#Apparently he’s been staking out each room and trying to figure out how to get in.

[pinkhairandpronounsboy]

They say violence is not the answer.

They’re right. Murder is.

[incomingalbatross]

I gotta check in on Slaybel and Slipper, I know there's been some backstory changes lately and am very very curious.

Thank you! I am going to give you a Lengthy Summary of the backstory, because I can.

So on the surface it looks pretty similar to my previous version (which I may or may not have described before). As follows:

Dipper, twelve, alone, wakes up in some kind of safe house. His parents have just been killed by vampires and a teenage girl busted in and saved him just as the vampires were about to turn him. He was taken away from the house and fell asleep somewhere en route, exhausted.

Someone comes in and tells him he's being relocated to foster home in a different town for his own safety, since he has no relatives to go to.

Either during this conversation or at some later point where he's slipped out of his room, Dipper has a run-in with a strange six-fingered man who wants to know about the vampire attack. Dipper's memories of it are fuzzy, and it's only after prompting that he remembers the lead vampire called him "Slayer's twin" and said something about a prophecy right before the older girl staked him. Six-fingered man writes all of this down, looking concerned.

They have a little more conversation. Ford gives him more info than anyone else has about Slayers and Watchers, but then someone else comes in and Dipper's getting shipped off.

Dipper starts journaling in imitation of Ford, because I love Dipper's journal-writing and I think it's a fun narrative tool.

Bothered by that "Slayer's twin" bit and by various odd feelings/dreams that he's missing something, Dipper goes Kid Detective in his new home and starts trying to track down vampire activity. After several months, he spots the Slayer again, and manages to trace her to her base of operations. Somehow he gets in there and finds Watcher info on him. (I DON'T know how. He may need help.)

Finds out he has a twin sister. Being raised by the Watchers.

Finds out where she lives and sneaks in to see her. They bond immediately. There's an Awkward Sibling Hug. (WITH the pats. The pats happen spontaneously. Maybe it's something they did as toddlers? They're really not sure when Mabel was taken.)

Mabel hides him for a day or two, but then they get caught. Brought before the Watchers' Council (American subsection) to figure out what to do with them.

Turns out not only is Mabel a Potential Slayer, there are prophecies about things happening when a Slayer has a twin. Apparently Dipper would share some of her powers and that could lead to very good or very bad things happening down the line. The Watchers have been trying to figure out how to control the situation - at first they were trying to cut Dipper loose from the equation but, well, that's not happening. So is it safer to train them for Slayerhood together or separately?

There are factions for each position. Dipper and Mabel obviously want to stick together, but they don't get a vote.

Finally the "separation" spokesman argues "and anyway, are any of you prepared to train two children at once, with different needs and regimens? It's not fair to make the girl's Watcher take on a second charge against his will"

And Ford breaks his pen against the table and goes "If that's your biggest problem, I'LL take them."

This takes the wind out of the opposition's sails. Ford "has only ever done research, never trained a kid in his life" Pines is ADAMANT that he'll take them. Everyone else just ends up glad to be done with the issue.

(Ford spoke up because raising twins separately is Wrong and Unthinkable. Not that he'd say that part out loud.)

They become Ford's charges. Dipper is very bristly and defensive at first even though Ford is really cool and smart and willing to teach him all this stuff. Mabel is more willing to make friends. Over time, they all sort out that they're on the same side.

There is more to the backstory but it's a Twist, and I keep going back and forth on whether to add it here. Might put it in a reblog? Under a readmore? Or might save it for the hypothetical time when I have this written out into a full draft.

[prairiesongserial]

20.5

The game, as d’Orléans explained it, was simple. Just a parlor game this group had a tradition of playing between the Demeter’s last stop and its final destination; a diversion the ship’s regular passengers had found to pass the time. Everyone would write down the name of a relatively well-known person on a slip of paper and add it to a bowl. Each player would then draw a slip from the bowl and, without looking, stick it to their forehead with a little saliva. The first to guess the name they’d been assigned was the winner, but play would continue until everyone had guessed correctly.

The man with the eyepatch passed around the stack of blank white cards that d’Orléans had been holding, along with a handful of pens. Cody watched John stare at his card with brows furrowed, then saw Friday lean over to say something quietly into John’s ear. Of course–neither of them excelled at reading or writing, and d’Orléans had clearly assumed that everyone in their cohort was literate. Friday seemed to know a little more than John, at least; Cody watched her fill out her own card and then, so quickly he almost missed it, palm John’s to fill it out for him.

“Cody,” Val said lowly, drawing Cody’s attention back to the end of the room he currently occupied. “I don’t think I want to play this game.”

“Leave, then,” Cody said.

Val frowned. His pen was hovering over his own blank card. “It’d turn into a whole…” he gestured vaguely. “Never mind.” 

“I’ll pretend to be sick,” Cody volunteered. The valets had gotten skipped over for cards–apparently they weren’t part of this game. Jolie had already slipped out of the room to be somewhere else, though Sanvi and Etienne had stuck around, hanging back like Cody on the fringes of the room.

“You’re John’s valet, not mine.” Val shook his head. “That’ll look fishy.”

“What if you win?” Cody asked. “Then you can go, and people won’t ask any questions about it.”

Val’s frown deepened. “I’m not good at guessing games.”

“You don’t have to be,” Cody said. After the past couple days, God only knew Val deserved a win, even a small one. Maybe it wouldn’t make him feel much better, but it would definitely get him out of here faster.

“I don’t?” Val asked.

“I’ll help you cheat,” Cody said. He fought down a smile. He hadn’t made much low-stakes trouble in a while, and now that he’d had the idea, he’d be disappointed if Val turned him down.

Val exhaled a long breath out of his nose. “How?”

“Tear a bit off your card,” Cody said. “And leave your pen here when you go and put your name in the bowl.”

Val did so, ripping a narrow strip of paper from his card in a way that looked to any outside observer like he was fidgeting while he waffled over what name to write. He let the smaller slip fall to the waist-height windowsill between them. After another few seconds, he scribbled down a name on his card that Cody couldn’t read, then folded it in half and crossed the room to drop it in the communal bowl d’Orléans had set on a chess table.

“When you get your name, I’ll write down what it is and put the paper in your pocket,” Cody said. “Don’t guess it right away. Ask some questions first, so you don’t look sketchy, then act like you figured it out.”

“Okay,” Val said. He nodded, like he was trying to reassure himself.

Val wasn’t a good actor, so far as Cody knew, but he didn’t have to be for this. At least half the people in the room were already a little tipsy on the mimosas they’d had with their breakfasts, and d’Orléans was making a show of mixing bloody Marys from the small bar in the corner. Cody figured others in the room were liable to be cheating, too. Possibly colluding with their valets, though John hadn’t so much as looked Cody’s way since he’d entered the room.

Anyway, if they got caught cheating, what was the harm? It was just a little fun. At worst, Val would get laughed at for trying to lie his way into a win, and that would be that. This wasn’t La Salle.

The man with the eyepatch soon circled the room once more, carrying the bowl and passing out cards to the participants of the game. Something like a scowl passed over his carefully neutral expression as he came to Val and offered Val a slip from the bowl. Val took the card from his hand, and the expression on the man’s face was gone so quickly that Cody immediately began to doubt he had seen it at all. Val didn’t seem to have noticed it, either–he was too busy brushing his hair aside and affixing his card to his forehead.

“Well,” d’Orléans said, clapping their hands for attention once more, “now that you’ve all received your cards–let the game begin!”

The room filled with chatter immediately. Participants turned to their neighbors to eagerly grill them with yes-or-no questions, the only kind they were allowed to ask for the duration of the game. John and Friday were talking again, apparently playing in earnest.

The name on Val’s card was no one Cody recognized. Still, he diligently copied it onto the strip of paper Val had left for him on the windowsill while everyone else was distracted with their own deductions. When he was finished copying, he dropped the strip back to the windowsill. He moved away from Val to reset the pool table, idly retrieving the balls from the pockets and placing them into the rack. It was something to do with his hands, at least, and he would attract less attention if he looked busy with some chore.

Cody tracked Val in his peripheral vision as the other man moved towards the crowd in the center of the game room, apparently resigning himself to joining in the fun of puzzling out what name he’d been randomly assigned.

“Am I a woman?” Val asked.

“No,” someone in the crowd returned, loudly.

“A man?”

“Yes.”

“Deceased?”

“Oh, certainly!” someone else said–Cody thought it was Mrs. Dumont.

“Am I…a philosopher?”

There was a long pause, as though not everyone knew the answer to this. Finally, someone Cody couldn’t see said, “Yes.”

“A theologian?”

“Yes,” the same person said, again. Cody saw that it was the man with the eyepatch, who had once again taken up his post at d’Orléans’s side.

“From the Roman Empire?” Val asked.

“Yes,” the man said a third time.

“Then I must be Clement of Alexandria,” Val said. He plucked the card from his forehead, looked at it, and placed it down face-up on the table with a wry smile. “Oh, would you look at that. I am. I’ll see you all for dinner.”

Val turned on his heel and left the game room. Most of the other players looked stunned; Cody noticed d’Orléans looking faintly annoyed, their eyes narrowed to slits as they watched the door swing shut in Val’s wake. Sacha caught Cody looking and offered him a grin and a wink.

“Mr. Lecter must be particularly well-versed in decanonized pre-congregation saints,” Sacha said lightly. “That’s some party trick for a film producer.” 

Cody saw Friday and John exchange a look. Apparently Friday had embellished her marital backstory a little too thoroughly in the past day or so.

“It’s a hobby of his,” Friday replied primly. “He takes the church very seriously.”

“Well, I admire a man who can find something to believe in and stick to it that well,” Sacha said, leaning back in his armchair and kicking his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. “Guess I’d better get serious, huh? Am I…an American?”

*

The number of competitors in the game had begun to dwindle. Sacha had guessed his card almost straight away after Val. He’d then been followed in short order by d’Orléans and a couple of their friends, including the man with the eyepatch–whose name Cody now knew was Casimir. Friday and John remained as competitors, alongside the Dumont couple, Clovis, and an older woman named Ghislaine with a severe-looking valet who kept bringing her glasses of scotch.

“Ah,” Friday finally said in recognition, snapping her fingers. “Am I Madeline Bellamy?”

Cody hadn’t been paying attention to the last question she’d asked–he’d ceased paying attention to the game at all, instead sitting on the windowsill and watching the veiled deck of the ship outside. Occasionally some passenger or crew member would move past the window, too obscured by the gauzy curtain for Cody to see much more than a shadow.

“You are,” d’Orléans said with an indulgent smile. They, Casimir, and Sacha had stayed behind to see the rest of the game through; a handful of the others who’d already guessed their cards had followed Val’s example and wandered away for other amusements.

Friday clapped her hands in delight that Cody suspected was half for show. She took the card from her forehead and slapped it down onto the table, then turned to John.

“You can get yours,” she encouraged him.

“I don’t remember what I’ve asked,” John said, a note of frustration in his voice. He was sitting with his back to the window–Cody couldn’t see what was written on his card, though from Friday’s tone of voice it could only have been something painfully obvious.

“You know you’re a man,” Sacha said, ticking facts off on his fingers as he went. “You’re not an American, but you live in America. You’re a gang leader. You’re involved with Hemisphere, and we agreed that most people dislike you. You-”

“Marc Waters,” John said. Apparently hearing all the facts together had helped him come to a conclusion.

“There you go!” Sacha said, clapping him on the shoulder. Cody clenched his jaw around an impulse to tell the man John didn’t like to be touched. That was not his job at the moment.

“I still don’t know who I am,” Clovis complained. He had been mostly complaining throughout the entire game, and doing very little question-asking. Cody was almost surprised that Etienne hadn’t helped him cheat, given that the two of them didn't appear to have any qualms about bending the truth.

Cody had assumed that John would leave once he’d guessed correctly, but John made no move to get up from his spot on the couch next to Friday. And as long as John was in the game room, Cody had to stay. He waited with the other valets, now impatient, fidgeting with his sleeves and ponytail. There was no reason for John to stick around, but Cody couldn’t just say he wanted to leave. It wasn’t a valet’s place.

Time continued to pass, and John continued to sit on the couch, largely doing nothing except replying to Friday when she spoke to him. The participants of the game dwindled further; Ghislaine guessed correctly that she was some character from a book Cody had never heard of, and the Duponts finished shortly after, egging each other on over the finish line. Clovis was the last participant left, and with multiple hints from Sasha and d’Orléans he was able to deduce his card was John the Baptist. Cody didn’t know Val’s handwriting well enough to identify it, but he was sure that Val had written that card.

"This is a stupid fucking game, anyway,” Clovis said, snatching the card from his forehead and throwing it to the floor as he stood up. “Come on, Etienne. We’re leaving.”

He stormed out with Etienne on his heels. Sacha whistled, still reclined with his feet propped on the table.

“That man has a worse temper than Conti,” he said.

d’Orléans shrugged. “Some people are sore losers, dear. Shall we discuss lunch?”

John stood abruptly and collected his cane, perhaps sensing that the time had come to either leave, or be roped into lunch plans. Cody let himself exhale in relief.

“Thank you. I had a good time,” John said, politely. He squeezed Friday’s shoulder briefly in passing as he turned to go, and Cody saw her smile. Then, with a quick gesture for Cody to follow, John left.

Cody slipped out into the hallway, relief quickly giving way to annoyance at being made to wait so long for no apparent reason. He suppressed the urge to walk side-by-side, instead trailing behind John like he’d seen the other valets do with their employers. It was a tough pace to keep, slower going than Cody was used to.

“What the hell was that?” Cody demanded. “You could’ve left when you were done, and you just made me stand there.”

“You could have left, too,” John said pointedly.

“No, I couldn’t’ve! Did you see the other valets leaving? I’m stuck following you around, John, that’s how this works.”

“That must be so hard for you,” John said. He didn’t turn around.

20.4 || 20.6

[sixty-silver-wishes]

so I finished the 7 1/2 deaths of evelyn hardcastle today and thought I'd share my thoughts since it's decently popular and I don't usually read modern fiction

overall, I liked the book a lot. the concept was original, and the prose was definitely a high point. as a writer myself, there were many moments where I had to put down the book because there were so many clever descriptions and turns of phrase that I kept feeling inspired to write. I thought it was interesting how each character was so layered, and as someone who loves fictional rich people family drama, the prospect of uncovering all the secrets of the hardcastles definitely kept me turning pages. for a first novel, I found it really impressive how turton was able to balance so many characters and plot points and keep a consistent story, although his editors of course deserve credit as well for that. I thought the hardcastles were the most interesting part of the book, and I wish we were able to spend more time with them, especially evelyn herself.

[spoilers ahead]

in terms of issues with the book, sometimes the story felt too complicated. I found myself constantly flipping back to the page at the beginning to remind myself who was who, and keeping track of every character's motivations could be a headache, as I was also trying to follow the complex plot. I felt that the final act could have been paced better; a lot of big twists were revealed, one after the other, without a lot of room for the characters to process them; for instance, I felt like the story should have dwelt on the fact that anna was originally aiden's nemesis much longer than it did. the part where evelyn reveals her motivations at the end also felt very unsatisfying; we just had this big dump of important information all in one high-stakes scene, and I wish it was something that could have been revealed more gradually, at least in the latter half. helena hardcastle was a very unconvincing red herring in my opinion, but I did like the twist where she was dead pretty much the entire time.

as for aiden himself, I found him to be the least interesting part of the book. I was intrigued by all the guests at blackheath and their secrets, but aiden just felt like a boring do-good protagonist, with little to no flaws (aside, as many people have criticized, his contempt for overweight people, which isn't really addressed by the story, and, if anything, only really served the plot in the sense that it illustrated how aiden underestimated ravencourt's usefulness as a host). If aiden was apparently corrupt enough to be trapped in blackheath, we never get an explanation why; he just seems like some guy who always does the right thing because it's the right thing, and he's not given a lot of depth beyond that. the opposite is true of the footman; he just came across as a bland villain who was evil for the sake of it. characters like anna, the plague doctor, and michael hardcastle were all very interesting to me because we saw how their unexpected actions were guided by their respective moral compasses, but we didn't really get a lot from aiden, which was a shame; I would have liked to see how his natural personality conflicted with each of his hosts, aside from him just wanting to do the right thing. I felt like there were times where either I missed details, or he'd just figure things out with no reasoning as to how he'd know those things, and I found myself a bit frustrated with him as a character and narrative device.

the twist with evelyn being the ultimate mastermind was unexpected, but again, it sort of felt frustrating. everything was rushed toward us at the very end, and I wish we were able to spend more time with her character before the reveal. pretty much the only hint we got that something was off about her was when she was dismissive of seeing gregory gold strung up, but I think I would have liked to see her build up a friendship with aiden and some of his hosts, but for the audience to increasingly become conflicted about her, and whether aiden was doing the right thing by trying to save her life. having her go from seeming kind and brave to Suddenly Very Evil felt disappointing, and I think more time with her would have made that reveal feel more earned.

tl;dr- I'd rate this book maybe a 7.5 out of 10. great prose and concept, and some strong characters, but rushed pacing when combined with a complex plot, as well as a bland protagonist, could sometimes make it a bit of a headache.

[midori-laboratories]

Frozen Ashes: Chapter 6 - Save Point: The Matilda Murder

Book 3 of The Calendula Chronicles.

Story synopsis: Albert Wesker molded his captive into the perfect, pliable bait for taking out Rockfort Island's paramilitary facility, and cracking open the Ashford family’s secrets. But who’s really in control, once chaos breaks out?

The stakes have never been higher for Marigold, but she may not be fast enough to save everyone.

Book 3 of the Calendula Chronicles series. Written as the other side of The Antarctica Incident.

Chapter summary: A murder forms.

Save Points are transition points, places to store memory and rest for a short moment. In this story, they are used to take a moment to look at the wider world, or deeper into the memories of the characters.

The crows were massing towards the training facility.

Alfred had noticed them starting to flock in that direction, but he had been occupied with the Tyrant, and the mysterious figure who’d turned out to be all too familiar. He was noticing them now.

He glanced to a photo on the wall, taken back in 1976, when he and Alexia had been five years old. Marigold had been carrying him on her back by the seaside, while Alexia ran alongside. Those visits were the equivalent of summer vacation for Alexia, who would be largely released from the brutal pace of her curriculum to spend time with the both of them.

Marigold had been reading them Lewis Carrol in a Devon brogue - something she’d do when feeling playful or angry, he found out later - and teaching then the building blocks of British Sign Language out of a book she’d brought along. The local murder of crows had learned that they could beg her for treats when she visited, and had even started to mimic their voices when prompted.

His father had hated those crows, but hadn’t the heart to do anything about them. Marigold had only grinned and pointed out that they massed about the house anyhow - they might as well be taught to be decent neighbours. Their father had simply sighed and dropped the argument, something he was rarely wont to do for anyone else. She’d apparently picked out Alfred’s name sign that very afternoon. Marigold herself had chosen “flower” to go with her name, and Alexia had outgrown hers as a moniker, Alfred would always be Crow to his Aunt Callie, shortened from the Latin Calendula asteraceae (the common marigold), **and he’d kept using it long after Alexia had tired of it.

The flock itself had grown a little stranger each year she visited the dreary little island, but they recognized her and the boy- and to a lesser extent, the girl and their father. Their descendants had learned to give him some distance, but still came to him with shinies for treats, much to the chagrin of the local training population. They had learned to keep away from the prison facility out of sheer self-preservation, but the pale, gaunt human on this side of the island was a safe harbour.

Inside the control room, Alfred was reeling. He was suddenly a child again, hearing that she was dead, then reeling again from that brief call that summer. And then…what?

The crows were massing toward Matilda.

Aunt Callie was headed in that direction. Alfred leaned toward the screens. Of course. The few bursts of communication she’d managed since the summer had been strained, as if under duress. He’d had a heartstopping moment where he thought…but no. Aunt Callie had come with a plan.

The Matilda has been constructed as a means for his aunt to test her agility and endurance, but the training camp had taken notice of the difficult nature of the course only a few years after its initial construction. It was a rite of passage for the USS recruits to try their hand at the twisted, obstacle course. It was almost more rusted junkyard than a professional course, but that was the point. A clean test on a simple military course would have prepared no one for how difficult an outbreak could get. It was better to need a tetanus shot (and most did, after running it) than to go into the field with a false sense of confidence.

The official time book, the list of finishing times of those who did finish intact, was held by the officers, and by Alfred himself. Most of the really talented ones finished out around four or five minutes. Of course, the rules allowed for…shortcuts. Managing to complete a shortcut would test the very limits of human endurance, but they existed, and were marked out every time a run touched upon one. Those marks were the bane of a candidate's existence, teasing the idea that someone else had managed to cut through the course in a seemingly inhuman act of strength, when no one else had.

The other bane was the high score at the top of the list, cutting even the best time almost in half. On Marigold’s last visit, back in 1981 (seventeen years, his mind reeled) she had hit a new ‘skip’ point, right at the very end. She’d made it look easy, even though using that point meant that they’d had to install a ‘brake’ wall so that she wouldn’t crash right into piles of rusting scrap metal from the momentum she’d built up.

No one else could navigate those grounds like she could. When he was eleven, she’d walked the three of them around the grounds and pointed out all of the places she’d hurt herself, learning to navigate and build her strength. It had been a gory story, mostly designed to ward Grayson off the idea of trying to run it himself as a pre-teen. It had also been completely true.

If she had managed to fend off a Tyrant (how??) and was still nervous of this trap, it would be wiser to stay in place, and monitor the camera feeds to see where this was going.

He would watch, and wait.

And help, where he could.

----------

The sound of the crows caught her attention, and Marigold looked up. Even they were infected now, but also still functional - only more aggressive, more hungry. The flock here had grown a little strange since she’d begun to visit here, likely because she’d taken to feeding then for a few summers before Alexander found out, and requested that she stop. Alfred had kept up the practice as a child. They knew to trust the gaunt, pale humans that spoke in clipped tones, and the virus in them pulled them now, drifting toward that part of the island.

In her semi-delirious state, the T-Virus and a sort of deep familiarity had pulled them in to where Marigold needed to go.

They wheeled and dove around the prison, drawing ever closer to the target. Marigold looked off in the distance, towards that rusty old yard. I think I know just the place. I can’t come here without paying the old girl a visit.

