“Look through your sight on the exhale before you shoot, that way you can get a feel for where you’re shooting.”

“Pretty sure I won’t have enough time to do all this when there’s some goon coming at me with the sole objective to kill me.”

“It becomes much easier after you’ve practiced a few times.”

“Like riding a bike,” she mutters.

“Pick where you’re going to shoot.” He redirects her attention to the task at hand. (Y/N) aims for the chest, where Duncan had first shot, and desperately tries to keep her hands steady. “Ready?”

“I think so.” She’s not ready, but there’s no time like the present, so she tries to convince herself as well as Duncan of the opposite.

Duncan places his trigger finger over hers. “Breathe in,” he commands, breathing in with her so she has no choice but to follow. “Out, and shoot.”

As (Y/N)’s shoulders come back down with an exhale, Duncan waits until he feels the muscle of her trigger finger start to tense as she pulls the trigger, only moving when she does. The gun moves far less than it has previously, another set of hands helping to keep it in the position that it’s supposed to be in. (Y/N) still twitches a little bit when she shoots, and the bullet doesn’t land where she planned for it to be. Instead, it’s a few inches up, hitting the target in the side of the neck. 

“Damn,” she mutters, relaxing back into Duncan’s grasp without noticing she’s doing so, “really thought I had that.”

“It was much better than last time,” he reassures her. “After all, you actually hit the target.”

(Y/N) cranes her head back to glare at him, the smile on her face betraying her. “Rude,” she admonishes. 

The smile on her face freezes when she realizes that she’s still wrapped in Duncan’s arms, the man awkwardly clearing his throat and unwrapping his arms from around her. She looks ahead at the target, anything to avoid looking him in the eyes.

“I think that’ll be good for today, now that you’ve at least held and shot a gun.”

“Yeah, that’s--that’s a good idea.” She walks towards the wall, grabbing the bag she had hastily snagged on her way out of her apartment. “Are my ears always going to ring like that?”

Duncan shakes his head. “No. Eventually, you’ll get used to the sound.”

“Great. Cool.” She bobs her head, trying to think of something else to say. “Um, see ya around, I guess?”

“Have a good night, (Y/N).” She nearly rushes out of the door as soon as Duncan makes it clear he’s done with her for now, waiting until the cool evening air hits her face outside to process what had happened.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispers, running a hand through her hair as she walks quickly down the sidewalk.

(Y/N)’s not going to let herself get flustered from minor physical contact. She’s stared death in the eye now; there’s no reason to get nervous about the leader of a mob teaching her how to shoot. Still, she finds herself haunted by Duncan Shepherd for the rest of the night, his scent lingering on the air, his touch still ghosting along her skin, and his eyes haunting her in her dreams.

//

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