[burnedbyshoto]

for want of a bento box

– It’s plain and simple, you see, someone is stealing your bento boxes and you will find your lunch thief! Or, in which Todoroki Shouto keeps taking your bento box and you declare war. 

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pairing: todoroki shouto x reader

warnings: fluff, cursing, shouto is a bad chef, I believe I made reader pretty gender neutral but I whipped this out in two hours and I can no longer remember if I used any fem!pronouns but im pretty sure I didn’t

word count: 3,060

a/n: this is for the wonder coworker bnharem collab! I had intended on writing a completely different theme and storyline but was very overwhelmed by how much time it actually needed to be written compared to the amount of time I actually had. that version will be out another time! but for now, enjoy some pure flufffffff!!!!

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Having a normal, functioning, well-paying job was probably the most desirable thing to you. It wasn’t to say that you were slacking or that you were homeless, broke, and never to be seen again because you were that in debt. But it was nice having a job!

When you entered the prestigious Toshinori Company, you joined not as an entry-level job employee but as a senior representative. You thought it was crazy.

It had to be crazy.

You had no prior experience, and now you were going to be in charge and the lead in certain areas?!

“And that was the entire layout of the office!” Mina chirped happily, throwing herself onto the desk chair across from yours with a big smile. “Any questions?”

“I don’t think so,” you mutter, brows creased as you look around the room again. 

The office space was ample, sleek, open. Each desk has its own grand computer that you currently could not afford with your own money, comfortable chairs, and beautiful wood desks. It was elegant, far superiorly fancy, and yet, you didn’t feel out of place. Strange.

“Oh!” you say with a roll of your eyes as you reach below your desk to bring up your packed lunch. “Where was the break room again? I need to refrigerate my food!”

“Omg, of course, come this way!” Mina grins, standing up and motioning you to follow her. You smile gratefully and do. 

The entire way to the office, Mina takes the time to point at the many different people on the floor and give them names. Everyone so far had sort of acknowledged you earlier as Mina was giving you the official tour. Some were much more open and friendly, and some had sneers or blank stares that left you dumbstruck. 

Definitely a personable group.

“Hm, well, I guess Todoroki-kun isn’t here today?” Mina mutters as you enter the break room that has couches and comfortable-looking chairs. “Such a shame! You would have loved to see the office hottie!”

You snort at that, lips curled into a granulous smile as you place your plastic container with food into the fridge. “I’m sure I’ll live,” you brush off the fact that there was an absent person on your floor today.

“That’s the thing, though,” Mina points a finger at you, a lone eyebrow raised and a confident smirk on her face. “You won’t be thinking that again the moment you see him!”

You laugh, eyes crinkling as Mina joins your laughter. Eventually, she motions for the both of you to leave, and you nod in understanding. And with a weird sense of comfort and belonging, you realized that this job was going to be good. 

.

.

Eventually, you had been working at Toshinori Company for two months.

Sixty-two days to be precise, and in all that time, you had only met Todoroki Shouto once. Even then, you had only seen the man walking through the office with a blank face, fingers in his pockets as two other men were walking in front of him, bickering lightly.

Had Mina not quite literally thrown herself across the table and gripped the collar of your shirt and twisted your head to look at him, you would have never caught a glimpse at the man with red and white hair. The three of them walked into the break room and came back out with their own lunches before leaving.

And that was it.

You had learned that the three of them (Todoroki Shouto, Midoriya Izuku, and Bakugou Katsuki) were within your department but worked very closely with the very high up members within the company. Many rumors pointed at one of the three taking over the company when the current CEO stepped down. They were, however, on the roster for your floor; they just never appeared except to pick up their lunches. Something they seemed to come to grab whenever you were a) way too fucking busy or b) not in the room.

You weren’t too bothered, though.

It wasn’t like you were trying to date one of them! You had only wanted to say hi.

.

.

.

Now, at ninety days, you had your first and probably most crucial evaluation. 

Toshinori Yagi, the man who founded and currently ran this company, sat before you, looking at papers within a folder with tired but kind blue eyes. He nodded, impressed (hopefully), making small comments about the work you had been able to accomplish, a smile becoming a warming grin as he looked up.

“I’m impressed by the performance you’ve managed to attend to despite the short while you’ve been here, y/l/n-shojo,” Toshinori spoke, his fingers threading together and placing them onto the table. “I knew it was an excellent decision to put you in that position, and you exceeded my entire expectation!”

You flushed at that, lips twitching as you attempted to suppress that smile of yours. 

“Thank you, Toshinori-san,” you practically wheeze as he waves off your thanks.

“No need to thank me, you’ve done all this work!” he laughs, tired eyes closing with a glorious supply of crow's feet blooming at the corner of his eyes. “Typically, at these evaluations, I ask a bunch of questions because there isn’t too much anyone can do in their first ninety days, I must admit.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm, but because I am curious, is there anything that has been happening as of late that you feel needs to be addressed with me?”

You felt yourself stiffen but knew your one and only complaint was not something to bring up in this setting.

“No, nothing,” you shrug, and Toshinori beams.

“I’m glad!”

Now, the problem.

The big, fat, stinky, hooligan, wanting to throttle someone problem.

For the past sixty of your ninety days, someone has been stealing your lunch.

Yes, you heard that correctly; someone was stealing your damn lunch! Every morning you woke up and prepared a delicious bento box for yourself. Some days you went as far as cutting shapes into your fruits and veggies just to make yourself grin. You weren’t the best chef in the world, but your bento boxes were pretty enough to make up for it, in your opinion. But the thing is, every day when you went into the communal fridge, you noticed two things.

One, your bento box was no longer in the same place, and two, the bento box was not yours at all.

The food was disastrously organized. Rice and lettuce spilling out in every partition in the box. The fruit and veggies often packed in this box had multiple cuts in them, implying that whoever did this was less than ideal with a knife. The meat was often oversalted, the sushi never sitting together, and everything was just… not it.

The first time you had sighed and eaten it, grumbling about how your precious lunch was stolen. But you had quickly figured out that it was inedible, and Mina, Uraraka, and Yaoyorozu thank god, offered to share their meals. 

Seeing that you were distressed about how someone stole your egg and octopus sausages one day, Mina declared that they would watch the break room for whoever was stealing your light blue bento box. The first day you staked out, you had done it with Mina. But ten minutes into waiting around, you needed to pee. So you stood up and left in a hurry, leaving Mina alone.

But when you returned, Mina was gone, instead standing by Kirishima’s desk with a bright grin and a stance that screamed that she heard something she liked (gossip, possible in-office romance, a love confession?). Her jaw dropped as she noticed you and Kirishima had turned and waved in your direction as you raced into the break room to open the fridge, and sure enough, your bento was gone.

The next time, you staked out with Uraraka. Your arms were folded, your bladder cleared, and your lips twisted into a pout as you glared and stared down every single member who entered the room. Uraraka whispered to you her guesses about just who might be the thief, every other person rating an 8/10 likelihood of stealing your lunch.

But as the both of you sat there, your eyes narrowed at each passerby, no one came to collect your bento today.

“Deku-kun, no packed lunch today?” Uraraka asked as the green, curly-haired man you had only met once previously raced into the break room, grabbing the extra chopsticks meticulously hidden in the third bottom draw.

“Ah, Uraraka-san, y/l/n-san! Uh, no,” Midoriya greeted you both, who apparently responds to the nickname Deku, laughs off as he grabs a handful of napkins. “Todoroki-kun left all our lunches in his car by accident, and well… they spoiled… Kacchan’s pissed, so I ran off to get lunch for us today!”

Uraraka laughed, shaking her head, “Leave it to Todoroki-kun to act that way.”

Midoriya laughed, bright and clearly in agreement, “You should have seen his face when Kacchan asked for his lunch! I swear–”

“HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO GRAB FUCKING CHOPSTICKS, SHIT-KU! I’M FUCKING STARVING!” a voice roared from nowhere near the entrance of the break room. You did, however, jump a bit, eyes turning toward the break room entrance to see the blond man (Bakugou? Kacchan? You had no idea which was correct) near the entrance of the floor. 

“It’s only been a minute, Kacchan, relax!” Midoriya laughs, completely unaffected by the startling shout as he waves goodbye to both you and Uraraka before leaving, joining Bakugou as the both of them seem to talk comfortably… well, maybe more like bickering.

“Why are they–”

“Childhood friends, apparently,” Uraraka sighed, but the smile on her face betrays her exasperation.

No one stole your bento that day.

Yaoyorozu took up the third stake out, the two of you idly chatting about tea. You honestly had no idea what to talk about with Yaomomo; she was often just so elegant and mature despite being your age. When you learned that her family was in charge of the Yaoyorozu Corp, it had been strangely easy to accept that. 

It made sense.

So as the two of you stood at the kitchen sink, boiling water for tea Yaomomo swore would be the best matchup for your packed nigiri, the both of you missed the man who walked into the room, opened the fridge, and took your lunch.

“I… I am so sorry,” Yaomomo apologized, head bowed dangerously low as the both of you looked at the sloppily cut salmon in your not actual bento. “Please eat my food in reparation.”

“No, it’s okay,” you sigh, chewing on the somehow still warm salmon. “I deserved this loss.”

Luck was just on this man's side, it seemed. No matter what you did, you could never catch the man in action, and you were ready to give up.

But this was the last attempt you said to yourself as you returned to your office floor, the evaluation done, and the rest of your life coming to light. You could do this. No! You WOULD do this!

.

.

“Why don’t you just put your name on your bento box?” Bakugou asked, a lone eyebrow raised in what you could only assume was judgment and pity. The explosive man was standing in the doorway of the breakroom, watching as you and Mina were trying to climb up the counters of the breakroom to grab the camera you had previously planted. “Obviously, it doesn’t have your name on it.”

“Um,” you squeak, having been obviously caught by someone who intimidated you just the slightest bit. “That’s a good idea, thank you, Bakugou-san.”

“Tch, whatever, just clean up the damn counters, fucking nasty standing up on there. Some people prepare their food there.”

“We would never forget to do that!” you argue, desperate to not leave a bad impression on this man.

“I don’t know much about you, but I know raccoon eyes over there would.”

“MY NAME IS MINA!”

“Like I care.”

He left without so much as a wave but did seem to nod with his departure. You sighed as you hopped off the counter, Mina grabbing the cleaning supplies as she cursed out the long-gone man under her breath. 

But you were looking at the fridge with your missing bento box.

“I can’t believe I never put my name on it.”

“It’s okay! Not even Yaomomo thought of it, so I say we are still smart!”

.

.

.

It was the next day, you were at your desk, anxious as hell as you did your work, trying not to focus on the fact that it was lunchtime and you were actively avoiding the break room. You wondered if they wouldn’t come and collect it today. If somehow they were an asshole and wouldn’t care if your name was on it! What would happen then? What if it was someone like Bakugou who was taking your lunch? What then? You were sure you would cave in slight fear and major intimidation if he said that your lunch was his now.

“Want a cutie while we wait, cutie?” Mina asked, waving the small tangerine in her fingers as she grins.

“Please,” you say in gratitude for the food because you were starving. “Thank you.”

Eventually, you lost track of what was happening, becoming all too invested in the conversation that Mina was telling you about that involved Kaminari, Kirishima, Bakugou, Midoriya, twenty-seven Red Bulls, fifteen Monsters, and five shots of sake. It seemed that the former two were quite big instigators when they wanted to be, and the latter two were unable to back away from challenges, especially when the other was involved.

“Y/l/n?” an unfamiliar voice called from behind you, and you turned partially in your chair as you looked behind you.

Standing behind you was a tall man with red and white hair, and from this distance, you noticed immediately that his eyes were a deep grey and brilliant blue.

Todoroki Shouto.

“T-Todoroki-san!” you greet him back, voice unable to keep from trembling as your nerves shot up. What was going on? You two had never interacted before! He was always gone, never present, and whenever he was in the office, it seemed that you weren’t there.

He cleared his throat and raised up two identical bento boxes.

“It seems… I have apparently been stealing your bento boxes,” he concludes, pressing the blue bento box with your name written on it into your hands.

Your jaw drops as your fingers curve around the cool plastic, eyes blinking up a storm as you try to abstain from laughing high pitched and ugly like. 

“It was you?!”

A pink color blooms onto his cheeks as he averts his eye contact with you and nods slowly, “I am so sorry.”

“I just… how?!” you exclaim, exasperated, this man obviously being a bit dense if he had no idea he was taking your bento box!

“I prepare my bento boxes the night before, and I don’t really remember what I put into them….” Todoroki explains slowly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, his tongue clicking the roof of his tongue. “I just thought that my cooking was improving and that I was somehow doing an amazing job.”

The grin that overcomes your face is one of subtle, strange fondness and soft warmth. “I can tell you that you probably haven’t improved much,” you tease, opening your bento box to see your prepared meal for the day. 

Cucumber salad, bulgogi beef, rice, and some fruit.

It was packed exactly how you remembered.

“I can’t believe I finally get to eat a meal I prepared,” you continue to tease, your eyes moving up to meet Todoroki, who was also looking at your bento previously. “Thank you for returning my meals and apologizing.”

“It was nothing,” Todoroki waved off with a single hand before opening up his own disastrously assembled bento box. It looked worse than usual today. Everything was just thrown in, it seemed. You saw egg and rice, but everything else in there was indescribable. He smiles at you before sighing at his bento. “This looks more like my stuff.”

You laugh, shaking your head, “You want to share my bento box? I’m sure you probably don’t want to return to that.”

“No, it’s okay,” Todoroki gently declined, although he looked at your bento with great want. He cleared his throat, gaze moving to lock on yours, and you swore his cheeks were still pink but no longer from embarrassment. “I just wanted to come and apologize for stealing your lunch for so long and to thank you for the meals; they were all delicious. Especially the soba you had made.”

“It’s all good; it’s in the past now,” you say gently, somehow finding yourself falling for a man you’ve barely just begun to talk with. The both of you stare at each other, and your skin feels warm. You chuckle, gaze averting for a moment before returning as you tease him. “Although, if you steal from me again, I’m not so sure if I’ll be so lenient.”

“It won’t happen again, promise,” Todoroki smiles, and you feel your spine melt. “But I would love to make it up to you somehow. I can make you dinner one night or something?”

You laugh, head shaking, “No, absolutely not; I don’t trust your cooking skills just yet. But you can definitely take me out to dinner.”

“Yeah, I can definitely do that,” Todoroki agrees, and the both of you fall silent as the shy stares continue. “Does, um… is Friday at seven okay with you?”

“That works,” you say, and Todoroki smiles.

“Good, I’ll uh, see you then?”

“See you,” you agree with a sweet smile before turning around, your fingers raised in a small wave. 

You turn to see Mina, Uraraka, and Yaomomo staring at you, eyes comically wide and so very intrigued.

“Oh… my… GOD!” Mina shrieked as Todoroki walks away, and you shriek as she jumps across the table and shakes you, screaming about office romances and meet-cutes being entirely too underrated. “PROMISE ME I’LL BE INVITED TO THE WEDDING!!!!”

“MINA!”

.

.

.

.

.

It would take about three years of dating, several months of teaching Shouto how to cook, which resulted in a few bellyaches. Still, eventually yes, Mina would be invited to your wedding.

[rays-of-fire-and-ice]

Congrats on 1K+ followers!! if it's not too much can you do an analysis on ch 168 the panels where toshiro and rangiku chase izuru and then toshiro runs back to Central 46? There's some brotp and hitsuhina in there that can use some love and your detailed discussion!

Thanks anon!

I’m not sure there’s much I can bring to this chapter but I’ll try my very best! As a quick recap for this chapter:

Hitsugaya and Rangiku walk in to find all of Central 46 dead. Hitsugaya deduces that all 46 members were killed long before he and Rangiku discovered them, meaning the majority of orders to come from were fake.

Izuru shows up and lures Hitsugaya and Rangiku away, who give chase.

While chasing down Izuru, Hitsugaya questions his involvement in the scene. However, Izuru turns the tables around by saying Hitsugaya should be protecting Hinamori.

Izuru reveals Hinamori had been following Hitsugaya and Rangiku this whole time. Hitsugaya asks Rangiku to handle Izuru while he turns back. Rangiku and Izuru get ready to fight.

While on his way back, Hitsugaya chastises himself for not thinking about how Hinamori would react to the situation, believing he should've known better.

Meanwhile, Hinamori sees the scene at Central 46, and while wondering how this happened, Gin sneaks up behind her and greets her, ending the chapter.

While I will be doing as you requested and mainly looking at the moments you mentioned, I hope you don't mind that I take a look at the chapter as a whole as I feel it adds to these panels. I'll be taking a look at the chapter even and of itself but also in context to later chapters (ie with the hindsight of Aizen's plan up until chapter 172).

There’s a few things I love about this chapter: 1) how and what it implies about the characters and their bonds with each other, 2) the way it builds tension and suspense, and 3) how the world-building feeds into said tension and suspense. Let’s start with the latter.

Hitsugaya explains who Central 46 are: they're essentially senior figures in the Seireitei who dictate punishment for crimes committed against the Soul Society and their word and ruling is final; not even a captain is allowed to go against it. In having him explain who they are, he shows why it’s such a big deal that they’re all dead. Suddenly, the stakes got that bit higher. Not only do they have a Ryoka problem and a 'murdered' captain on their hands, but are some of the most senior figures in the Seireitei have been murdered.

It's made even worse when Hitsugaya realizes that they've been dead for a while now and so this means the 'orders' they've been giving out since Ichigo and co. arrived were fake. This is the Gotei's worst nightmare, and in times like this it's likely the duty of a captain and/or lieutenant to bring in whoever did it or was involved. This bit of world-building manages to raise the stakes and tension that little bit more. The orders were fake, the some of the most senior members in the Seireitei are dead, and we still don't know 100% who's behind it!

Enter Izuru, who Hitsugaya and Rangiku pursue right away. Now Izuru's role in Aizen's plan has always been a mysterious one. How much of the plan was he let in on? How much did Gin tell him? How did he know what kind of kido Hitsugaya cast on Hinamori's room? How did he even know Hitsugaya cast a kido in the first place? Did he get to see Aizen again? He didn't seem to really react to the 46 members being murdered, so it makes me think Gin spun a yarn about it being for a just cause; it's something Izuru can get behind, especially if it's coming from his then captain.

While it becomes apparent a few chapters later that Izuru was in fact not told the whole plan (just look at his reaction in chapter 172 to hearing that Hinamori was hurt, he clearly didn't know what was to become of her), in chapter 168 Izuru seems committed to what his orders are, which seems to be leading Hitsugaya and Rangiku away from Central 46, thus putting a greater distance between them and Hinamori (who had been following them the whole time) and allowing Gin to take her to Aizen. He was ordered to stop at a certain point and confront Rangiku (he says "My task...was to stop you here, Matsumoto.", while not mentioning Hitsugaya, but 'you' can also mean more than one person...darn English language!)He distracts Hitsugaya enough, who is very understandably focused on trying to piece to together all the madness, that he manages to lure him away while being vague about what's going on.

The only thing that gets Hitsugaya to divert his attention from what should be a priority is Hinamori. This suggests to me Hitsugaya going back to Central 46 was part of the plan, likely so that Aizen could take care of him (Izuru is more likely to be able to to go toe-to-toe with Rangiku compared to Hitsugaya, who almost froze him many chapters ago, so it makes sense for the plan to include splitting up Rangiku and Hitsugaya).

And then when Izuru reveals that Hinamori had been following them the entire time, we get this expression from Hitsugaya:

Kubo only pulls this face one out, wide-eyed with pin-point pupils and darker shading, when he's deeply shocked, so we know this revelation has hit Hitsugaya to the absolute core. He didn't see this coming, and it deeply affects him. Not only did he not sense Hinamori following them the whole time and that she could be in danger, but he realizes he never saw it coming; he never thought about the possibility that Hinamori would go this far, even though she had done do many chapter ago.

Then, without any hesitation, Rangiku - who knows that their main objective should be to apprehend those involved in the murders of the Council members - agrees to face Izuru alone. She knows her captain and Hinamori, and she knows their bond. She knows Hinamori is someone that her captain holds near and dear, has gone to great lengths to protect and look out for (casting a power barrier around her room, asking Rangiku to give Aizen's final letter to Hinamori even though it should ave been used as evidence, etc). She knows her captain wouldn't be able to live with himself he knew he'd unintentionally led Hinamori to danger, or at the very least knows he wants to help clear up the misunderstanding that he murdered Aizen.

The things is, Hitsugaya could have asked Rangiku to go back and find Hinamori, but he goes himself - likely because of his personal connection to her (more on this later) and because thinks Rangiku can handle herself against Izuru. Now granted, Izuru hadn't revealed his shikai's ability to anyone expect possibly Renji and Hinamori, so Hitsugaya likely didn't know what he could do, but him asking Rangiku to continue to pursue Izuru is a sign that he thinks she is capable of facing him. All lieutenants are of a certain power standard amongst Shinigami, but as shown in the data books, all of them have their strengths and weaknesses in different areas, some are just stronger than others. Even without knowing Izuru's shikai, Hitsugaya knows Rangiku can handle him if she needed to fight him.

She doesn't question him or doubt his orders, because she trusts him as much as he trusts her. She knows his connection to Hinamori and he knows how capable she is. They have each others' backs and don't doubt each other, knowing they can each fulfill their roles here.

This unfortunately did play right into Aizen's hands though. as now they're separated, with Izuru distracting Rangiku and Hitsuagya heading towards a very tragic scene involving the one person he wanted to protect.

I also want to briefly touch on Rangiku and Izuru's exchange after Hitsugaya rushes off back to Central 46. I always found Izuru's words ("Why should I answer to a dead woman?") to be really extreme in hindsight. I can't see Gin's orders for him to be 'kill Rangiku'. Unless Aizen told him to or Gin really did tell him to (as part of Aizen's plan) but knew Rangiku's shikai ability would be able to counter Izuru's (because let's face it, Gin must known what his lieutenant's shikai ability was). If this wasn't part of his orders Was he trying to intimidate or scare Rangiku? Was Kubo just trying to make the audience think Izuru was going to kill Rangiku? It a weird moment with hindsight, but I choose to see it as Izuru trying to psych Rangiku out.

Now to the part that always gets me.

When Hitsugaya is running back to Central 46 and does his internal monologue, he chastises himself for not realizing Hinamori, still believing he skilled Aizen, would follow him and Rangiku; he also thought it was stupid of him to think she wouldn't be up and moving so soon, and that even if she meant she had to drag herself on the ground to reach him, she would do it for Aizen's sake. Finally, as he reflects on how he 'should've known' all of this but didn't, he says Hinamori's name with an expression showing the stress and worry he's under.

Now, the key part I want to focus on here is the second last panel, after he says it was stupid of him to think she wouldn't recover so quickly and knowing that she would do anything to reach him because she's motivated by Aizen. Viz Media translated the final lines of his monologue as ‘I should’ve known, but I…’, but I’ve seen fan translations that read “Of all people, I should have realized that, yet I…”, and I feel this conveys so much more. Viz's translation is okay, in still conveys that Hitsugaya feels he should've known Hinamori would act this way, but the other translation, it gives it scope. He's saying out of everyone she knows, he should have known she would act like this.

He should have known she would recover quick.

He should have known she would follow him and do so even if it meant dragging herself along the ground. The evidence was right there (one of the panels included while he monologues is from chapter 129 after her escape from jail, showing her commitment to apprehending Aizen's 'killer'), and somehow, he didn't think she would go so far. Just like in the moment shown in the panel, he didn't think she would go so far, and now just like then, he goes to find her by himself, feeling it is his responsibility and his alone.

Izuru (who, yes, is Hinamori's friend from the Academy but he hasn't known her for nearly as long as Hitsugaya has) knew what Hinamori would do: she'd dispel the barrier around her room and use kido to conceal herself to follow Hitsugaya. In this moment, it seems like he knows her better, and it's a gut punch for Hitsugaya. It's like it took Izuru's prompting to make him realize and remember who Hinamori is.

For Hitsugaya, this isn’t just about wanting to do the right thing by the Seireitei and Hinamori, this is about his bond with Hinamori. It's why he, instead of Rangiku, went back to Central 46. This is personal for him, something he feels he has to amend himself because she is one of the most important people in his life and she has gone through and continues to go through so much grief. Him not realizing how she would act brings their bond into question for both himself and the reader.

But here's the thing, Hitsugaya does say, "For Aizen's she'd come after me if she had to drag herself on the ground. That's the kind of girl she is.", showing he does know at least that about her; he knows about her undying loyalty. He also show back in chapter 129 that he knows this facet of her when Rangiku asks why she would go this far; although he acknowledges that no one saw her going so far as to escape jail, he says 'There's only one reason' that she would, and then says he's going to save Hinamori. He didn't know what was written in the letter at the time, but he had his suspicions about Gin before all of this and ended up crossing paths with him and Izuru as a result, and seemingly shows he understood Hinamori was going to come after Aizen's 'killer'. He was blind-sighted by the letter though, because of course he had no idea Aizen would accuse him of murdering him.

So what blinded him to the possibility that Hinamori would escape her room and follow him in chapter 168? "Why didn't [he] see it?"

It's not 100% clear, but here's my thoughts. First, it was his assumptions. Izuru explains that Hitsugaya erected a Kyomon, a powerful barrier designed "...keep people out, not in"; as a result, someone with Hinamori's level of kido was able to dispel it without much trouble. Although not shown in the manga, Hitsugaya explains his reasoning in the anime when Rangiku asks if such a powerful barrier is necessary: "I can’t predict the movements of everyone, but I at least want to protect her from her enemies." Aside from the line breaking my heart with hindsight I have for what happens later, it shows what Hitsugaya thought would happen: either she doesn't recover until much later once the person responsible for everything is caught, or that even if she recovered, she wouldn't move from her room. Given that Hinamori is a lieutenant, it's definitely not impossible for her to recover quicker than the average Shinigami, yet this isn't something Hitsugaya factored in. On a side note, if you're interested, I spoke a little bit more about this scene here.

All of this suggests a distance between him and Hinamori, that they're not as close as he thought, that he doesn't know her as well as he thought. And this isn't a bad theory, because as it's been implied in other chapters, Aizen monopolized Hinamori across different facets of her life. He fosters her admiration of him to blind her, to make her want to focus on rising the ranks and become his lieutenant, and then to spend time with him. Combined with her usual duties as a lieutenant, and you can imagine that she likely didn't have much time to spend with anyone outside of her division.

However, another factor to consider is the conflict Hitsugaya constantly faced throughout the Soul Society arc and in parts of the Arrancar arcs: heart vs duty. Hitsugaya is dutiful, it's something that his job requires, and I can imagine being the youngest captain in the Seireitei, he may feel he needs to prove he's worthy of the role by being as dutiful as he is. This is the same guy that said a sword should be swung out of duty, and if swung out of hatred, it makes one unfit to be a captain. His default mode is to fight for the Soul Society and to serve the Gotei 13.

However, he still young, and doesn't have the same level of experience as the other captains when it comes to putting aside personal issues until they reach a boiling point. He doesn't show it immediately but despite the apparent iciness of his character, he has a deep level of care and concern for those he cares about, and Hinamori is sure as hell near the top of his list of people who he cares about. If anything happens to her or if she is threatened or used against him in anyway, it's a sure fire way to get him to forget his duties.

There have been a few instances where these two have arguably aligned, such him going to apprehend Gin in chapter 129 (but then it turns out he was planning to kill him soooo maybe not the best example). More often than not though, we time and again him having to choose between the two, and more oftne than not, he choose his heart (he gave the letter to Hinamori, which would send her on her quest to apprehend Aizen's 'killer'; he went after Gin based on only suspicion without informing anyone else; he much later gave into his hatred for Aizen and said he'd gladly give up captaincy if it meant killing him). His duties as a captain may be his default, but the moment someone he cares about is in danger (real or not) his dutiful side gets thrown out the window.

Here, Aizen really used this to his advantage. He knew with Hinamori being safe in Tenth Division and intruders not being able to get into her room, Hitsugaya would go into his default mode of carrying out his duties as a captain - which in this case was to get to the bottom of what the heck is going on. He further used this when having Izuru present at Central 46 and escaping to lure Rangiku and Hitsugaya away. Again, I imagine a captain and lieutenant's duties in that moment would be to apprehend anyone involved in the incident and report them to First Division. So focused was he on his duties, on trying to solve what was happening - from who wrote the fake letter all the way to who murdered Central 46 - and catch a potential accomplice in the murders of some of the most senior figures in the Seireitei, he didn't see Hinamori's actions coming.

Additionally, Hitsugaya is also prone to being very hard on himself. We see in other chapters when he does something wrong, he's often quick to reflect on himself and his failure/s to stop something from happen or to not see something coming. Here he thinks it was 'stupid' of him to think Hinamori wouldn't recover as quickly as she did. He's got a lot on his mind, and again his focus became to solve what's going on, but even so, he feels he should have known, that he is about to fail to protect Hinamori again.

Regardless, now he sprints back to the Central 46, breaking out into a sweat as he worries and stresses about her, because she's likely back at where not only is it the gruesome scene of a murder, but the murderer could still be lurking around and she will be their next victim. In his mind in that moment he may fail her, may not be able to protect her, and may have not known who she truly is.

Finally, I love the way Kubo finished this chapter. As Hinamori looks in on the dead Central 46 and tries to make sense of the whole situation, we get panels of someone creeping up behind her (showing Hitsugaya's greatest fear coming to fruition), and then the next page, it's Gin. It's such a tense, effective moment and it gives me the creeps every time no matter how many times I read it.

And with that I'll leave it here. Thanks a lot of sending this one in, I hope you enjoy whatever insights I could offer :D I'd love to read your thoughts and anyone else's on this chapter or what was discussed here!

[sinner-as-saint]

‘Till We Bleed Out - 3.

Vampire!bucky x reader AU

Part 3 of this series. 

Run-through: Your car breaks down on a deserted road on a rainy night. You have no other option but to seek shelter from the nearest house you could find; the mansion, which happened to be the talk of the town for its mysteriousness along with its equally mysterious owner, Mr. Barnes. The universe can be tricky sometimes but the fact that you found yourself at that mansion’s doorstep at that time was no simple coincidence. That one night changes everything forever - quite literally. True love, past lives and creatures from folklore; turns out it’s all real. 

Themes throughout the series: vampire!bucky, fluff, smut, angst 

“Calm down, sweetheart.” 

He must’ve noticed you were on the verge of losing your mind. How could you not? You had so many questions. So many things you couldn’t wrap your brain around. What was the meaning of all this? 

“What is this?” you pointed at the painting; scared, nervous and baffled. 

Bucky walked further in, careful as to not make any sudden movement which would make you even more of a nervous wreck than you already were. “I’ll tell you everything, doll. Just calm down, alright. There’s nothing to be scared of. I’m right here with you.” 

You looked up at him in surprise. “Nothing to be scared of? There’s a painting of me and you dating back to 1872. That was almost a hundred and fifty years ago. But I met you just two days ago. None of this makes sense, none of it adds up. And that doesn’t bother you?” you sounded more sad and confused than scared. This isn’t normal. None of this is. “Who are you?” 

Despite knowing that someone else in your shoes would be screaming bloody murder and running for their lives by now, you stayed put. Despite the confusion, you felt protected. Something inside you knew no harm would come to you while Bucky’s around. But the rational side of you couldn’t afford listening to that side of you right now. Right now your brain needed concrete answers, not reassurance. 

“No. It doesn’t bother me.” He walked over and held you gently by the shoulders. “And if you let me explain, it won’t bother you either.” One look into his eyes and you felt yourself calming down already. 

“Make this make sense.” 

After he got you to sit down, in that very room, he began explaining. 

“I’m not exactly human, Y/N.” His first few words earned him a nod from you. 

“I figured that out a few minutes ago.” 

He continued. “And neither were you, in your previous lifetime.” That sentence shocked you. You didn’t know what was more surprising, learning that there was indeed a lifetime before this one or the fact that in the previous one, you and Bucky knew each other. “We were both vampires.” 

“Oh my God…” 

He paused for a while, trying to be as slow and as careful as he could be with his words. “We were married, you and I. And we were happy.” He said so and waited for your reaction. 

Your eyes watered and he noticed. “I’m… I was your wife?” you asked and he nodded. You thought back on all the things he told you about his wife; those were all about you. Your heart felt like it was being torn in two. “And I died.” he nodded again. “How did I die?” 

He took a deep breath and lowered his eyes to the dark carpet beneath his feet, that memory was always the hardest to revisit. “Our families were not exactly… friendly. Yours hated mine, and vice versa so our marriage was not something they could bear.” He let out a dry chuckle. He continued, a strange fire in his eyes; burning hot hatred. “They kept trying to break us apart,” he smiled, sadly, “but we were strong. Together.” He looked back up at you. “Until one day…” 

He stopped talking. He ran his fingers through his hair, he was hurting. You felt the intense need to just get up from the couch you were sat on, and walk over to where he sat and just comfort him. Maybe hug him and tell him it’s all okay now. But you remained seated, you couldn’t move. 

“Bucky… I need to know.” You figured it was a delicate subject but you needed to piece it all together. You were a mess at the moment. 

“We were returning home and we were attacked. By hunters.” 

You sat up straighter. “Hunters?” 

“Vampire hunters. Two different parties. Each anonymously hired and sent by our own families, ordered to have each of us killed. But you know, back then hunters had rivalry against each other as well. And ironically, the groups of hunters our family hired were not exactly seeing eye to eye with each other.” He let out another dry chuckle. “Upon reaching our home, they all forgot their initial purpose for a moment and began butchering one another instead, in the name of looming enmity. And you and I got caught in the crossfire. ” 

He paused. If it were physically possible he would’ve shivered at the memory; so tragically vivid in his mind. You waited for him to continue. “But some of them also remembered that they had been ordered to kill us both, so our front yard quickly became a battlefield.” He sounded bitter, angry. “We fought them off for a while but we were terribly outnumbered. I was wounded, so were you, and I tried to reach you but…” he trailed off, took a deep breath and continued, “they got to you first.” 

You tried to find the right thing to say but got nothing. Bucky spoke up again. “I was helpless. I couldn’t move. I had to watch as they… took you away from me.” He finally looked up at you and you were in shock. “Those sent by your family, what was left of them after the massacre at least, fled. Those sent by mine finished their job.” The look of hurt on his face was unbearable. “And I begged them. I begged them to kill me too but they just left me there.” 

You felt a weight on your chest. That was brutal. 

“You died at our doorstep.” He still remembered the last few moments he held you before you left… 

-

He somehow managed to get up and stumbled on his way to you, bullets and sharp stakes pierced all over his body as well as yours. You weren’t gonna make it, and he knew but he still begged you to stay. 

“You can’t leave me. You promised.” He cried, cradling your head on his lap. “Don’t leave me.” 

He watched how you used the little bit of energy left to choke out a few words. “I’ll find you again. Someday. I promise…” your body was getting heavier and heavier. Bucky felt like he was dying too. “I love you, Buck.” 

And with that, you closed your eyes forever. He sat there, your lifeless body in his arms and he screamed and yelled and cursed the universe. He was wounded, he would be healed by dawn. But you wouldn’t. He survived the attack that day, but part of him died along with you too. 

-

You cleared your throat. “How do you… how did you know it’s me? How can you be sure? What if I just look like her?” you looked up at the painting and he did too. 

He gave you a soft smile. “Chamomile and lavender tea is your favorite. You like red roses. You have a fear of deep water but you love the beach. You have this weird obsession with snakes. You love red wine. You could practically live in a library. Thunderstorms comfort you. You get a lot of déjà-vu, more than anyone you know. Also, you surely have a birthmark on your back, below your left shoulder. It perhaps hurts sometimes and you don’t know why, because regular birthmarks don’t hurt.” 

Your eyes widened more and more as he spoke, but you gasped when he mentioned the birthmark. “How do you know that?” Very few people knew of your rather strange birthmark which tingled, burned and hurt sometimes. 

“You were staked through the heart from the back. It left a mark on you.” He answered. “Forever.” 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to soak all this new information in. This was a lot to take in. 

You cleared your throat again. “I was a vampire.” You stated. Bucky nodded. “I married you.” He nodded again. “I can’t- how do I-,” 

“Hey, it’s a lot to take in. Take your time. Go to bed if you wish to.” His voice sounded so soft. 

Oh you couldn’t sleep, not with all this. You shook your head no, you had questions. “How long were we married for?” 

“Almost a century.” His answer made your jaw drop. 

“How old are you?” 

He chuckled. “250. Give or take a few years.” 

“Oh my God,” you sighed, genuinely surprised. You thought back on all that he said earlier, about your families, and asked, “You said our families were against our relationship.” He nodded. “Well, where are they now?” 

“Gone.” 

“What do you mean, gone?” 

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair again. “After you left, I was unhinged. My memories of the couple of decades after your death is a little blurry. Apparently I went seeking revenge. But our friends found me and brought me back to sanity before I was gone completely and they told me that I had destroyed each and every last member of both our families.” 

“You killed them.” It wasn’t a question. 

“They deserved it. They took you away from me.” He sounded so broken, and hurt that you could feel your heart burn inside your ribcage. 

“When you say ‘our friends’ you mean…” you trailed off not knowing how to put it. 

He nodded. “Other vampires, yes. Most of them at least.” 

“This is so crazy.” You mumbled, looking down at your lap. This was too much to handle all at once. Bucky got up from his seat and walked cautiously over to you. 

He sat down on the edge of the wooden coffee table right in front of you and held his hand out. You placed your hand in his without a second thought. “You always had faith in the universe you know. You used to tell me that one single lifetime isn’t going to be enough for all the love that you and I have for each other. You used to always tell me that you’ll find me in the next one as well. And you did. You kept your promise. You’re home now, to me.” 

You felt a tear slide down your cheek. Those words sounded so familiar. Bucky reached out and wiped the tear away. “I… I don’t remember. I mean, I’ve lived a whole life not knowing you were until just a few days ago and now… all this?” 

He brought your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles softly. “It’s almost dawn. You haven’t slept well. Get some rest, we’ll figure it out. We always did.” 

You couldn’t argue. You needed to not think for a while, so you just nodded and got up. He didn’t follow you as you made your way to the bedroom and threw yourself down on the bed. You closed your eyes and slipped into a dreamless sleep. 

The next day, you spent most of your morning in the room; unable to leave the bed. Each time you thought back on all that was revealed to you last night, your head hurt. Wanda was kind enough to come in and leave you your meals. She didn’t say a word, just polite smiles. Bucky came by as well, each hour or so to check up on you. You weren’t ready to talk yet. He understood. 

You spent the rest of the day looking out of the window, into the vast backyard. The weather was still gloomy, much like your mood. 

After dinner, Bucky came by again. With tea this time. You gladly accepted the cup, remembering how it helped you sleep better the other night. Bucky was about to walk out but you stopped him. 

“Stay. Please.” You said, your voice a little strained because you had cried earlier, unable to understand the wave of emotion which washed over you. He rushed to sit next to you, on the edge of the bed. “I’ve been having dreams.” you confessed. 

“What kind of dreams?” 

“About you. About us, together. About ballrooms I’ve never been in, about people I haven’t met. And this house, ever since I got here it feels like I’ve... “ you trailed off, unable to find the right words. Or maybe the words were too crazy for you to utter them out loud. 

He finished your sentence. “Like you’ve lived here before?” 

“Yes.” You nodded. 

He smiled. “It’s because you have. This is your home, our home. Those aren’t dreams, they’re your memories.” 

Another tear fell down your cheek. Well, that made sense now. That would explain why your ‘dreams’ were so detailed. 

Bucky stayed and talked to you until you felt sleepy. He kissed you on the forehead, whispering a ‘goodnight’ once you got under the covers and was about to walk out of the room but you stopped him, yet again. 

“There’s something else.” you said. 

He stopped right at the door and turned around to face you, “Yes?” 

“The day I got here, when you opened the door, I…” you reminded yourself that he deserves to know, “I felt this pressing need to tell you that I finally found you. I didn’t understand what that meant then.” 

For the first time in a long time, Bucky genuinely smiled. And it was breathtaking. His smile was gorgeous, contagious. “Goodnight, sweetheart. I’ll see you in the morning.” He left. 

You fell asleep rather quickly. And dreamt, again...

Kisses under a grand chandelier. Blue eyes, laughter and wine. Pure bliss. 

“We should get going, sweetheart. It’s late.” Bucky whispered, holding you close. “And I can’t share you any longer. I need you all to myself now.” He kissed along your jaw, making you giggle. 

Home. At last. Only just as you got down from the carriage, you realized something was wrong. Pain, pain everywhere. 

Bullets, stakes, sticks, stones - everything hurt. You heard someone screaming as you were being dragged away from Bucky. It was you. You begged for mercy, but you didn’t receive any. Then suddenly, a spot on your back burned. It hurt more than anything you’ve ever experienced. You realized you were being staked through the heart, and it was too late. You couldn’t fight back. 

The pain, although excruciating, was replaced by fear. Fear of having to leave Bucky behind. Bucky… where was he? 

Your vision got blurry, you fell to the ground. You tried to call out for him but no sound came out of your mouth. You were fading away. But then you saw a pair of dark eyes which slowly turned blue and teary. 

“Don’t leave me…” 

“I’ll find you, I promise.” All the years you spent with him flashed in front of your eyes. Your wedding, and the decades of pure happiness which followed. “I’ll find you…” 

You woke up gasping again, covered in goosebumps. You had a terrible headache as it all came to you at once; memories of a forgotten lifetime. You struggled to breathe; it felt like being hit by a violent wave and being pushed deeper beneath the surface. Your birthmark burned hot. And your lungs felt like they were on fire. 

You sat there in bed, breathing hard and fast as you remembered everything. You realized you had tears streaming down your face. It was all too much, but you kept searching for more. And the more you looked the more you found. You felt like you were about to pass out. 

1802, when you first met Bucky. Married in 1808. You died about 90 years after that. You remembered. You remembered it all now. Your cruel family, and his. The bloodshed of that night. And how you died at the doorstep of this mansion. This mansion… your home. You knew this place like the back of your hand. This is your home. 

You’re home. 

You called out, not too loud, knowing he would hear you still. “Bucky!” you held back sob. How did you survive all these years? Without him? 

“Bucky!” you called out again, crying out loud this time. You heard his footsteps running down the hall. And your heart raced. 

You had been so close to your home this whole time, so close to Bucky, in the same town. You just didn’t know.

[jangofctts]

Are You in Or Out?

Rated: Explicit 

Word count: 11.5K yall I am SORRY

Warnings: good lord y'all here we GO-- smut, explicit language, violence and mentions of blood and gore, injuries, unprotected sex (don't be a dick, wrap that stick!), oral (m&f receiving), blindfolding, vaginal and anal fingering, vaginal and anal sex, double penetration, spit is used as lube but for the love of GOD doNT DO THAT, there are some dom vibes on Paz’s end    

Summary: The job you’re on takes a turn for the worst--Paz comes to your rescue and you're brought to the Covert. There you meet Din Djarin. though during a good natured sparring session, you’re suddenly stuck between an age old rivalry that spirals out of hand. Hopefully an agreement can be met. 

a/n: hey...how y’all doin....SO lemme explain you smthn. I said helmets must be OfF--giv me them LIPS BABEY so this is a slight AU in which mandos can see other mandos’ faces. ya get me? I also tHot that it would be nice and fun to set the timeline 5-6 years BEFORE the plot of the Mandalorian so we gots a younger din here. anyway, as always enjoy and I hope you like!!

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes—

Some as little as burning your finger on the nozzle of a smoking blaster or tripping over your own shoelaces. Simple things. Mindless things. 

Nothing that could ever compare to the catastrophic decision of picking up bounty hunting as a reliable source of income. 

The little ones were easy—tax evaders and deserters of the Empire—most who’d yield and gladly follow without complaint just at the sight of your blaster pointed between their eyes. And the gag of it is—most of the time you never bothered to load the damn thing. 

Reckless.

An invitation for disaster. 

But skirting that precarious edge, one little slip up away from plunging head first into inevitable trouble is better than Bracca. Stars—anything is better than Bracca. There’s no glory in bounty hunting but there’s even less in ship scrapping. Abysmal pay in exchange for risking your life on rain slicked metal with only the Ibdis Maw to break your fall.  

The guild you work for is considerate—scratch that. Greef Karga is considerate. Sure the flirting is a touch unbearable but it saves your ass in the long run. All easy money bounties set aside for you in exchange for a cheap drink, hollow laughs and sugar sweet smiles. 

It’s enough credits to get by—more than plenty to rent a room and charter a ship. 

But there’s only so many bounties to capture within the limits of the guild and oh so many people the empty blaster trick works on. And so the credits begin to thin; it gets too expensive to buy off a pilot and the debate over buying food or being able to pay for your room becomes more frequent than the scraprats that skitter inside the walls.  

It’s suicide to snag a higher paying bounty because....well—these bounties shoot back. 

Whatever.

 Might as well die trying. Who knows, maybe you could score big time if you manage to pull this off. 

Maybe. 

                                                       -=-=-=-

You’re not sure who’s more surprised—Karga when you asked for the bounty or yourself when he actually gave it to you. 

“Are you sure, kid? This could—“

“End in a fiery shitshow? Yeah—I figured that,” you sigh, swirling your drink with a little complimentary toothpick. “But I need the money.” 

“Hah! You’ve got guts, girl.” He flashes you a smile and smooths down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell you what. The last assignment was just taken but I’m sure if you run you could catch him. Work somethin’ out.”

Jumping from your seat, you throw on your coat and toss a couple credits onto the table to cover the drink. “What’s he look like?” 

“Big fellow—Mandalorian. You’ll know when you see him.”

You shout your thanks over your shoulder and hightail outta there. The landing docks aren’t far, you can see them from here. It’s finding the guy that could pose a problem.

If he hasn’t already left, you bitterly think. 

However, it seems the universe is on your side today. Karga was right. He is big. Stands out like a sore thumb against his ship that glitters dully in the overcast sky. Kinda like an oversized blueberry. A yellow and blue blueberry….not important—

“Hey! Hey, you!” You’re so close, just a couple yards away. You swear and hurry up your pace as he steps onto the loading ramp. “Big guy! Large...blue man?”

You trip over your own feet as he turns his head. Fuck—

No way are you gonna be able to bargain with this guy. Built like a fucking AT-AT and probably just as stubborn. After all, no one would ever be dumb enough to come between a Mandalorian and their quarry. You grimace, and suck in a breath—

Before a word even leaves your mouth he interrupts with a steady, unwavering;

“No.”

Your brows furrow. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you were going to ask,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I work alone.”

Ok, then. You didn’t want to resort to begging, but you’re kinda running out of options here. You take a steadying breath and plant yourself at the bottom of the ramp. “C’mon man. Look—I’ll let you take seventy percent of the cut and I can—“

“You’ll let me?” He repeats, the staticky tone of his voice dropping into an edge more cutting than broken transparisteel. The metal platting on the ramp vibrates from the weight of his step to move closer; Stars it takes every fucking inch of willpower to hold your ground. “You’re lucky if I let you leave with your life. Get lost.” 

Fuckfuckfuck—you should listen. You wanna fucking run for the hills and never look back in case he comes looking to purge your name from the kriffing galaxy. You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. Too bad—you’ve dug your heels so far into this empire of dirt and false bravado that your only way out is continuing to poke the sleeping bear until he snaps your spine or caves.

You have to crane your neck to glare into that dark strip of his vizor, seeing as he’s invited himself into your personal space. “No.”  

“No?” He mocks, now toe to toe with your scuffed up boots. 

Your teeth clench, a scalding flush burning through your cheeks and all the way down to your chest. He’s toying with you—finding amusement in your stubbornness and apparent lack of braincells for challenging him. “You don’t scare me.” 

The man hums, a deep purr that rumbles through his entire ribcage as he raises his gloved hand. You curse yourself for flinching because surely he’s about to crush your skull like a fucking grape, but no. All he does is fix your rumbled collar then pat your cheek.     

“I don’t need the extra baggage.”

“I’m not baggage,” you sneer, slapping his hand away. “I can handle myself.” 

“With an empty blaster?” He points out, tipping his head to the side. “Your parlor tricks won’t do you any good on this job.”

“I’m a good shot!” You sputter, placing your hands over you hips and mustering up your best glare. “W-when I have ammo…” 

“Right.”

Meeting Paz Vizsla, could have gone far better, to put it into the most simplest of words. Jagged and hard to settle into a routine around each other for the journey to Nar Shaddaa in a tiny, old, and cramped freighter ship. Most cycles you have to wedge yourself beside a cargo crate to sleep. In addition to that, how it’s able to break through the atmosphere let alone fly is beyond you—an entire mystery on its own.       

At least you’re able to sit in the spare seat inside the cockpit—one of the only places available to stretch your legs. The only problem is that it’s also where Paz Vizsla likes to lurk (well, not lurk—it’s his ship and it’s where he can comfortably fit but—to each their own). 

There’s a net of tension still woven between you—each interaction like tiptoeing over eggshells. Though, like all things, it becomes simpler. There’s not exactly any ongoing conversations—you don’t want to pry into a life you know nothing about—it’s not your business despite the cumulation of questions that linger in the back of your mind. You know when to take a hint—not every person is willing to indulge you about their livelihood, and surely not something as secretive and well guarded as the Mandalore.  

Familiarity is what you want to call it. Comfortable with each other’s presence with small talk speckled in throughout the never-ending vastness of hyperspace. Compared to the infinite turmoil in your life, slippery footholds and uncertainty—Paz Vizsla is steady. In a way— predictable and safe in the confines of this ship.       

You’d even go as far as to label him kind, a friend maybe—if you look past the grumpiness and rather poor taste in corny jokes. You know it’s stupid, no doubt stemming from the deep ache of loneliness that comes hand in hand with staking it out on your own in the galaxy; but you can’t help but wish that this could be a new normal. Not some once in a lifetime thing where you both part ways, fade into the recesses of memory and leave it at that. 

If things go well—and rarely do they on a job—maybe you’d pluck up enough courage to ask him if you could stay. There’s no harm in it…right?

                                                 -=-=-=-

Well—the cynical part of you was right.

It did end up in a fiery shit show. 

Turns out the stupid quarry you’d been tracking excelled in long range weaponry. A former marksman for the Empire to be exact. Guess that tidbit of information wasn’t pertinent. A need to know sorta thing, if you will. 

You feel the molten bolt of plasma connect with your side before your ears pick up the sound of a weapon firing, like a crack of lighting in the empty alleyway. And before your body even connects with the duracrete, Paz is returning fire. A brilliant neon red against the hazy blur of shadowy buildings.  

Kinda weird how knocking the back of your head hurts worse than the literal blaster wound burned into your side. Shock maybe. Or the heat from the plasma cauterized each veins and artery it tore through and ate away at flesh and nerves. Hm…          

You’re sprawled in a wet pool of something—either your own blood or a puddle of stagnant gutter water and damn—you’re wearing your favorite shirt.

It doesn’t matter at this point…

You’re choking on your own air from the big ass hole blasted into your diaphragm, so to say things are looking grim is an understatement.  

Nar Shaddaa isn’t your first choice to kick the can on, but hey—not everyone gets the luxury of dying on Naboo. And just as you’re ready to slip away into that sweet, sweet abyss, it seems your fellow armored friend has other plans. 

The beskar is freezing against your cheek after he deadlifts you off the duracrete—you remember that plain as day. That and the hushed rumble of Paz’s voice insisting you save your dwindling supply of air instead of apologizing to him—or ordering you to stay alive for kriff’s sake. It’s impossible to argue with Paz—like trying to bite through durasteel, and while those beckoning tendrils of eternal slumber are mighty tempting, you cling to your life with all the strength you have left. After all, inconveniencing someone with a corpse is such a party foul to the highest degree.    

The rest is muddled—like dredging up silt and clay in a murky river that just leaves you with a pounding headache between your eyes. It’s a terrible mess of pain and bouts of temporary consciousness, mistaken with fever dreams and yup—more pain. The only consistent is Paz—hovering nearby or settled beside you—through thick and thin as you heal. 

There’s no solid reason your brain can conjure as to why he brought you to the Covert—it’d have been easier to just dump you at the nearest hospital and be done with it. You’re not his responsibility and you’re too afraid to ask what it means. Too many possibilities—too many answers you aren’t in the mood to face or untwist.     

And so you leave it be, set aside for another time—which brings you to the present day…        

You’re splayed over your little makeshift cot, feet propped up on a spare pillow as you scour through a cheesy Coruscanti gossip magazine. It’s years old—the only piece of entertainment you could find other than a weapon in the Covert. And seeing as a massive hole had been blasted through your ribcage, picking up the clever art of throwing vibroblades or shooting targets to pass the time was out of the question.   

Even if you’d rather fall into a Sarlaac pit than stare at the wall for hours on end yet again—it hasn’t been all that bad. It’d taken weeks before you regained enough strength to sit up on your own, let alone walk—and walking is putting it lightly. It was more of a stiff legged shuffle better suited on a two hundred year old woman seconds from disintegrating into dust at the mere hint of a breeze.  

Not to mention—your right lung was all but shredded. Ripped apart from the plasma bolt and miraculously reconstructed by a more than questionable bacta tank, hopeful thoughts and well wishes. To this very day you still sound like a broken air filter. 

Eh.    

Could be worse. 

At least you aren’t dead. 

Just another setback that adds on the growing pile of reasons why never to leave the Covert. Free food, free board and mild entertainment to top it off. Paz had stayed at your bedside for the most part while you recovered—stuck with babysitting your sorry ass until you regained a bit of mobility. The times Paz hadn’t been at your side to stave off the boredom, it was up to you to find your own fun. 

Snooping is what Paz had labeled it—but you saw it more as an adventure. You met Din Djarin exploring (lost is what you actually were) in the dimly lit underbelly of Nevarro, after all. Yes, you may have scared the ever loving shit out of the poor guy and yes, he may have singed off your brows with a five foot jet of fucking fire—but hey. No one got hurt.        

And you made a new friend. Sorta…Din is difficult to read, subtler in his soft spoken words and quiet demeanor. A bit like a skittish loth-cat at the start, but nowadays it’s not uncommon to find him lounging in the same space as you or hovering over your shoulder, awfully curious in whatever it is you choose to do. Like Paz, Din isn’t overly fond of sharing much information about himself but he never complains after you regale tales of your own vastly fascinating past. He seems interested enough—tilts his head a tick to the right when you speak to indicate that yes, he’s listening despite the unforgiving dark line of his visor.      

There are others in the Covert too—some so elusive you have a hard time believing they exist. Shadows of what they once were before the rise of the Empire. And so, you count yourself lucky that you’d been introduced to two others—Aeris Fenn, a young man nearly as tall as a Wookie, and a woman named Ives Arrey; her armor a flashy green—damn near florescent in the light. 

They’re nice enough company. Aeris is a chatterbox, his wit sharper than a blade but lacking in any forethought before he speaks. Ives is the far opposite—rolls each sentence in her mouth before she voices it, but in no way is she angelic. Maker—you’d bet your entire left asscheek she’s behind each bad decision and silly shenanigans Aeris sticks his nose into. He never learns—not after a harsh chiding or cuff around the helmet from Paz or the Armorer could dampen is childlike enthusiasm or steer him away from repeating the same mistake over and over.  

Though if you read one more kriffing sentence of this garbage magazine you’re about to invite chaos himself to entertain you. Good thing too because just as you sit up to find the red armored Mandalorian—Paz rounds the corner and steps into your little broom closet that hardly passes for a room. 

“Paz!” You greet, tossing the magazine over your shoulder. “Please tell me we’ll be doing something interesting or else I might start ripping my hair out. Or maybe commit a heinous crime—haven't decided yet.”      

Paz grunts and shakes his head. “You’ll be doing neither. But today we’ll be sparing—hopefully that will curve your boredom.”

You scrunch up your face. “Sparring? Er, no thanks—I choose life.” 

“You breathe funny since your injury,” he says, jabbing a finger between your ribs. “And all you’ve been doing lately is laying around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you sneer, tucking your arms over your chest. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be running laps with half a lung.”

“It’s like stretching a muscle, you need to gain your strength back.” He retorts. “This will be good for you.” 

You groan and flop back into bed. “I don’t wanna. I was pretty much dead like three cycles ago—cut me some slack, man.”

There’s a brief silence as if he’s mulling over your words, but he’s stubborn. You crane your head to look at him as he says your name with a deep sigh attached to it.   

“Truthfully, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.” He says it quietly, fragile even, like he’s still expecting you to tip over and die on the spot. You very well might.  

You huff. “Wow. Thanks, Paz.” 

You feel his heavy stare through the helmet. “What happened to you that night was a mistake. It wasn’t preventable but the least I can do is teach you basic selfdefense.”  

You gripe out your complaints but you know you’ve been beat—and well, a bit of your agreement is based on guilt. 

Damn it.  

                                                     -=-=-=-

It’s weird to see Paz without his heavy duty gear—like seeing him naked or a crab without a shell. The only piece he continues to wear is his helmet and padded gloves and under clothes, but it’s still weird. Strange enough that it shocks you tongue into remaining still instead of bitching about this. 

He leads you to a wing of the Covert you’ve yet to discover and ushers you through the doorway. The floor is padded, a bit smaller than you expected and already occupied by none other than Aeris Fenn. 

It’s a whole other kriffing shock to the head seeing him without the plates and layers of fabric and beskar too. The armor makes him bulkier—fuller and much more intimidating. Now, with only his black underclothes on, Aeris could be the spitting image of a sentient tree. Willowy limbs that stick out like branches as he stretches on the padded mat. He lazily swings his head around as you greet him, his face still covered by the black beskar painted with streaks of red. 

“So you choose sparring over knife throwing?” Aeris snorts. “And to think I thought of you as a friend.” 

“You think I chose to be here?” You say, grumpy and still upset at the choice of activity. Really, a brisk walk around the Covert would’ve been fine.

Aeris shrugs. “Ah, and I see you’ve roped in my favorite vod. Tch, he uses his fists instead of his words to teach. I wish you luck—you’ll need it.”      

You open your mouth to retort but Paz beats you to it. 

“Leave.” 

“I’ve just arrived, actually,” Aeris scoffs, folding his torso over his other leg to stretch. “Perhaps you could reschedule. After all—our guest is quite free most days.” 

Welp—you’re perfectly fine with that. Problem solved. 

You spin on your heel and make a break for it but Paz snatches your wrist and pulls you back to his side. “Aeris.”  

“Paz,” Aeris mocks, tipping his helmet to the side. 

Paz exhales, a long, tired sound and grovels out another plea in clipped Mando’a. Aeris languidly stands and brushes off imaginary dust from the front of his pants. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t understand your accent.” 

“Boy—“

“No, no, it’s alright.” Aeris sighs, waving his hand in a mopey display as if he were told that his birthday party were canceled for the fifth year in a row. “I’d have trouble speaking too if my enormously thick head were cooped up in that little bucket of yours all day.”  

You wince. 

In the time you’ve known Paz Vizsla, he’s never been one to launch into rash decisions fueled by anger—he lets it simmer and build like an oncoming storm over the ocean. Devastating once it reaches land.

Aeris bobs his head and inspects his black leather glove, picking at a loose thread on the inseam over the thumb. He clicks his tongue. “Or'dinii—you’re going to kill her.”  

Your offended scoff is ignored as Paz steps forward; jutting his chin up to even out the few inches Aeris holds over the man. “You still haven’t learned to shut your mouth, boy.” 

The tension surges and crackles like a volt of electricity through the air—unresolved and ready to ignite with the sparking embers of Paz’s growing irritation. It’s not a fight Aeris Fenn will win. He’s volatile and hotheaded—but his expertise is in long range weaponry. Precise, deadly and swift—not whatever this little pissing match is heading towards.    

Aeris clicks his tongue as Paz digs a fist into the black fabric of his shirt. Paz yanks him forward, the metallic clink of their helmets colliding an unpleasant scrape that pierces your eardrums. Aeris snarls out sharpened words in Mando’a as his willowy fingers shoot up to curl beneath the lip of Paz’s helmet. 

In the blink of an eye, Paz lifts Aeris up by his collar and launches him across the room like he weighs nothing more than a couple of down pillows. His helmet meets the wall with a resounding clank, chipping some of the red paint outlining the visor. Ouch. 

Like a kicked dog, Aeris clambers to his feet, still dazed and swaying and for a fearful second you think he’ll retaliate. But with whatever braincells he happens to possess today—he instead spits out a venomous curse that even yourself would hesitate to repeat. He leaves without another word, bristling with rage. 

Your flash Paz a questioning stare. “The hell was that about?” 

Paz waves it away with an irritated grunt. “His heart is in the right place but he is young. Aeris doesn’t understand his place in the Covert yet and I doubt he will for years to come.” 

You frown. “Poor guy…” 

Paz mutters something under his breath. “Enough distractions. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Y’know…I think that’s enough excitement for today. I think I’ll be going now—“ Your last ditch attempt at weaseling out of this is quickly thwarted the moment you turn your back.  

You wheeze as the heel of Paz’s palm shoves into your shoulder blade, the force of it sending you stumbling to the ground. “Paz—“

“Go on. Hit me,” he orders. You squeak, narrowly avoiding the well aimed kick that skims the top of your scalp. 

You scramble to your feet, skirting out of range of the oncoming right hook. “So you attack me instead?” 

“How do you expect to catch quarries who are bigger than you?” He presses. You hiss as the points of his knuckles dig into the meat of your shoulder. 

You dance out of reach and rub your arm, a dull throb flaring up in the muscle. “I dunno—electrocute them?”

“Not if they take you by surprise.” 

You screech as his knuckles skim your cheek. Adrenaline pierces you veins and you wildly throw a flaky punch that wouldn’t even impress a toddler. He catches your fist with ease, his entire hand dwarfing your clenched fingers. “You can do better than that.” 

You snarl and struggle to rip your hand back. “I’m a scrapper. I don’t fight.”

“No,” he retorts. You fall onto your ass as he abruptly lets go of your hand. “You’re a bounty hunter.” 

You roll your eyes. “Hardly—why can’t I just stay here?”

Although there’s nothing to see with that swatch of black covering his eyes, you can certainly feel the look he’s giving you. A deep sigh hisses through the vocoder. “You can stay here—“

A triumphant smile splits across your face—

“—but not without contributing where it’s due.”

You puff up your cheeks and let out a dismayed stream of air. “Booo—lame.”

He sighs again and helps you off the floor. “Even if you leave the Guild, what I’m teaching you is helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “I’ll give you a call after I use your invaluable skills to beat up some thug.”

Paz ignores your comment and turns on his heel. “Let’s go through it again. This time use your front two knuckles instead of your whole fist.”

As your eyes land over the stretch of tight fighting fabric over his back an idea pops into your head. It’s a petty move but getting a punch in is fruitless—like trying to beat up a brick wall. You don’t fancy a broken hand and your knuckles are already bruised and swollen to the point where it’s hard to bend them. 

And so, without any forethought and with a running head start, you launch yourself onto him, your arms coiling around his neck. It does the job—takes him by surprise and makes him tip to the right. 

Aha! Yes!

Your reign of victory is short lived, however—

He latches onto your forearms strung around his neck and yanks. And much in the same way he threw Aeris like a sack of potatoes—you’re no different. For a short stretch of time that feels kriffing endless; you soar through the air, your directional whereabouts violently ripped out beneath you and equally nauseating in the same breath. 

Why you ever agreed to this—you don’t know.   

Your shoulder blade connects with the mat first, leaving behind a dull sting as you roll and tumble with uncontrollable momentum. Oh, yeah—you’ll feel that in the morning. 

Groaning, you thank the Maker that your body eventually settles into a miserable little pile of limbs and pain. But, it seems whatever higher power that lingers in the edges of the galaxy hasn’t decided to put you out of your misery just yet. 

A bulky shadow blocks out the dim lighting overhead, and for a brief anxiety ridden moment you’re afraid it’s Paz. You roll onto your back with a pathetic groan, a beg for mercy on the tip of your tongue—but as your eyes flutter open they’re met with an entirely different man. 

Din Djarin looms over you, his head cocked to the side as you blink in dumbfounded bewilderment. Ah, hell— 

You swallow, a furious heat bitting at your cheeks. “Uh…fine weather we’re having…”

“We’re inside,” he states with a brief glance up to the ceiling. 

You purse your lips. “Huh.”

With a pensive hum he offers his hand, you sigh and roll over, accepting his gloved hand. He hoists you up easily and adjusts your rumpled collar. “You ok?”

“Pfft, yeah,” you groan, rubbing your throbbing shoulder. “Never better.”

The low grumble of your name is a cross between disbelief and irritation. Din jerks his head, his attention zeroing in on Paz. “Are you trying to kill her?” 

“She isn’t made of glass.” 

“She is still recovering—“

Normally you’d intervene, but their bickering is tiring and it gives you the excuse to lie down. By the time one of them caves you’ve counted exactly one hundred and twelve weird ceiling stains. They should get that checked out.  

“Very well,” Paz snarls, cutting through your wandering thoughts. “You teach her.” 

Din scoffs, his shoulders drawn tight as he stomps over to your splayed out self. “Get up.”

“Geez, fine,” you grumble, not in the mood to test his patience further. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Later he’ll no doubt apologize but right now? He has to prove a point. Din cuts right to it, moves in close to place your clenched fists in the right stance and nudges at your feet until they’re a bit wider than hip distance. 

“You have to get in close with a bigger opponent,” he says, stepping into your space until your fists are close enough to touch his chest. “We don’t have much range here—easier to break our guard too.” 

“Right. And how would you suggest I do that?”

“You’re always beating me at cards.” Din says, tipping his head to the side. “You have a clever mind. Use it.” 

“But I always cheat.” You point out, dropping your guard to swat at a stray hair.   

He catches your wrists and returns them to where they ought to be. “Quick enough to get away with it.” 

You make a noise of uncertainty but do as you're told. Din takes a couple steps back and with a rough order you begin. 

He’s faster than Paz—bats at your guard in quick bursts and steps away when you attempt to hit back. It’s a dance almost—somehow elegant in its brutality of bruises and flashes of pain as you move around one another. Compared to Din, Paz is almost clumsy but unpredictable. Din—despite the rapidness of his attacks and evasiveness, becomes predictable.

He steps to to left—you follow. He rocks onto his toes to jab his fist forward and that’s where you find a break. Punching Din’s helmet won’t do you any good but catching the juncture of his shoulder with your elbow is completely feasible. Too bad that you’re not the only one with a clever mind.        

Din uses the momentum of your attack to catapult you to the ground—his own body rolling with you in order to capture you in a headlock of sorts. This sucks. After this you’ll never be setting foot in this Maker forsaken room again. 

Din tightens his elbow that’s looped around your throat as you squirm and flail, trapped against his chest. He grunts as your elbow digs into his ribs but holds steady and snakes his free arm across your front, pinning your limbs to your body in an unbreakable vice. All mobility is cut off as his knee pushes between your thighs, locking your leg out into an uncomfortable and frankly quite awkward angle. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you arch as the crown of his helmet skims along the curve of your throat; the bite of beskar frigid and startling against your flushed skin. You can see his visor out of the corner of your eye; glittering and dark like the polished obsidian on Black Spire and endless like the greedy maw of a black hole. 

Your breath hitches as he shifts and curls his head closer to your ear. His voice rumbles low and deep through his chest and vibrates against the delicate cartilage. “Yield.” 

However much your pride wrestles with the sensible part of your brain, it’s all for naught as you jerk your head in defeat.  

In retrospect you should’ve said something—used your voice or made some kinda sound because suddenly Din’s forearm digs alarmingly hard into your windpipe. He read the stuttered jerk of your head as another pitiful act of defiance but no. Nope. 

Here you are—asphyxiating.   

Not exactly what you had in mind, being strangled by a Mandalorian and all—but a chokehold where you could very well die was not it. 

Fuzzy darkness begins to shade the corners of your vision, lightheadedness and a curious warmth that prickles down your spine settling low in your belly. A raspy gasp manages to slip through your blocked off airway, and stars why does this feel good?   

“Din—”

Paz’s sharp bark is distant above the ringing in your ears and it all stops.

You gulp in air that burns your throat like refined fire whiskey—hunched over the mat as a large palm rubs soothing circles over your upper back. You cough and roll over, sounding like a dying animal run over by a speeder then hit with a spiked club to polish it off. 

You’re quickly herded into Paz’s arms and pulled into his lap. Still wheezing and attempting to recover lost oxygen, whatever Din is trying to say translates into an indiscernible hum against the ringing in your ears.  

“I’m fine,” you mutter, though neither of them care to listen. Like bristling wolves, snapping at each other’s heels.  

“Apologize to her,” there’s not so much as a centimeter of room to argue. “Now.”           

It’s nice of Paz you suppose—defending your honor and what not, but you’re not a vengeful person. It was an honest mistake and you want to explain that so Din quits looking like a kicked puppy, yet the sudden touch over your ankle stops you. All the times Din has initiated contact it’d been a friendly pat to your shoulder or ruffling you hair, and while touching your ankle isn’t exactly scandalous it’s certainly an odd place to put your hand on. 

Your fingers clutch Paz’s shirt as you eye the man lingering at the bottom of your feet, his gloved thumb unconsciously rubbing patterns into the exposed skin between your boot and your pant leg. “Cyare—I’m sorry.” 

You blink and lick your lips. Interesting. “I-I don’t know what that word means.”

His hand inches higher, resting on the swell of your calf. “Sweetheart…darling…loved one—“ 

There’s a shift—a dark undercurrent that none of you should be dipping your toes into. There’s a million and one things to say or do to sever this at the root, but are you going to? Nah. 

Din’s thumb now rests over your knee, goosebumps following in his wake. “Should I keep going?” 

It too hot—stuffy with both of their heavy stares locked on your flushed face. You squirm and glance up at Paz who only offers an impassive stare. Great.   

“I can make it up to you,” Din continues, his hand stationary—a warm weight even through the fabric of your pants. “If you let me.” 

Your mouth feels drier than the desert on Jakku. This…nothing good could come out of what Din is hinting at. This is uncharted territory—launching yourself into the great unknown without any idea of what’ll fester and grow if you agree. 

It’s not like it hasn’t crossed your mind—it’s just…it’s never been both of them at the same time. These men are short-tempered, an open flame to jet fuel with deeply seated ire woven into the very fabric of their beings. You’ve barely scratched the surface on the inner workings of their mutual hostility, but you’re bright enough to question if this will make it worse. Tinder and brittle twigs feeding and enabling the hungry flames of rivalry to spiral and consume with chaotic brilliance of a dying star—

But, oh—

Isn’t it worth taking the risk? 

You suck in a grounding breath and slowly extend your leg that Din touches, gingerly skimming the toe of your shoe along the inseam of his inner thigh. “H-how would you…make it up to me?”

Din preens at your answer and shuffles closer, lifting your legs so that they rest in his lap. Devotion drips off his words like a fine liquor as he toys with the laces on your boots. “Anything—say it and it’s yours.”    

Sparks of molten heat race down your spine and metastasize in your lower belly, spreading through each vein and artery like a some sort of invasive ivy. You spare a look up at Paz as he shifts.      

“Go ahead, girl,” Paz assures. “Answer him.” 

It’s an unspoken, buzzing sort of thing like the static air before a storm, crackling and surging with pent up energy. You all know the implications of what’s to come—but it’s your words, quiet and steady that irons that nail into your coffin.

“Take me like you mean it.” 

The next few moments pass in a dizzying blur, a mess of anticipation as your shoes are yanked off, your pants following soon after and tossed into some unknown corner of the room. Paz helps you out of your shirt, a shiver wracking through your body from the chill, leaving you bare save for your underthings. Yet the warmth that seeps through his shirt and his hands that linger over your ribcage do a lovely job at making up for the cold.

Din shuffles closer and brings his fingers up to cup the side of your face, lowering his head to rest the crown of his helmet on your forehead. “Wanna touch you.” 

Your breath hitches as Paz’s hands sweep up your torso, cupping and kneading your breasts. “Y-you already are touching me, Din." 

Paz snorts as the rough leather of his gloves scrape over your skin and unhook your bindings. You hardly hear Din over your own whine as Paz rolls your hardened nipples between a forefinger and thumb. 

“I want to feel you—without the gloves,” Din clarifies, fighting to keep your attention on him. “Will you let me?”  

Maker that shouldn’t even be a question. You moan out your approval, delighted that both of them decide to slip off the padded fabric. Din touches your bare thigh the same moment Paz returns his hands to your tits and it’s exhilarating. The rasp of their bare palms against your flesh is addicting—something so foreign and warm compared to their usual armor and thick layered clothing. 

You arch into Paz’s hand as it curls around the base of your throat, a tentative pressure but still heavy. “You’d let us do anything, wouldn’t you? Needy little thing.”

“Yes,” you croak, already debauched and falling apart at the seams. “Anything.”

You’re all too happy to fade away in the embrace of the larger man but the other participant is far from letting that slide. Din grabs your hand, guiding it towards the front of his trousers, the drawstrings already loose and easy to pull aside. He groans and twitches as your fingertips flirt along his navel, then curl over the waistband, tugging his pants the rest of the way down to pool around his knees. 

You reach for the already impressive outline of his cock pressing against his boxers, but Paz cupping your cunt through your underwear just before you touch Din is distracting. You gasp and arch as Paz digs the heel of his palm against your clit, electrifying ecstasy zipping down your spine with each touch. 

There’s a twinge of guilt after Din huffs and drags your limp wrist back to his cock, this time encouraging you to palm him by guiding your actions with his own hand until you lazily oblige. Din’s quiet grunts, gravely against the vocoder do nothing but throw more jet fuel to the fire inside your belly. The growing urge to actually touch him gnaws and corrodes the forefront of your brain. With a firm yank his boxers are quick to join his trousers and Maker—

Fuck—

Will he even fit?

Din is thick, rosy brown and flushed at the tip and beginning to curl towards his bellybutton. A bead of liquid shines at the tip, dribbling down the underside as he wraps his fist around the base of his length. He gives himself a languid stroke before he, once again, reminds your hand of what it’s supposed to be doing. Din is searing in your palm, molten and stiffening to hardened steel in your grip.   

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Din hisses as his head rolls back onto his shoulders. “S-so pretty holding my cock.”

Your desperation tears at your insides, insatiable and Maker— you wanna taste him. You want to hear every little stuttered moan and feel each twitch of his hips as he claims your mouth as his own.    

But before you’re able to ask Din if he’d be willing to fuck your throat, Paz grips your knee and slings your leg over his thigh, murmuring praise as he peels off your underwear. Paz’s hand snakes down to your pussy and runs two thick fingers through your already slick cunt, then delicately parts your folds. 

It’s like a fucking bomb going off as his thumb grazes over your swollen clit. His forearm locks tight around your waist, keeping you in place as you arch and tremble. Paz is feather light and teasing, as he strokes over the little bundle of nerves in a painstakingly slow rhythm. 

“Paz—“ 

He nudges your cheek with his helmet and chuckles. “You’re so sensitive, vaar’ika. Such lovely noises too.”  

Paz trades in his light touches for using his two fingers instead. They form a relaxed ‘v’ shape, trapping your clit in between the digits as he massages in a steady up and down motion. You cry out, every nerve shocked and flooded with saccharine pleasure, shoving you so treacherously close to that precarious edge of release.      

You have no fucking chance as a different set of fingers, leaner in length but just as bulky, carefully prod at your entrance. Din’s pointer finger slides into your cunt, quickly adding a second as your core clenches and stretches for him. The dual sensations over your clit and Din’s fingers steadily pumping and curling inside you send you hurling into that dazzling white-hot pleasure.     

Throwing your head back, you cry out—a jumbled mess of their names or just nonsense— pleasure crackling out from your core and all the way down your legs. Your cunt tightens like a vice around Din’s digits, your legs twitching as your high dips into prickly overstimulation. You whine, and swat at Paz’s hand, Din pulling out his own fingers a moment later and wiping your wetness on the inside of your thigh. 

Your head rests in the crook of Paz’s shoulder as your breath fans across the side of his helmet, fogging up the metal where the blue paint is chipped and scraped away. The shirt he wears smells a bit like sweat but the underlying scent of him is comforting—worn leather and something crisp, like fresh laundry. You don’t mean for the words to slip out—

You know better than that, but everything feels muddled and silly and, and, and—

“I wish I could kiss you.”  

It’s like dousing ice cold water on a pile of smoldering coals. A silence, petrifying and like the inhale before jumping off a cliff and into a rocky sea, ensues. Stupid, stupid, stupid—  

Paz shatters the fragile suspense with a rich laugh that burns away all the icy worry making itself a home in your ribcage. He moves his arm up, his fingers gripping your jaw to fix your gaze onto the other Mandalorian. “You want his mouth on you too?”  

You whimper and nod, but it isn’t enough. 

“Use your voice vaar’ika,” Paz hums, pressing the crown of his helmet against your cheek. “Tell us want you want.” 

“I-fuck—” Paz’s fingertips sneak up your torso, rough callous catching deliciously on your skin. “I wan’t your mouth on me. B-both of you.” 

Paz chuckles and releases his hold on your chin. “You’ll have to be blindfolded, sweet girl.”

Din scoffs, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. “Like she’d want to see your face anyway.”

“Please,” you mewl, turning your head to curl into Paz’s neck. It’s not ideal, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. “I don’t care. I need—“

“Patience, little one,” Paz purrs, rubbing up and down your bare sides in a soothing manner. All it does is stoke the flames. “You’ll get what you want.” 

Paz shifts, reaching for your abandoned shirt and stars—

You can feel his cock, firmer then tempered durasteel and poking into your lower back. Oh, hell—these men are going to ruin you. 

You’re nudged forward, your vision going dark once your shirt is securely tied around your head. The knot traps a few hairs that pull sharp against your scalp but the measly pain is worth it. Oh so worth it.  

“Is it too tight?” You hear Din ask, concern lacing his gravely vocals. 

You wave your hand in dismissal. “S’fine.”

“Cant see anything either, right?” 

You squirm, your patience spreading thin. “Din, please.”

“Fine.” There’s no bite to his tone and under different circumstances you’d have more composure. Acknowledge that they’re putting their religion, their whole being into your hands—a fragile trust that could so easily be shattered. 

Your ears pick up their subtle movements, their helmets landing onto the thin mat with soft thunks. With bated breath you wait for them to jump into action, seize every spare moment to taste your skin and breathe the same air. But—

“You need a haircut, vod.”

“And you need to shave.” Retorts Din with bitter indignation. 

“It’s hardly even stubble.” He chortles. You giggle and twist away as he scrapes his prickly cheek up and down your neck. “Besides—she likes it.” 

There’s another lull, and with the blindfold everything is amplified—the quick and quiet breathing of Din on your right and the slide of fabric against skin as Paz shifts. Your attention is captured by Din’s bare palm, warm and calloused like weathered leather left out in the afternoon sun. He caresses the outside of your thigh in smooth, longing strokes, enraptured by the softness of your skin. You whimper and let your leg fall open, exposing more of your thigh for his curious exploration. 

The sudden touch on your cheek is jarring. You know Paz is there—it’s not an easy thing to forget the solid chest you’re leaning against but it’s hard to focus. Difficult to settle on one thought before it slips away like grains of sand between a clenched fist. Paz’s touch is heavier than Din’s, ambitious and greedy but…mindful. Even as his fingers spread along your jaw and drag you into a deep, mouthwatering kiss. It’s…stars—   

There’s nothing that can describe this. No word that could ever hold a candle up to the way his lips, plush and soft, move against yours. His nose brushes against your cheek as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his warm tongue sliding against the seam of your bottom lip. 

You whine and bury your hand into his hair as Paz groans, a low rumble in his throat. You wonder what color it is, but carding your fingers through the curls atop his head suffices for now.

Your curiosity is abruptly ended as Din’s hand snakes around your forearm. You’re forcibly yanked away, only to be met with another pair of lips. Din murmurs an apology at the sting of his teeth bumping into your upper lip, but the pain is hardly the first thing on your mind. 

Din’s kiss is devouring—  

Scalding and bright—the galaxy, a thousand suns, all there ever will be and all that ever was. The way his lips move against yours is a devastatingly sharp contrast to the steady, syrupy sweet kiss Paz offers. Desperate and eager to surround you in his own arms—steal away any lingering thought and replace it with him. Din Djarin—  

You gasp as Din’s teeth nibble and pull on your bottom lip, only a moment before he surges closer, wrapping his hand around your jaw to hold it open as he licks deep into your mouth. Breaking for air, Din tangles his fingers into your hair at the base of your neck and yanks, baring the column of your throat. His travels down, the tender kisses morphing into teasing nips and lingering sucks that’ll turn into tender bruises in the morning. 

Din hovers over your breasts, his heated breath and cooling saliva the catalyst to the goosebumps that rush over your skin. He lightly tugs on your nipple using his teeth, then plants a sweet kiss over your sternum.   

“Can I taste you?” Din murmurs, his lips ghosting over your flesh. “Maker—wanna put my mouth on you.” 

“Din—“ A different set of lips latching onto the juncture of your neck and hijacks your train of thought. Wipes your mind clean until Paz is the sole thing you can consciously focus on. 

Paz laves his tongue over the shell of your ear and urges you to lean back against him once more. Your nose scrapes against his stubble as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his hips lazily rolling his hardened cock into your backside. 

“Or…” Paz rumbles, capturing your hand and interlacing your fingers with his. You marvel at the sheer size of his palm—astounded still when he leads his and your hands to palm his cock. “I could give you this. Fuck your pretty little cunt until you’re screaming for me.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Why the fuck do you have to choose? You squirm as Din points his tongue over your nipple then sucks it into his mouth. 

Working through the fog in your head, the answer is clearer than fucking crystal. Because who in their right mind would turn down a Mandalorian’s request to eat you out? Not you, that’s for sure. “Din—want your mouth.”

Din huffs in triumph and slips between your legs that part to accommodate his broad shoulders, leaving no patch of bare skin untouched and worshiped. You shiver as his tongue circles around your bellybutton then retreats. Din settles his head beside your knee and mouths a kiss there.  

You whine his name and buck your hips, heart beating wildly in your ears. The teasing is unbearable and, stars—if he doesn’t start now— 

He nibbles on the inside of your thigh, laving his warm tongue over each mark he leaves behind, buffering the sting of his teeth. Din snake his hands under your ass, hooking your knees over his shoulders as he heaves your cunt closer to his mouth. Din’s thumbs part your soaking pussy, his breath hot fanning over your cunt. His tongue his scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your slit all the way up to your clit. 

Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through you. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—fuck. Fuck, you need more.   

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are obliterated; nothing but the warmth of his tongue, and his lips, devouring you as if he were a man seconds from death and you’re his saving grace. That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade into smoke—but you’re not going anywhere. Not even a million credits could convince you to push Din’s head away. 

He sinks two fingers into your clenching hole and curls his fingers, stroking and curling his fingertips to make you sing. Zeros in on that little spot that causes the involuntary twitches of your leg and wrenches embarrassing, high pitched mewls that fill the room. You’re careening towards your high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 

“Shit—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must hurt. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 

Your release unfurls through your body like sticky molasses—smoldering embers that seep into each limb until they’re heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to think and at this rate your brain is as good as gone.   

You pay only a fraction of attention to Din as he kisses his way back up your body and lands a final one over your lips. His thumb grazes over your chin, his gravelly words of praise cutting through some of that foggy haze, how good you were, how fucking delicious you tasted when you came on his tongue. You taste your own arousal on his mouth as he noses your cheek and captures your lips in another kiss.           

“Are you done?” Paz asks dryly, much too barbed to be thrown your way. You groan when Paz jostles your limp body as he hoists you back into his lap.

“Just starting, actually,” Din quips. “Why don’t you hand her back over? I’ve got some more things I wanna try.” 

Paz scoffs and secures a heavy arm around your middle. “Greed will get you nowhere.” 

“Neither will your arrogance.” 

“Shut up—both of you,” you interrupt. Your voice is raw and choppy but it does the job. “Just fuck me already.”

For now their little spat is sidelined—it’s not worth ripping off that bandage of a temporary truce. There’s a chaste moment of quiet, like they’re considering tearing into each other’s throats instead, but with a touch to Paz’s thigh the standoff fizzles out. 

“We need to work on your manners,” Paz suggests, curling his large, calloused hand around your neck in a loose hold. “I believe it’s please fuck me.” 

Maybe if you weren’t practically a pile of brainless goo, you’d argue. See how far you can push—though this time you fold. “Please fuck me. P-please—I need it.” 

Seemingly satisfied with your answer; Paz wedges a hand between your bodies to grip his cock and run the tip through your folds, soaked from you own wetness and Din’s saliva. The head of his member nudges at your entrance, and wether it’s his size or the fact you can’t see anything—you panic. 

Your hand shoots out, nails harpooning into the meat of his forearm. “W-wait—you’re too b-big.”  

Paz freezes and moves you up his lap and presses a kiss over you hairline. “We can stop. Just say—“

“N-no, I’m fine,” you assure, planting an apologetic peck on his stubbled jaw. Stopping is the last thing you want to do—it was just…overwhelming. A sensory overload testing the very fringes of your being. “Go slow?”

You feel his head bob in compliance as he moves you back to where you’re hovering over his cock. You relax this time, not as many alarm bells clanging through your head as your cunt flutters around the fat tip and then that glorious, first thick inch. Paz’s thumb bumps over your throbbing clit, coaxing your pussy to take him further. 

“Yeah, that’s it vaar’ika,” he grunts, his breath fanning over your neck in quick pants. “Taking my cock so fucking well. So nice and pretty.”

Your pussy flutters, fresh waves of arousal hot and burning.You nearly keel over when Paz starts shallowly rocking his hips, easing your body the rest of the way down his length until the back of your thighs touch his. Maker—how the hell is he all the way inside? You can feel him in your fucking guts—         

“See?” Paz purrs. He sucks a bruise into the meat of your shoulder and pushes his palm against your lower stomach, making the fit even tighter. “Fits fucking perfect.”

The noise your cunt makes pulling out and the debauched moan that filters through his vocal chords is obscene. If anyone where to walk by, well—it’s certainly not training that’s going on, for the better lack of words. 

Paz holds true to his word—keeps his pace limited to deep, languid thrusts that brush up against something that makes your whole body shake—like strumming a golden chord molded to a musician’s fingers. Fuck—he’s doing all the work too. Lifting you by the swell of your hips and pulling you down onto his cock with a rough buck of his hips. 

Abruptly, he slows to a gentle rocking—quick to lock you in place as you thrash and roll your hips. “Paz—n-no. Keep going. You n-need to—“

Paz silences your please with a wet, open mouthed kiss. “Our friend looks lonely. Why don’t you use that pretty mouth and suck his cock?” 

Din. 

You hear the man curse in Mando’a, probably some stab at Paz—

But with a pat to your outer thigh, you don’t need any more prompting—you’d give up your left hand to get a chance to suck him off. With the help of Paz, you’re eased onto your hands and knees, shocks of white-hot pleasure zipping through your core at the change of angle. Like this Paz is seated deeper inside, stabbing into each spot that makes you sing.    

Fuck—your arms are shaking—only able to hold yourself up for half a click and then you’re sinking face first into the floor, ass in the air as he fucks into you. Paz clicks his tongue and wraps his arm around your front, pulling you back up from your slumped position. 

“I told you to suck his cock, girl. Not take a nap.” Paz accentuates his words with heavy, well measured thrusts—the kind of force you know will leave your whole lower half throbbing and sore in the aftermath. 

You whine as Paz grabs a hold of your jaw, digging into the tender joints until your mouth falls open. “Good. Keep it like that.” 

Paz’s hand falls away, replaced by a softer touch. The pads of Din’s fingers hook under your chin, guiding and tempting you nearer to what rests between his legs, hot and heavy and large.       

You feel the tip of his cock, flushed and pulsing, rest on your bottom lip. You lap up the beads of sticky precum with kitten licks that morph into suckling the entire head. Din grunts out your name and tangles his hand into your hair as you tongue at the ridged frenulum. He never forces you to swallow down more of him—lets you cradle the first few inches in the wet warmth of your mouth and languidly roll the pad of your tongue around him. 

You want to take him deeper, let Din fuck your throat raw, but your jaw already aches. Your lips are pulled tight around his shaft, drool dribbling down your chin and landing on the mat below. You’re not sure if you could take more of him without the danger of your teeth catching or dislocating your jaw. So you manage like this—hollowing out your cheeks and and using the momentum of Paz’s thrusts to pleasure Din.          

It’s frustrating—it must be each time you let his cock slip out of your mouth to breathe or the fact Din isn’t able to fucking fit his cock into your mouth. Annoying that you aren’t able to think properly to help him out a bit ore when that said brain is being fucked straight outta you, put through the wringer and then body slammed onto duracrete. 

Din cups your cheek, strokes over your skin with his thumb and maneuvers himself out of your mouth. You whine and lean into his palm, his touch addictive like smoldering coals in the dead of winter.    

“You want me there instead of him?” Din purrs, using the tips of his index and middle fingers to tilt your chin and drag you into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck you like you deserve.” 

The profane imagery of Din between your legs instead makes you clench tight. It only takes a couple seconds and a few more feverish kisses before you’re nodding to his request. Paz mutters a swear, hesitates, and reluctantly pulls out, leaving your cunt empty and aching with need. 

Din, however, is speedy—quick to hoard you to himself and yank your legs over his hips so that you’re draped on his lap. He jumps straight to the point, no fancy maneuver or drawn out teasing—just grabs the base of his cock, slides the flushed tip between your folds and sinks into your cunt. Even after your pussy had been stretched and molded around Paz’s length, you struggle to take Din’s entire cock into your aching center. It’s easier than Paz but, Maker—not by much. 

You whine, harpooning your fingernails into his shoulder once he bottoms out. Din snarls a curse and latches his teeth onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder, prickly pain shooting directly to your belly. “Fucking tight. H-how—fuck.”

There’s no time to adjust before Din sets a pace, harsh and desperate—his hands digging into the flesh of your ass for better leverage. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end before it could be yanked out from under him. Din’s staggered exhales below your ear are interlaced with subdued moans that start low in his ribcage then dip into a higher, airy pitch. A delicate sound you’ll guard closer to your chest than any secret you possess for the rest of your life—precious and yours. 

Din turns his head to steal a kiss. “You feel fuck—fucking good. Wanna feel you cum around me. S-squeezed so fucking hard around my fingers—“

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Heat sizzles down each vertebrae in your spine, burning up each and every cell with the brilliance of a wildfire. Stars, this is gonna destroy you.      

Din’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of blistering warmth that knocks you off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs. Your nails dig into Din’s back as you shake and grapple for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.  

“Good girl,” Din praises, pace faltering from just how tight your pussy squeezes and flutters around his cock. “S-such a fucking good girl for me.”     

Regaining some semblance of control, you realize he’s still fucking going—still rock solid and throbbing, fucking you through the aftershocks of your release. Your arousal turns sharp, like rough cotton over a fresh sunburn as it dips into overstimulation. It’s not unpleasant but Din has to slow his hips to a delicate roll for you to recover.            

In the time it takes to inhale, a different calloused hand kneads into your lower back then smoothes up your spine. A second later you feel the scrape of Paz’s stubble prick along your exposed shoulder as his tongue drags along your sweat dampened skin—all the way up the curve of your neck and ending at the shell of your ear. 

You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but as Paz crowds closer the tip of his cock pokes at your other hole. With a surprised mewl, you tense and shy away—but he follows, molds his chest against your back to sandwhich you in. The hand gripping your bicep jumps to your neck and pulls your head against his shoulder. 

Two of Paz’s fingers dip down the curve of your ass and brush along the puckered skin—far less jarring this time. “Do you want to be fucked here too?” 

Maker—

You’re gonna fucking explode.  

Stuffed to the brim already, it’s hard to imagine Paz cramming himself in along with Din. A little red light blares in some corner of your mind but it’s quickly soothed as Paz plants soft kisses over your cheek and jaw. You trust him—there’s no reason to think he’ll hurt you or push you to the point of pain.

You catch his mouth with a kiss and rock your hips back. “Y-yeah, ok. I trust you.” 

You feel his smile curl against your cheek. “Don’t worry vaar’ika—I’ll take care of you.”

Paz strokes your bottom lip with his thumb and kisses the crown of your hairline as you sink into him. With his ring and middle finger, he pushes past the seam of your lips. “Suck.”

You obey, sealing your lips around his two digits and coating them in your saliva. Paz pulls them out with a pop and moves them between your legs, and with the added wetness dripping from your cunt, the first finger is easy enough. The second and third have you gasping as he scissors them and stretches your tight hole wider. You claw your nails into Din’s shirt—and he’s no better—Din’s own hands are clamping around your hips, struggling to keep still and biting back moans each time your cunt constricts. 

Your hips begins to meet the thrusts of Paz’s fingers as your body familiarizes the feel of him there. It’s a deep thrill that rushes up through your spinal cord—much different from anything you’ve felt before. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Paz goads, chuckling when you whine as he extracts his fingers. “I think you’re ready to take my cock, yeah?”

You shudder and nod, your voice no more than a squeak as it pilfers out. Paz strokes the top of your head and tips you forward into Din’s eager arms as Paz slicks up his length in a mix of precum and your dripping arousal. He touches the swell of you ass in warning, lines himself up with your hole and wedges the tip of his cock inside of you.     

Involuntary tears dampen your makeshift blindfold as Paz buries himself deeper, his rumbling tone urging you to relax—relax even though your mind is drowning in an ocean of arousal and swirling emotions you have no hope to pin down and analyze. It’s for the best—thankful as Paz bottoms out that it wrenches you back to a feasible reality you’re able to manage.

“Shit—I-I’m gonna die—“ You sob, writhing at just how full you are. But there’s nowhere to fucking go—     

“Easy,” Din breathes, and you wonder if he’s said it to keep his own head on his shoulders. “Easy.”

Din’s gravelly rasp cuts through the fog in your head, and stars—you sound like you’re fucking dying. Your wheezy breaths and lightheadedness would certainly suggest that—but no…no, you’re fine. Better than fine.     

A rush so acute and devastating launches up your spine as Din’s patience cracks. He experimentally rolls his hips and that’s the end of it. You’re swallowed up in that riptide you fought so hard to avoid—fuck. You won’t be the same after this. How can you?  

You can feel them both, separated by a thin wall as they sprint towards their own highs. You’re never once left empty—Din reaches the end of you as Paz pulls out and while there’s not exactly any finesse involves it’s the best fucking thing you’ve felt in your entire life. There’s no bickering—no teasing and you’re struck with an idea that makes you clench tight around both of them. You wouldn’t mind if this was the way they decided to settle scores or finally see eye to eye.   

This time you can’t discern your high—just a constant overflow of ecstasy and dazzling arousal like an imploding supernova. You cry their names—sob and shake in their hold with such fervor that Paz traps you tighter between them to keep you still.  

“Fuck—you get so fucking tight,” Paz growls, blunt nails digging into your hips. “And so fucking wet.”

His fingers touch the inside of your thigh and stars—he’s right. “I get to fuck your cunt next time—see how much you’ll drip for me.” 

Even if the blindfold were off—there’d be nothing to see but a white wash of nothing. Blinded by pleasure and bursting at the seems. 

Jealous, Din steals your breath away with a kiss, licking and nipping at your swollen lips until you whine his name. His jagged pants fan across your chin—chapped lips and patchy facial hair tickling across your bottom lip as you breath the same air. 

Din whispers your name like a prayer, his fingers clutching tight around your thighs as his pace starts to flounder to choppy jerks. “Shit. I-I’m close—“

Your fingers twist into his hair. “Yeah—ok baby. Let go.”

Din’s teeth sink into the base of your throat and cums. His seed coats your insides—hot and copious and fucking shit—if there’s a next time you want him to cum in your mouth.      

You don’t get time to relish Din’s stuttered gasps of your name, laced with praise and a show of a tender and bleeding heart before Paz is gathering up your hair in a tight fist and jerking your head up. “You—you want me to cum too? Say it.” 

Without a breath of hesitation you beg for it, cry and arch into him. It does the trick—

Paz is loud—shouts a thunderous roar and buries his cock deep into your hole. Din is still recovering from the aftershocks of his release when Paz pulls out after what seems like ages pumping you full. His cock no longer there to plug you up, his cum begins to dribble out and mix with the mess between your legs. Your legs shake and you wobble--crying out as Din slips out, your body dreadfully empty and aching.     

You're lowered to the mat by Din and if you weren't still trying to formulate words, you'd thank them. Lips dart over your cheeks and hairline, and for once nothing needs to be said. It’s nice...the radiating warmth from their bodies and the simmering flush through you body is something you could get used to. But you’re no stranger to the shifting tides of the future. 

You shrug it off.    

Your eyes are heavy and with one of them stroking your hair and the other your thigh, you drift to sleep. Later—later all unspoken things and disastrous words can be dealt with tomorrow. You must be dreaming when it’s said--careless and bold, but the words nestle into your heart and sprouts with fear. 

“You love her, don't you?” 

translation:

vaar’ika--pipsqueak 

or’dinni--dumbass idiot 

vod--brother/comrade 

tag list: 

@bobafctts​ @djxrxn​ @teaofpeach​ @corrupt-fvcker​ @nelba​ @datmando​ @ben-is-a-hoe​ @dreams-like-clockwork​ @aerynwrites​ @auty-ren​ @huliabitch​ @anxiety-riddled-mando​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @trippedmetaldetector​ 

[fanficimagery]

Wildest Dreams.

Imagine it's a couple days before your wedding and your friends start coming in for your last days of freedom. Only you start having second thoughts, old feelings crop up, and you end up having a breakdown.

Words: 5.1K Warnings: This happens to be an AU with no children and Liz is alive. If a character isn't mentioned, I'm sorry. I had too many characters already.

The Mikaelsons, plus a couple of significant others, are sitting around a fire pit in the backyard of their mansion down in New Orleans after a surprisingly calm family dinner. The only one missing is Rebekah who'd gotten up to answer the door when one of Klaus' minions was dropping off some things inside. But mere seconds later she's returning, a smile gracing her lips as she reads from what appears to be an invitation in her hands.

"You have been cordially invited to witness the celebration of love between Landon Wesley and Y/N Y/L/N," she says as she retakes her seat next to Marcel. "Aw. Our little Y/N grew up so fast."

Elijah, who'd been staring into the fire, suddenly frowns. He sits up a little straighter in his seat. "Y/N is getting married?"

Skimming through the invitation, Rebekah doesn't see her brother's expression. But Klaus, Marcel, Freya, and Keelin do. "Mhm. In two weeks, but she wants me down there a couple days before for a girls thing. She said I could bring whoever I wanted, so Freya and Keelin are coming with."

"Oh. Okay," Keelin huffs. "So I guess we don't get a say in this?"

"Nope. Not at all."

Keelin rolls her eyes, but she's smiling all the while. Freya pats her wife on the back of the hand, chuckling, just as Elijah clears his throat and stands up. "Well if you excuse me, I think I'm going to call it a night."

As Elijah makes his exit, Rebekah finally lifts her head from the invitation. Klaus hides his smirk behind the glass tumbler he's sipping from as everyone else watches Elijah go with their interest piqued.

"Am I the only one who found that weird?" Keelin asks, gesturing towards where Elijah disappeared off to.

Marcel chuckles, shaking his head. "Not at all. Someone please tell me what the deal is there?"

Rebekah sighs. "Y/N holds a special place inside Elijah's heart."

"Dear Y/N is cousin to one Caroline Forbes of Mystic Falls, part of the scooby gang we once loathed." Klaus smirks. "But we never loathed Y/N."

"Not at all." Rebekah now starts to smile. "Y/N was kind, even when her family and friends plotted our deaths. She was the only one whose word we could trust and the only other person who purposely engaged 'lijah in conversation."

"We obviously thought our dear brother had a thing going on with Y/N, but he denied it every time," Klaus says. "It was because she was only seventeen at the time, but it's been years now."

"Y/N is definitely all grown up." Rebekah slowly smirks. "And definitely still asks after Elijah."

Klaus chuckles. "And it appears Elijah still harbors something for our favorite Mystic Falls resident."

"Well damn," Marcel mumbles. "We're so going to this wedding. We haven't had normal people drama in a while."

Keelin raises her glass in salute to Marcel's words. This was definitely going to be an interesting trip.

The Salvatore brothers have given up the Boarding House for the night so you could meet with your girls. Caroline took care of getting food and drinks, and Bonnie and Elena knew it was best to just stay out of Caroline's way. Because as Maid of Honor, Caroline took her duties a little too seriously.

"Can we eat yet?" Bonnie asks, already munching on a breadstick. "What are we even waiting for?"

"I'm expecting a few more friends," you say. "They're about five minutes out."

"And which friends are these?" Caroline wonders.

"Rebekah." Caroline immediately groans whereas Bonnie and Elena look uncomfortable. "Don't even give me that look," you tell your cousin. "I made Rebekah promise to be on her best behavior and she did so long as none of you made snide comments towards her. And the other two are Freya and Freya's wife Keelin."

"Freya and Keelin? How come we've never heard of them before?" Elena asks.

"Because Freya is a Mikaelson and her story was really sad," you say. "I didn't think I should tell you when I had first found out." All three girls look at you and you sigh, locking your phone and shoving it into your back pocket. "So long story short, Freya is the eldest Mikaelson. She was taken hostage by her aunt, forced to live for one year and then magically sleep for a hundred." Bonnie's eyes widen in shock. "She escaped and sought out her siblings who helped her kill their aunt so she'd finally be free. It took them a while to trust one another, but they eventually did and then Freya met Keelin. I've only spoken to them a handful of times, but they seem like great people. Just give them a chance."

The girls are quiet after learning that, but then Elena can't help but ask, "So is Freya human or..?"

"She's a witch and her wife is a werewolf." The girls all blink in surprise and you sigh. "Please. Just please give me this night and the day of my wedding. I don't need any drama."

Your pleading expression is enough to have the three of them agree and just in time as well. Elena and Caroline alert you and Bonnie that a car is pulling up, and it's not long until Rebekah, Freya, and Keelin and walking right on in.

The tension is obvious when Rebekah says hello to everyone, but the genuine smiles come out when you greet Freya and Keelin for the first time face to face, and then introduce them to Caroline, Bonnie, and Elena. Caroline, having put her best hostess persona, then leads everyone into the dining room.

Caroline and Bonnie are the only two to remain standing as everyone takes their seat, Caroline then dishing out either spaghetti or chicken alfredo while Bonnie serves up the wine. Conversation is a bit stilted, but the moment Bonnie asks Freya a question about magic it's like the flood gates open. You're surprised Freya gives up more of her story so freely and it's like a weight is lifted off your shoulders when Rebekah cracks a joke about how deranged her family is that has everyone laughing.

The food is devoured between the seven of you and by the end of dinner you've finished two bottles of wine. The third wine bottle follows you all into the lounge where more comfortable armchairs are carried in so everyone has a seat of their own after Freya and Keelin take over the loveseat.

"So," Caroline chirps as soon as she's comfortable, "are there any other Mikaelsons we should be expecting?"

Rebekah grins. "Is this your subtle way in trying to figure out if Nik is coming?"

Bonnie and Elena giggle as Caroline scoffs, but everyone sees right through her. Even Freya and Keelin who have no idea of the history between the two blonde vamps. But suddenly Freya stops giggling and leans forward in her seat, looking quite pensive. "Wait. Are you the Caroline that my brother couldn't help but compare every female to? You're that Caroline?"

"Yes. Yes she is," you say and take another sip of your wine.

"Huh. Now I get it." Freya chuckles. "You're cute and feisty, and can apparently keep up with Klaus. I approve." Keelin can't help but nod along as everyone laughs at Caroline's surprised expression.

The surprised expression quickly morphs into smugness, but then Caroline is quick to shake it off. "We're not here to talk about me. We're all here for Y/N. I was just wondering because you know how Damon and Stefan are with Klaus."

You sigh. "Which is why I've talked to them too," you say. "I know everyone has issues with each other, but it's my goddamn wedding and there will be no death threats or neck snapping or so help me I will stake somebody." Your friends and guests are stunned into silence before Keelin snorts, everyone then giving into their laughter quickly after. You too, eventually, and then you groan as you attempt to hide your face in the palms of your hands. "I just- I don't want any issues. I'm already freaking out as it is."

The laughter fades off, sympathetic expressions taking over, and it's Keelin who then leans forward in her seat, reaching for your hand and gripping it in comfort. "It's going to be fine. You have nothing to worry about. If you love- er, uh what's his name?"

"Landon."

"Landon! Yes, Landon," she chuckles. "If you love Landon, you'll be fine." Your smile falters and you don't have to be an onlooker to know that the light in your eyes dims just a little. Your pretty sure everyone's noticed it if the sudden intake of breath is anything to go by. "You do- you do love him, don't you?"

"Yes!" You blurt a little too fast. Your response is a little cringeworthy and you sigh, retaking your hand and slumping in your seat. "I mean we've been together for three years. I love him. I do, but.."

"But he's not 'lijah."

"Rebekah!" Freya is quick to scold.

"What?" The blonde Original shrugs. "You haven't seen them together. You don't understand."

"I'm not one to ever agree with your sister, but she has a point," Elena says. "Y/N and Elijah-"

"But there is no me and Elijah." The girls fall silent at the tone in your voice. "There never was." You retake your glass of wine, chugging the rest of its contents before setting your glass back down. "Now if you guys will excuse me, I need some air."

No one tries to stop you as you go and you end up on the back patio, hopping up onto the brick railing and then leaning your back against the brick pillar. The cold air outside cools your flushed face and you try not to let your mood tumble down the rabbit hole.

You knew inviting the Mikaelsons was bound to bring up the past, but you didn't think it'd affect you quite like it is now. Elijah was, for obvious reasons, a touchy subject with you and your friends knew not to bring him up. But then Rebekah broke the ice and Elena, of all people, just had to agree with her.

"Here. Put this on." You're surprised to see Freya offering you a jacket, but you take it nonetheless and offer her a small smile in thanks. She grins, placing a smoking bowl down on the railing next to her. "Sage," she explains. "It keeps the vampires from hearing."

"God I love magic."

Freya chuckles and then after a moment passes, she says, "I'm sorry about what my sister said in there. They shouldn't bring any of that up so close to your wedding."

You shrug. "It is what it is. And if I'm being honest, she's not totally wrong."

"No?"

You shake your head. "I almost didn't invite Elijah because I knew my stupid crush on him would resurface, but then I thought I'd look like an asshole if I sent out personal invites to everyone else and he saw he didn't receive one." Freya chuckles quietly and you sigh longingly. "And the closer it comes to my wedding, the more I find myself longing for those talks with your brother rather than what Landon has to offer. I miss our talks about history and just life in general," you say. "And the more I listen to Landon talk about the latest Xbox game or the stupid jokes he's heard from his coworkers, it feels like I die a little more every day on the inside."

Freya frowns a little. "I apologize if I'm overstepping, Y/N, but do you honestly love Landon? If you continue to compare him to my brother, you're just setting yourself and Landon up for heartbreak down the line."

"I know. And I love Landon. I do, but I don't think I'm as in love with him as I once thought."

"Y/N.."

The first tear falls and you huff a laugh as you wipe it away. Quietly, you rhetorically ask, "Why couldn't your brother just love me? It'd have made things so much more easier." You're so caught up in your feelings that you don't see Freya tense or her eyes widen in surprise. "I don't even know what I'm saying," you then mumble. "I'm getting married in two days. Maybe I should just lay off the wine until then."

"Uhh, yeah. Maybe." Freya agrees.

You snap out of your spiral then, eyes widening. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry for laying that on you."

"No. Don't be," she laughs. "You needed to vent and I'm glad it was me, an unbiased ear."

"Really?"

"Really. You're fine," Freya assures you. "Now come on. Let's get you inside before we freeze."

As you hop off the railing, heart aching and mind going a mile a minute, you can only hope that your mind clears in time for you to say I do to Landon. It would really be terrible to enter a marriage while longing for someone else.

The morning of your wedding dawns bright and early, and you immediately know you're in no shape to be getting married. Since Rebekah, Freya, and Keelin have come into Mystic Falls you've put on a brave face for everyone, but now there's no hiding exactly what you're feeling. Because the moment aunt Liz, Caroline, Elena, and Bonnie wake you for your big day with party horns and confetti, you burst into tears.

Immediately the cheerful atmosphere vanishes and the girls are stunned into silence. "I can't do this," you cry. "I can't do this to myself or to Landon. It's not fair to him."

"Oh sweetie." Liz takes a seat next to you on the bed, putting a comforting arm around your shoulders. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

"I'm so sorry, aunt Liz, but I can't- I just can't get married today."

Elena shifts uncomfortably next to the bed. "Y/N, if this is about us bringing up Elijah the other night I'm so sorry."

"No. No, you don't have to be sorry." Sniffling, you wipe at your eyes and look at those in the room. "I will admit to being nervous about seeing Elijah again after only talking about him brought back this stupid crush on him, but the more I thought about it," you trail off, shaking your head. "Can I really marry a human?"

Bonnie frowns. "Y/N, you are a human."

"I know that, Bon, but after everything we've been through.. knowing all that I know, can I actually settle down behind a white picket fence and pray every night that Landon doesn't ever find out about the supernatural? Whether you guys want to admit it or not, Liz and I will always be in danger because of our ties to you guys." Seeing their frowns makes your heart break just a little bit more.

"I don't mean to offend you," you say. "I love you guys alot. But I've put Landon in danger for years now and I can't risk it anymore. Because what happens when he asks for kids? I won't bring a family into our already messy lives."

"Y/N," Caroline murmurs. "The wedding is in nine hours. What are we supposed to do?"

"Compel them to forget or to be okay with the wedding being called off. I don't care. Just please do something."

"What are you going to tell Landon?" Bonnie wonders.

"I'm not sure. If I have to, I'll call in a favor from Klaus. He likes me enough to compel the groom away."

"And the caterers?"

The bedroom door suddenly swings open and Rebekah sighs as she leans against the door jamb. "Don't worry. Us Mikaelsons have a bit of money to throw around. All caterers will be told the wedding is off and to not to mention the money they've already been paid, and Landon's family will find that they're not missing a penny from their bank accounts."

It feels like a weight has been lifted off your chest. "Thank you, Bex. Thank you so much."

"Don't even worry about it," she assures you with a smile. Then pushing off the door jamb, she pastes on a smile and claps her hands once. "Okay. All vampires and witches with me. We've got a wedding to cancel."

Caroline and Bonnie are quick to rush out of the room, but Elena lingers by the bed. When you meet her gaze, she says, "If you need some time, my family's lake house is empty. You're more than welcome to take a week or two for yourself there. We'll give you some space."

"Thank you, 'Lena. Some space and time actually sounds pretty good."

"Well then it's settled," Liz says. "You go freshen up in the bathroom and I'll pack you a bag. We'll grab some groceries while everyone cancels your wedding, and then I'll drive you down to the lake house. Does that sound like a good plan?"

You offer her a faint grin. "Yeah. It does."

The moment Elena leaves the room, it seems like everything is in a fast forward motion. Liz ushers you to the bathroom where you have a good cry in the shower and then as you're getting dressed you have numerous text messages from your friends coming in to tell you how all the compulsion is going. Damon even offers to compel Landon for you, admitting that he never quite liked the human blood bag and he was glad you had come to your senses before you took the guy's last name. That had earned your first chuckle of the morning and even Liz chuckled when you had read her Damon's text.

Liz helps you put the groceries away at the lake house and then makes you promise to call her should you need anything, no matter the time. And only after you've agreed does she finally leave you all alone.

You send off one last text to your group of friends that your phone is going to be off for the time being and then promptly fall asleep in the master bedroom.

When you wake up again, it's only a little past one in the afternoon and you decide to make yourself something to eat. You eat and then settle on the couch for a little tv, only to end up outside on the dock and staring out into the water.

The time your wedding was to take place comes and goes, and you can't help but turn your phone on to see if you have any notifications. The only messages you have are from Caroline who assures you that everything's been taken care of and that she thinks you made the right decision. Hearing confirmation from your cousin eases some of your worries and you don't feel as bad about what you did.

By the time night falls, you're snuggled up on the couch and watching the best horror has to offer in order to keep your mind off any romance for the time being. You're in the middle of watching The Conjuring when there's a knock on the front door, startling a yelp out of you. Cursing your overbearing friends and their need to make sure you're really okay, you pause the movie and get up to see who it is.

Only when you open the front door you're more than a little stunned to find Elijah standing there by the top of the porch steps as he turns to face you. There's a moment where you both drink each other in and then your eyes narrow into a glare whereas Elijah's lips stretch into a smile as he steps closer to you.

"Elijah."

"Hello, Y/N."

The butterflies take flight and your heart beats double. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?"

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Someone near and dear to me had to make possibly one of the most difficult decisions in their life this morning. Did you really think I wouldn't come to check up on you?"

You do your best not to swoon, smiling softly at him as you shake your head in amusement and open the door wider as an invite. "You're lucky you've already been invited in otherwise we'd be stuck out on the porch. Come on. Let's go take a seat."

Elijah follows you into the living room after shutting the door behind him and you turn off the movie so you can place all your focus on him. There's a fire going in the fireplace, but you still turn on a few lamps so you can see him properly. And when you turn back around it's to see that Elijah already made himself comfortable smack dab in the middle of the couch.

Grinning, you drop in the spot next to him with one leg curled beneath you and the other hanging off the front of the couch so your foot is planted on the floor. "Hi," you muse.

"Is it too soon to ask you what happened?"

Straight to the point as usual, his question makes you faintly cringe. But before he can take the question back, you decide to tell him. "I'm too involved with the supernatural world, Elijah. What kind of person would I be if I had dragged Landon into the mess that is our lives? He deserves to have a normal and happy life."

"And what about you? Don't you deserve to be normal and happy?"

As he speaks, you notice how his gaze drops to your mouth before quickly darting up and looking elsewhere. You try to play it off but you know your damn heart gives you away immediately when he fights off a smile. "Normal and happy is so overrated," you then manage to say. "After all that I've seen and been through, a normal life would be boring."

Elijah finally allows himself to smile. "Is that the only reason why you wouldn't marry him?"

You tense at his knowing gaze, heart beat tripling as it's your turn to avert your gaze. You'd never been good at confronting your feelings head on, especially with the person said feelings are for. So as the seconds tick on by, you can feel your face flushing. You quietly groan. "Do I really have to say it out loud? It's embarrassing."

"Y/N."

"Elijah," you retort. You manage to hold his gaze for three seconds before you break eye contact and sigh. "It was obvious I had a crush on you back when I was seventeen and apparently it's still obvious now."

"I think it's adorable."

"Of course you do." Against your better judgement you reach out to swat at his arm and your breath hitches as he catches your hand and then maneuvers it so he can press a kiss to the back of your hand. You smile sadly. "It's been you since I was seventeen and I don't think anyone can ever compare to the Elijah Mi-mmph."

Elijah stuns you by pulling you into his lap and quickly maneuvering you so your knees are on either side of his lap, his mouth slotting against yours with such ease. There's a moment where you don't know what exactly to do with your hands, but the second his hands tug on the hem of your shirt, your hands find purchase on his shoulders before sliding up the side of his neck.

It's you who breaks the kiss for some much needed air, but you don't go far because Elijah keeps you close. His hand cups the side of your jaw, but his thumb runs gently under your bottom lip. You nip at his thumb, he grins, and then you groan when your predicament finally settles in. Elijah chuckles as you drop your head to his shoulder, your hands clutching at his sides under his suit jacket.

"What are we even doing?"

"I believe you're finally going after what you truly wanted."

"And you? What about you?" You ask, shifting nervously in his lap as you sit back.

"I am making my move," he says as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "before someone else comes in to ask for your hand in marriage." You roll your eyes and he chuckles softly. "Since I made you admit something earlier, I will admit that I too have compared everyone to you. My family knew I held you above all else and they were quick to rub it in my face that you were to wed this evening. And earlier when I got Rebekah's call, I knew this was our chance."

"You're a big 'ol softy, Elijah Mikaelson."

"Only when it comes to you, Y/N Y/L/N."

You can't help but smile at his words, leaning in for a quick kiss. But it's not so quick as Elijah pulls you back in, peppering a few kisses across your mouth and cheeks. You giggle, but then that giggle turns into a groan. "The girls are going to be unbearable."

"Niklaus too, but I'm willing to put up with it as long as I have you by my side." You make a noise and facial expression as if you have to think about it, and Elijah gently squeezes your waist in retaliation which makes your jerk in his hold. "If you're that worried about their reactions, we can go away for a bit until everyone has had enough time to get used to our new situation."

You huff a laugh, but upon seeing Elijah's expression your amusement fades away. "You're serious."

"I am. New Orleans is a bit crowded at the moment and if I remember correctly you've always wanted to see Ireland. So what do you say to a spontaneous vacation with me?"

You blink owlishly at Elijah before your lips stretch into a smile. "Yes!" Your excitement makes him chuckle, but then you're quick to to come down. "My friends won't go for it. They'll continuously ask if I know what I'm doing and want daily updates and everything."

"They won't. And if they do, they'll have Sheriff Forbes to answer to." Your brow furrows in confusion and Elijah smirks. "How do you think I found you all the way out here? I stopped by the Forbes residence and Elizabeth was kind enough to point me in the right direction. It seems we already have one person in our corner."

"Jesus Christ," you huff. "Are we really doing this?"

"Only if you're sure you want to."

You take a moment to think things through, but before that moment can stretch on too long, you say, "Yeah. Let's do this. When do we leave?"

"Whenever you want," he tells you.

"As much as I wanna leave right now, I kind of just want to take you up to bed and get reacquainted with you."

Elijah slowly smiles. "I quite like the way you think, Miss Y/L/N."

"Then what are you waiting for, old man? Take me to bed already."

SIX MONTHS LATER

Freya and Keelin have just gotten home, a stack of mail on the hall table catching Freya's attention. Her siblings are out as usual, wrecking havoc no doubt, so on her way to the kitchen she grabs up the stack to sort through it.

As Keelin goes about grabbing the wine from the fridge and two glasses, Freya starts to filter out the trash from the stack of mail. Only halfway through the stack, one particular envelope catches her eye.

Freya starts to smile. "It seems like Elijah finally broke his silence."

"Oohh," Keelin coos. "What does he have to say? How is Y/N doing? Because last I heard not even the girls in Mystic Falls know."

Freya opens up the envelope, pulling out a picture and a letter. She smiles brightly upon seeing her brother and Y/N smiling under the Northern Lights- which is utterly adorable, in her opinion- and then goes on to read the letter to herself. Her smile slowly falters as her eyes widen in surprise. "No. They didn't," she breathes in awe. She quickly scans the picture again, her eyes lighting up as she laughs joyously. "They did!"

Keelin startles. "What? What did they do?"

Freya drops the letter and quickly flips around the picture for her wife to see. "They got married!"

"WHAT!?" Keelin practically shouts. "Let me see," she says as she hurries around the kitchen island.

Freya openly laughs now. "They got married under the Northern Lights last month. They'll finally be coming home in a couple of weeks."

Keelin grabs the photo so she can study it itself, her smile blossoming. "Oh my god. They really did get married."

"In the letter, Elijah said only Caroline and her mother know. They're going to come here first so they can figure out living arrangements and then they'll go see everyone else."

"Rebekah is going to be so pissed," Keelin muses.

"I can see it now, she's going to force a small ceremony on them when they're settled in."

"As long as I get to see Elijah smile in person as he is in his wedding photo, I'm all for it. Jesus looks at how adorable they look together."

"I know," Freya says. "I don't think my brother could have found anyone better for himself. We had only met Y/N and I immediately knew they'd be perfect for each other."

"Right?" Keelin then huffs. She looks at the picture one last time before setting the picture down. "We need to blow that up and hang it on the wall. Getting married under the Northern Lights was such a neat idea."

"Mhm. So much better than that Christmas themed wedding she originally had planned."

Keelin chuckles. "I thought I was the only one who thought the Christmas theme was tacky."

"Oh no. Rebekah secretly hated it too, but she didn't want to upset Y/N. She will, however, be upset she missed the Northern Lights wedding."

"I mean I'm pretty bummed, but I'm also excited for them to get home so we can pick their brains and get to the bottom of whatever the hell they were thinking. I'm super stoked for them, but I also want to know who proposed to who and everything!"

"Same here." Freya turns towards her wife, wrapping her arms around her waist while Keelin settles her arms around Freya's neck. "But until then we got family to inform of the couple's new status. Not it!"

"Not i- dammit!" Keelin pouts, she now having to be the one to inform Klaus and Rebekah. "I hate it when you do that."

Freya laughs. "Better luck next time. Now let's go. I can't wait to see their reactions."

[leossmoonn]

silas having a soft spot for you (hc)

masterlist 

a/n - i got a request to do like a “villain has a soft spot” type thing so i decided to do make this a head cannon :) this is my first hc so enjoy lol (sorry if its kinda messy lol)

pairing - tvd silas x fem!reader

warnings / includes - suggestive content (no smut though)

————

ok so first time he saw you, any loving feelings for amara were just thrown out of the window. the man is IN LOVE with you

his favourite thing to call you is ‘princess’

he uses that nickname way more than your own name lol

he always is trying to impress you. whether it’s with his magic, muscles, or smooth talk. anything to get you to give in to liking him, he will do it

like with magic, for example. he’ll be like:

“y/n! look what i have!”

and he’ll make like a puppy appear out from behind his back

sometimes he’ll do cool tricks with his magic, too

he’ll light his fingertips on fire, make flowers grow right in front of you if you’re outside, or do that cool trick that bonnie did with the pillow feathers for elena

you’re honestly amazed and totally awed, but you know you can’t give in otherwise you know you will never be able to get back out lol

he also loves to tease you (obvious lol)

he thinks its so cute how you try to threaten him, only for him to make you flustered

“if you don’t stop, i will have your head on a stake”

“i bet you’d like my head somewhere else, yeah?”

along with teasing you verbally, he likes doing it physically

he’ll never manipulate your feelings with magic because he knows that he makes you flustered

whenever you’re around, he’ll have his shirt off because he knows he has a good figure and he knows that you like staring at it whenever you think no one is looking 

everyone knows you’re looking though

silas also likes to brush his hand up against your hand or arm

stand behind you while you’re doing homework or cooking, breathing against your neck and put his hand on the small of your back

he also likes to stare at you with a seductive eyes and smirk, trying to get you to give in to kissing him

AND he loves whispering things in your ear to taunt/compliment you

“i know you want to kiss me”

“you smell so good”

“if you’re hungry, i’ll give you something to fill you up”

“look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want my hands on that pretty body of yours”

and honestly, it almost works 

like with the last statement, you’ll turn to look at him, you’re eyes settling on his hands first

imaging how his warm, big hands would feel caressing your skin 

how his arms would feel around you, the warmth he would radiate 

his lips trailing down form your lips to your neck, his teeth nipping at your sweet spot on your neck, his hands roaming your body

how his fingers would feel inside — OOPS i got a lil ahead of myself hehe

but then you snap out of it, getting embarrassed because you know he knows what you were thinking 

you look him in the eyes and say:

“i’d rather turn into werewolf a thousand times before even letting you touch me”

you say this bc you’ve heard turning into a werewolf is painful

and silas thinks it’s adorable, but he doesn’t force himself on you. he’s a lot of things, but he’s not that type of guy.  

instead, he gives you that signature, flirtatious smirk of his and is like:

“alright, princess, whatever you say. you know where i’ll be when you change you’re mind, though”

now even though he likes you, he still threatens to harm you, but he doesn’t have the guts to actually hurt you 

the most he’ll even do is slam you against the wall (pretty gently tbh)

but let’s be honest you think its really hot and def wouldn't mind it if he ever did it again

that doesn’t mean he won’t hold your friends at gunpoint though lol and trust me, he does that A LOT

he’ll usually do it to toy with you. he loves seeing you beg for him, no matter what

he thinks its cute and really freaking hot how you try to fight him too since you’re human (you’re badass though and he definitely knows that)

speaking of your friends, they know you like him, even though you deny it

caroline is always teasing you about it, too

“i can hear your heart racing whenever he enters the room”

“we can see the sweat on your forehead whenever he gets close to you”

“you always look him up and down, undressing him with your eyes”

you always roll your eyes at caroline’s remarks, stuffing the feelings you have for him down 

him liking you comes with a few perks, too

one huge one is being able to negotiate with him. even since silas made it apparent that he’s in love with you and would do anything for you, the gang had made it basically your job to bargain with silas 

“if you don’t kidnap elena, i’ll let you roam around the town with supervision”

“if you lay off the threats, we’ll let you out of the barrier spell”

“if you promise to not kill random people, we’ll let you out of the dungeon”

and honestly, you negotiating with works a lot because he knows that the person that will supervise him will be you (damon, caroline, and elena will take turns being near you though in case you need help since you have no powers)

when he realises that he doesn’t have a lot of time on earth, though, he starts to get super super clingy 

at first you didn’t notice. you just thought that he was being extra annoying, but once he follows you around for a good day or two, you start to get really annoyed

ok but real talk for a second:

you love the attention. you love the fact that silas would do anything for you and would never harm you. you love the way he makes you feel. you think he’s super handsome and with that bad boy-villain attitude, it just attracts you more to him

but shhh dont let caroline or damon hear otherwise they WILL KILL YOU

in his last few moments on earth, silas decides to give you something that will for sure be unforgettable 

he gives you a passionate, slow, mind-dizzying kiss. his left hand is cupping your cheek, while his other hand is on your hip, holding you close to him. the way his lips move against yours is like they were meant for each other. you can’t help but give in and kiss him back

he then pulls away and does his little smirk and says:

“it’s been fun. i hope to see you on the other side sometime, princess”

then leaves and you’re just there with wide eyes, sweaty palms, and breathless 

and even years later, you’re still able to feel his lips on yours and his words ring in your mind like what he said to was just from the other day

————

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[13uswntimagines]

Always Hers (Emily Sonnett x Reader)

Request: A sequel to Always Yours where Kelley introduces Sonnett to reader and they hit it off, and a relationship builds. Basically it’s 7000 words of Emily and reader falling in love, Christen realizing she royally messed up, Tobin freaking out just a touch, and Kelley totally not gloating about it. 

Author’s Note: This was requested by @women-enthusiast​

Emily was terrified. She had been having the time of her life, sat in the front row of an Y/n L/n concert dancing next to Kelley. Hell, during Shut Up and Dance you had even winked in their direction (making all of the girls around them swoon). But about halfway through the show, a very large man had come to stand in front of them.  

He had simply stood and stared, leaving them mostly alone until the very end of the show. He sent them a small smile and an “if you two ladies could come with me please”, before escorting them out of the crowd and deeper into the stadium. Which every turn down the twisting hallway, she felt the knot in her stomach get tighter and tighter. What the fuck was happening? 

“You gotta relax before you have an aneurism. Everything will be fine,” Kelley said quietly as the man led them through a door and into a cozy-looking room. 

A couch sat against one wall, a Stanford sweatshirt thrown carelessly across it and a guitar propped up beside it. The sound of running water gave them a very good guess of what was behind the door on the opposing wall. 

Emily took a deep breath, holding in a gasp. This couldn’t be what she thought it was. 

“If you would please wait here, Ms. L/n will be with you in a few minutes. Feel free to help yourself to the table,” The man smiled, gesturing towards the table filled with water and a fruit tray across from the comfy looking couch. 

Kelley rolled her eyes, immediately making her way over to the food table to peruse the options. She scrunched her nose as she looked over the items. 

“Well this is bullshit,” She mumbled, grabbing a grape and popping it into her mouth. Emily frowned, unsure as to how Kelley could be so casual right now. 

“What?” She asked, stepping towards the table. She blinked at the spread. There was way too much food on the table for one person. 

“There aren’t any chocolate-covered strawberries. They always used to be on her riders,” Kelley mumbled, puffing her cheeks out as she grabbed her another grape. Emily frowned. How the fuck did she know what was supposed to be on the table? She opened her mouth to ask the question, but a voice behind her beat her to it. 

“Apparently they were unavailable this last minute,” Emily whipped around in shock, her eyes bulging at the sight of you in a pair of sweatpants and a white tank top, casually running a towel through your hair. You smiled crookedly at them, your dimples on full display. It wasn’t your stage smile though, Emily noted (barely able to take her eyes off your exposed biceps enough to actually think about it). It was easier, more natural.

“Holy shit, you’re-“ Emily studdered, her brain unable to process that you were standing right in front of her. Your lips quirked in amusement before you looked past the blond to your favorite defender. 

“You couldn’t come and greet us yourself, you had to send oddjob after us?” Kelley asked, tossing another grape in her mouth and crossing her arms. She hadn’t brought Emily here to set you up, but her reaction was definitely amusing. She also hadn’t missed the extra blinks you had given the blond defender. Perhaps her plan was going to work better than expected. 

You rolled your eyes at the woman. Greg had been your security guard for years and she still refused to learn his name. You were just lucky that their presence hadn’t caused a riot in the crowd. 

“You conveniently forgot to tell me that you were coming, and Greg didn’t want a replay of the riot we almost had at the Superdome,” You said, your eyebrow quirking up. She winced at the memory, shaking her head and finally closing the distance between the two of you. 

You huffed her tightly to you, resting your cheek on the top of her head. The two of you swayed lightly as you hugged. It had been way too long since you had seen each other. 

“Missed you sunshine, you never answer your phone anymore” She hummed into your neck. 

“Missed you too,” You said softly, holding her tighter, and ignoring the second statement. The truth was that it was hard, that sometimes when you talked to Kelley all you could think about were your college days. It wasn’t just her that you pushed away, it was everyone. 

You had been friends with the woman even before the two of you went to college. She was your sounding board, your rock, more your sister than your friend at this point, and she hated you were locking yourself away again. 

“You, you’re-“ Emily’s voice brought you out of your thoughts. You squeezed Kelley one last time before returning your attention to the blond standing wide-eyed in the middle of the room. 

You had to admit that she was adorable with her pink cheeks and her hands pinned at her sides, unsure of what to do. 

“You should introduce me before she passes out,” You whispered loudly, nudged Kelley. The older defender smirked at her counterpart. She hadn’t meant for you and Emily to be more than friends, but if it turned out that way, she wouldn’t be upset. You were the sweetest person she knew, even if you had lost some of your sunshine over the years. You would treat the blond defender well and vice versa. You both deserved to be happy. 

“Right. Emily, this is Y/n. Y/n this is frat daddy junior Emily,” She nodded, not missing the eye contact between the two of you. You smiled wide, taking a step towards the frozen defender and grabbing her hand. 

“Well Emily, it’s a pleasure to meet you. A friend of Kelly’s is a friend of mine,” You said, bowing slightly and lifting the back of her hand to your lips. You could be suave when you wanted to be. 

“You said my name,” She said dumbfounded, her mouth hanging open slightly. 

“I think she’s made one too many tackles,” You laughed, glancing at Kelley over your shoulder. The woman facepalmed. The most interest you had shown in another person in nearly a year, and she’s too star-struck to realize it. 

“I swear she’s not usually like this,” Kelley mumbled, and you bit your lip in amusement. 

“Whatever you say Squirrel,” 

*****

Emily smiled down at her phone. The two of you had been texting nonstop since the concert, and she found herself slowly becoming addicted to your sweet and sometimes dirty sense of humor. 

It was interesting, how different you and your stage persona were. 

She learned how quiet and thoughtful you were. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t hide the sadness that seemed to linger behind your million dollar smiles. A cautiousness behind every interaction. She wondered what had turned you from Kelley’s so-called sunshine into a cloudy day. 

She bit her lip watching the three little dots, indicating that you were typing, hoping that you would like the restaurant she had chosen. She giggled at your quippyness about how posh the place sounded. 

“Who ya texting that’s got you smiling like that?” Kelley asked, placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder. Emily jumped, her phone nearly falling out of her hands as she rushed to get out of the message, before seeing it was only Kelley. 

“Oh, just Y/n,” Emily mumbled, her cheeks turning very pink.

Kelley smothered her smirk as she sat down beside the defender. “That’s cool, what’s she up to?”

“She’s in town, we’re going to get lunch or something,” Emily shrugged nonchalantly, and Kelley’s smirk got bigger. She wasn’t sure if you would go for it after the whole fiasco with Christen. 

“Really?” 

“You sound surprised?” Emily’s nervous eyes met hers. Kelley paused unsurely. How did you tell one friend that your teammate hurt the girl that she might be interested in so bad that she was terrified of relationships? 

“Y/n got hurt really bad by someone she loved. She hasn’t been the same since,” Kelley said softly. 

“You mean she hasn’t moved on yet?” Emily’s head tilted to the side, trying to understand. She had heard your stories through music, but she never thought about how that might translate into real life. 

Kelley shook her head, biting her lip. After Christen, you had rebuilt your walls and hidden your heart away in your castle so no one could hurt you. That was until you laid eyes on Emily. “She hasn’t let anyone get close to her again,” 

“Oh,” 

“Yeah, Just don’t hurt her, alright?” Kelley hummed, patting Emily’s knee. If you were going to open up the gates again, she didn’t want an army of white walkers marching in. They would pillage the little bit of you that was left. But the way pink traveled up Emily’s neck all the way to her ears told her that her best friend knew how delicate this situation was.

“We’re just friends Kell,” Emily muttered. 

“Whatever you say junior, and for the record, she didn’t text me about lunch,” Kelley laughed, patting her leg one more time as she stood. You two would figure it out on your own time. 

****

Emily smiled at Greg as she passed through the door to the little cafe you had chosen for lunch. He winked at her and pointed towards a table in the back, away from the windows twiddling your fingers nervously. 

All the security and fans staked out everywhere you went took some serious getting used to, as did your propensity for cheeseburgers over anything remotely fancy. Each time the two of you had done this over the past few months you had chosen somewhere with reasonable food and amazing milkshakes. 

The crooked grin you saved specifically for Emily broke across your face when you saw her, and you stood from your chair to greet her in a warm hug. You kissed her cheek and stepped back to pull her chair out for her, before handing her a beautiful (plastic) Rose. It had become a thing between the two of you. You didn’t like real flowers, they died, but fake ones stayed forever. 

“Hey superstar, I’m glad you could make it,” You grinned, pushing her chair in, and taking the seat across from her. 

“Well, you’re too cute to pass up,” She quipped back, enjoying the pink that dusted your cheeks. 

“I ordered you’re regular. Is that ok?” 

“You remembered my order?” Emily asked, her eyes widening in surprise. You felt the warmth in your cheeks travel up to your ears. The truth was that you had known her order after the 3rd time lunch the two of you had done, (and you ordered extra onion rings in case she didn’t want the French fries). 

“Well, we’ve done this a few times,” You shrugged, picking at the table. Her hand covered your own, and you smiled softly at the action, suddenly feeling shy. 

“You’re adorable,” She mumbled under her breath as the waitress set two milkshakes on the table in front of you. Noticing that yours wasn’t your normal chocolate peanut butter concoction and instead was the strawberry one she had tried last time. 

“Hmm, 20 questions?” You asked, sipping your shake (that you definitely didn’t get in case Emily changed her mind). 

It had become your go-to game with the woman, and both of you have always had a blast with the get to know you game. 

“Are you going to answer mine honestly?” She quirked an eyebrow up at you. The last time you had seen each other, you fibbed just slightly (not so slightly) about your new music. You were reluctant to give spoilers, and you told her your lead-off single was going to be a fun song playing off the saying sex on a beech (cake by the ocean). Instead, you had chosen something much sappier, about the start of a new relationship called Begin Again. 

Your fans had gone crazy, trying to put all the pieces together. It seemed they were divided on if you and Christen had gotten back together, or if you were finally moving on. You kept your lips sealed, and it had taken Emily more than an hour to finally weasel to real answer out of you. 

“Scouts honor,” You saluted, taking another drag of the strawberry milkshake. 

“You go first,” Emily grabbed your shake and took a sip, pushing her own chocolate one back towards you. You blinked, thinking for a second. You had never mastered suttelty in normal conversation, and you had no idea how to ask your question. 

“Are you dating anyone?” 

“Nope,” She smiled, popping the p. You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Cool. I believe you’re now entitled to a question?”

Emily tapped her chin in thought, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Are the rumors true? Kelley won’t tell me,” 

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific babe,” You smirked, smiling kindly at the waitress as she set down your double cheeseburgers. Your life was plagued with rumors. That you were dating this celebrity, that Preath had broken your heart. 

“You dated Christen and all your songs are about her?” Emily asked, grabbing an onion ring off your plate and dipping it in your milkshake. 

“I think dating would be a bit of a stretch,” you snorted, shaking your head. You weren’t sensitive about it anymore considering the media shoved it down their throat every chance they got. Emily waved her hand as if to say go on, you sighed. Despite the media pressure, you hadn’t really told anyone (besides Kelley) about it before.“We were best friends, who occasionally slept together. I caught feelings, Christen didn’t. She wanted Tobin and I was her plaything until Toby was ready.” You said the midfield turned forward’s name mockingly, looking wistfully over Emily’s shoulder. 

She watched you for a moment, taking in the faraway look in your eyes. Her heart ached at the deep line in your forehead that hadn’t been there mere moments before. 

“That was only the first part of my question,” she said softly. You blinked back to yourself. 

“I write about what I feel, so some of them are about her. But lately they’re all about an amazing girl who makes me feel things that scare the crap out of me, things I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel again,” Your y/e/c eyes met her blue ones and you smiled softly.

Emily sat up in surprise, anxiety beginning to bubble up in her chest. She liked doing this with you, and she didn’t want it to stop. She opened her mouth to ask her, but your shaken voice cut her off. 

“Would you be my girlfriend?” 

“I thought you’d never ask,” Emily smiled, leaning across the table, cupping your cheek and placing a very sweet kiss on your lips. Your fingers tangled into the baby hairs at the back of her neck as you carefully pulled her closer. You pull away a second later, connecting your forehead and breathing heavy. You would take that as a resounding yes. 

“Does this mean I can hear the rest of the album early?” She asked, her breath fanning across your lips. 

“I’m sure we can work something out,” you said as you leaned in again. Gosh her lips were addictive. 

*****

Distance sucked, but over the past year, you and Emily had made it work. It was difficult with your music commitments and her soccer stuff, but as far as the two of you were concerned, it was worth it. 

Emily laid with her eyes closed, her phone resting on her chest and Kelley sitting beside her as the radio host introduced you to the audience. She was happy to relax and listen to you talk about the thing you were the most passionate about (besides her). 

It was nice to hear your voice, even if it sounded even more tired than it had when you talked the night before. 

She could tell how much the press tour for your new album was taking out of you, and it killed her just a little bit to not be able to comfort you. You hadn’t exchanged the words yet, but she was sure that you loved her as much as she loved you ou. 

“So I’ve got to ask, this album sounds so much different than both Heartbreak Hotel and Divinely Inspired to a Hellish Extent. There’s less pining and a lot more love,” The interviewer asked casually, but Emily could hear the smirk in his voice. The fans were going nuts now that your music had shifted from heartbreak to a blossoming love story. They all wanted to know who (Christen) had you writing sappy love songs. 

“Yeah, I’m in such a different place than when I wrote either of those two albums, and I think that’s reflected in the music,” You volleyed the question, twisting it around so you were answering it and not answering it all at the same time (a skill that Emily both admired and was terrified of). 

“So, it’d be safe to assume that you’re first two albums were about one relationship and this one is about another?” The interviewer pressed. And Emily groaned loudly. God, why couldn’t they just let it go? It had been nearly 3 years since you and Press were a thing. You had moved on and were finally happy, why wasn’t that enough? 

Kelley smirked at the outburst, side-eyeing the defender. She was thrilled that you had finally found someone who would treat you right. Both women were so caught up that they didn’t notice the couple entering the room and sitting on the bed opposite of them. 

“God, why can’t they just let it go?” Christen said loudly after yet another question from the interviewer. All eyes snapped to her, and Kelley raised her eyebrows at the outburst. “Don’t give me that look, I’m tired of them trying to get her to confirm that we dated,” She huffed, crossing her arms and leaning further into Tobin who began to rub her back. 

“I think dating is putting it loosely. If I was her I wouldn’t have just thrown you under the bus, I would have been the fucking driver,” Kelley rolled her eyes. 

“That was uncalled for,” Tobin grumbled. 

“You’re just upset because you didn’t know Forget You was about you,” Kelley snorted. Remembering how Tobin had walked around camp whistling the tune until she had broken the news. (Still, you found it hilarious considering the original lyrics). 

“You know what I meant,” Tobin grumbled. 

“I’m pretty sure she’s tired of it too,” Emily said softly, smiling almost sympathetically at the woman. You had gotten over most of your anger, and insisted that she shouldn’t be mean to Tobin. Love made you all do crazy things. 

“I write what I feel, and I think the only safe thing to assume from that is that I’m happy,” You added, bringing everyone’s attention back to the interview. Emily smiled softly at the phone. You were happy. You had gained your sunshine back, as Kelley put it, and she was glad that she was part of the reason for that. 

“And sickeningly in love?” The interviewer again tried to dig. 

“And in love,” Your smile was visible in your tone. Emily masked her sudden intake of breath. She knew, but it was the first time she was hearing it out loud. 

“I didn’t know she was in a new relationship” Christen’s eyes snapped to the phone in surprise. She knew you would move on eventually, but actually seeing evidence of it was causing all kinds of feelings to bubble in her chest. Feelings she didn’t have the right to have. She made her choice and she was happy too. You deserved that. 

“The new love songs are so sweet. It’s probably her best album yet,” Emily added with a shrug. It wasn’t just the music that was good, it was the knowledge that you were both falling together. That you would be there to catch each other was amazing. (And the memory of you strumming out a few of the love songs in your underwear in a concert just for her was a bonus too).it didn’t matter that the world was sure they were about Christen. Everyone in this room knew they weren’t. 

“I’ll have to listen to it, wonder who it's about,” Christen said thoughtfully. She shouldn’t deny that she missed you. Missed the friend part of your relationship. 

“Someone who knows just how lucky she is,” Kelley said, looking Christen in the eyes. It was no secret that she still harbored ill feelings over what happened between Chris and her best friend. Emily shrunk slightly. The two of you had agreed to keep the relationship on the down-low, and Preath were the last people she wanted to tell. 

Christen’s jaw dropped in surprise. You never talked about your relationships. Not even when you and her were involved. You weren’t good with emotions and it was a more ‘gentle-womanly thing to do’.

A barely audible “She told you?” left her lips. And Emily’s heart rate skyrocketed, thinking that this was about to become even more awkward than it already was. 

“My lips are sealed,” Kelley smirked, running her hand across her mouth in a zip it motion before throwing away the key. She wasn’t about the mess up the most stable relationship you had ever been in, and it was fun to watch Preath squirm. 

Emily took a deep breath. Some relaxing evening this had turned out to be. She went to swipe the radio app away on her phone when your name popped up next to a text. She couldn’t help the edges of her lips turning up. 

You really did have amazing timing. 

*****

Emily loved peaceful nights at camp. Early nights where the team bonding movie ended at a decent hour and they didn’t have early morning practice the next day. Sure her bed's cuddles weren’t as good as yours, but they still comfy. 

She had gotten to talk to you tonight, a long FaceTime. It bothered you how exhausted you looked, how your crooked smile hadn’t met your eyes. The chaos of touring was rough, made even more difficult by time zone differences. But still, you had made time to talk to her, to tell her how much you loved her. 

She idiot wondered what had pulled her out of her sleep, before the soft knock on the door sounded again. 

“Who the fuck is at our door at 3 Am?” Emily groaned loudly, rolling onto her back, and glancing over at her roommate in the other bed. She thought late-night pranks were banned at this camp, and she had been lucky to be roomed with her best friend. 

“I have no clue. Maybe if we ignore it, it’ll go away,” Lindsey mumbled, burying her face further into the pillow, moaning loudly when the knocking got even more insistent. 

“Fuck, I’m coming, cool your jets,” Emily huffed, throwing off the covers and marching towards the door. She flung it open, ready to yell at however the fuck had the nerve to bother them at this hour. But the words died on her lips the second she saw your very tired form leaning heavily against the doorframe, plastic Rose clutched firmly in your hand. 

“you’re here,” she said softly and you flew into her arms. You held her tightly, running your nose along the collum of her neck. She stumbled with the foot-wide, grabbing the doorframe to steady the two of you. 

“Sorry, I just. I missed you. I can’t sleep without you,” You mumbled into her skin, placing a kiss on the spot she loved so much. Emily wasn’t sure if you were apologizing for waking her up, or for nearly tackling her to the ground, but she didn’t care. It was so nice to have you in her arms after nearly 2 months of being apart. 

“Shhh, come in. It’s alright, I missed you too babe,” She hummed, stepping back and pulling you into the room, and closing the door. She grabbed the flower, smiling softly at it before placing it in her nightstand. She could tell how exhausted you were (you had probably flown in right after your show), and the last thing you needed was her teammates coming out to see what the commotion was. 

You mumbled something incoherent into her neck, following her as she sat down on the edge of the bed. 

“Babe? Who is it, Son?” Lindsey Asked sitting up and taking in the sight of you basically sitting on Emily’s lap with your head buried in her neck. You looked up at the woman wide-eyed, and she gasped. “Holy shit, you’re Y/n L/n and Disani just called you babe,” 

“Surprise...” Emily smiled, and you huffed into her neck. She could feel your nose twitching, a telltale sign that you were probably about to fall asleep.

“How long?” Lindsey asked breathlessly, holding in the awe at how cute you two looked together. She never expected the big badass singer to turn into puddy in her best friend’s arms. 

“Like a year and a half?” Emily shrugged, shushing you again and running fingers through your hair, scratching your scalp. Your schedule was brutal and you had a propensity to avoid sleep when you were stressed. But on the bright side, she had learned that you always got cuddly when you were sleepy Like a puppy. 

“Damn, That’s why you’re so obsessed with all her music. It’s about you,” Lindsey laughed. Emily’s cheeks turned bright red as she cleared her throat. You weren’t really awake enough to register that your girlfriend was still your number one fan. 

“Let’s get Y/n into bed. You must be exhausted,” Emily said softly, maneuvering so you were both under the covers. You hummed, leaning up to peck your girlfriend’s lips before settling back into your favorite hiding spot. 

The room was quiet for a few minutes, and Emily breathed a sigh of relief as your breathing evened out. You had never been a great sleeper, and she worried about how much you got while you were on tour. You were adorable, even more so when you were sleeping. Your face relaxed and you looked younger. Emily couldn’t help but wonder how the hell Christen ever let you go when you offer up the opportunity to see you so unguarded (a sight your fans rarely got a glimpse of). 

“You know the media is going to think you snuck into the hotel to see Christen right?” Emily murmured after a few minutes, not expecting you to reply. 

“Fuck the media. They need to chill with that Preath bullshit,” You huffed, burrowing deeper into the woman and placing a kiss on her collarbone, completely forgetting that you weren’t alone. You would call your publicist in the morning and have all the rumors squashed anyway (you didn’t want another disastrous interview like the one where Ellen had found pictures of you and Christen from college). 

“Wait you dated Christen?” Lindsey gasped, nearly falling out of her bed, and you groaned incompressible into your girlfriend. 

“A loose interpretation from what I’ve gathered,” Emily giggled, again comparing you to a puppy on her head. 

“It doesn’t matter, we all know who’s bed I was in tonight,” You huffed. 

“Damn right we do,” Emily tilted your chin up to kiss your lips. Emily wasn't the jealous type, but it was hard when the entire world was convinced you were with someone else. It also helped that you were always so sweet with her and made sure she knew how much you loved her. 

You pulled her closer, your fingers tangling in the baby hairs at the back of her neck as your tongue ran over her bottom lip. God, you had missed her. You moaned lightly when Emily’s tongue met your own. 

You were brought out of your moment by a very loud cough. You sat bolt upright, blinking owlishly around the woman in the opposite bed. 

“No sex while I’m here alright?” Lindsey smirked, amused by this you that few people ever got to see. This adorable side that seemed to be entirely taken with her best friend. No wonder you wrote her so many sappy love songs. 

“You’re no fun Linds,” Emily cackled, pulling you back down beside her. 

It would be a pain in the ass to get you out of the hotel without anyone seeing you, but the risk was totally worth getting to spend time with your girl, even if it was only for a few hours. 

****

You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face if you tried. You had won 6 grammy’s the night before, and now you got to sit in the stands while your girl fought for the Shebelieves cup. You hadn’t been to a soccer game since Paris, and you had to admit it was slightly addictive watching your girl be a badass defender. It was one thing watching it on TV for the 3 years you had been dating, and an entirely different one to actually be here. God, she was gorgeous. 

You pulled your jacket tighter around you and shifted your hat down a little bit further. This was Emily’s moment, and you didn’t want to draw any attention away from her. 

*****

Tobin was freaking out, her normally chill persona nowhere to be found. Her hands were shaking and she didn’t know if it was fear or rage. Who the fuck gave you the right to show up at one of their games (sporting a jersey nonetheless) after you had released a song like To Make You Feel My Love. She thought that you had given up on chasing Christen years ago, but why were you here, seeming hiding in the stands. 

The media had been shoving the Preath narrative down your throat for months, maybe it had finally gotten to you. Yet, weren’t you in your own relationship? Maybe they had all read the signs wrong and you were still head over heels for Christen. 

If you were going to finally make a stand for her girl, why had you chosen this venue? She shook her head, heading into the tunnel for halftime, she needed to figure out how to stop your bid for Christen’s heart. 

“You didn’t tell me she was coming,” Tobin growled, passing Kelley as she made her way to her locker. 

Kelley shrugged, unable to suppress her smirk. “She’s not here for you anyway,” 

“She’s wearing a jersey Kelley,” She spat, glaring at the defender, who simply shrugged again. 

“Yeah, so? She wanted to do something nice, prove how much she loves her and all that,” 

Tobin opened and closed her mouth several times, her fist clenching as Kelley all but confirmed her biggest fear. But she wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

*****

You found it incredibly amusing that your girlfriend couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off you during the second half. Hell, it was so obvious that at one point she had tripped over thin air cause she was looking at you instead of where she was going. 

And by the time the final whistle blew, you had garnered the attention of most of the national team, wondering why their frat daddy junior was so distracted. 

Lindsey got to you first, hopping up onto the railing to talk to you (as you had chosen a front row seat just behind the bench). 

“Hey rockstar, wanna come down and see your girl?” She smiled, leaning over the rail to tug you forward. You glanced behind her, wincing at the glare Tobin was sending you. You tugged your jacket closed again and shook your head. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea Linessie,” 

“Oh come on, Kelley and I will protect you so you can serenade Sonnett,” She laughed goodnaturedly, remembering the many times you had convinced your respective best friends to help you surprise your girlfriend. 

“Haha, very funny,” you frowned, biting your lip. You really wanted to see Emily, but from the looks Tobin was sending your way, you weren’t sure if that was a good idea. 

Lindsey’s eyes softened at your hesitance. It was rare you let your softer, more shy side out in public. She knew you truly cared for Emily, and that you were worried your presence would ruin the night for her. 

You glanced at the railing, picking at the chipping paint. “She deserves to savor your win, not have me and my drama on the front page,” 

“Everything will be fine. Emily is super excited you’re here, and when they get a picture of your jersey, I think that all the preath shit will be in the past” Lindsey said softly, grabbing your hand and tugging you onto the field. 

You hid behind Lindsey as she navigates you through her teammates, intent on making it to the frat daddies who were across the field(who just happened to be standing next to Christen). That was until a very angry Tobin stepped directly into Lindsey’s path. 

“I can’t let you go over there Y/n. It’s over, just let it go,” Tobin said, crossing her arms like a petulant child. 

Lindsey rolled her eyes at the woman, attempting to take a step around her. “Chill Tobs, it’s not a big deal,” Tobin again stepped in your way. You frowned. This was why you didn’t want to come down in the field. 

“I think it’s a really big deal that she’s trying to steal my wife,” Tobin huffed, sniffing slightly. 

“What?” you asked, your eyebrows furrowing. You weren’t here to see Christen at all. You were so busy staring quizzically at the midfielder that you didn’t notice your girlfriend sprinting in your direction until she launched herself into your arms. 

“I’m so glad you decided to come! I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” She mumbled into your neck, and you pulled her closer to you, tilting your head so you could place a kiss on her lips. This moment made everything worth it. 

“You said it was important so I’m here. I’d do anything for you superstar,” You said softly, kissing her cheeks and her forehead, drawing a giggle out of the girl. 

She shoved you lightly, catching you by your jacket collar to pull you back into a kiss. 

“I thought you were an Arsenal fan, not a Chelsea one?” She laughed against your lips, and you pouted. It had been the only jacket in Kelley’s apartment that fit you. You pulled away completely, shrugging out of the offending piece of clothing, revealing your jersey beneath it. 

“I just wanted to hide this until the right moment,” You smirked, ignoring the gasps of the women behind you. (Tobin had been watching dumbfounded from the moment you started hugging Emily, and the large Sonnett on your back had her even more confused. Why were you in Somnett’s jersey if you were trying to win Christen back?)

“God you look good with my name on your back,” Emily smirked, her hands on your hips, pulling you back in for yet another kiss. You smiled against her lips. This hadn’t been your plan, but everything seemed to be coming together. 

“What if it was our name?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at her and tilting your head to the side. She froze, blinking rapidly to process what you were saying. 

You barely registered the “Wait, what?” From behind you, and the slapping sound that followed. You could only assume it was Kelley as she added a “Shut up, she’s been planning this for months,” 

You had been planning this for months. Planning the perfect moment, and it couldn’t have been more perfect than this. You were both winners in your respective fields, and you wanted to be a winner in this too. You had never felt this way about another person. 

 Emily blinked at you again, asking a silent what, and you took that as your cue to continue. “Like, what if Sonnett was my name too, like minus a hyphen?” You shrugged, poking the 14 on her jersey and the matching one on yours before beginning to dig into your pocket. 

“Are you?” She stuttered as you dropped down on one knee, pulling out the ring you had stashed in your pocket. Yeah, this was much better than doing this in some back hallway of the stadium. 

You took a deep breath and looked up into Emily’s eyes, opening the ring box and asking the simple question “Marry me?” 

“Yes,” Emily is on her knees in an instant, cupping your face and kissing you again. She didn’t need a big long speech about how much you loved her (the two albums made your feelings crystal clear), and she loved you too. She couldn’t wait to be your wife. 

“Told you she wasn’t here for you,” Kelley laughed, nudging Tobin and Christen as they gaped at the two of you. How had they not known? 

Christen gulped down her feelings, leaning further into Tobin’s side. You weren’t hers anymore and she was somehow alright with that. 

[fandomscombine]

Baseless Jealousy

Oliver Wood Cousin!Reader x Jealous!Fred Weasley

WC:2307

BG: Fred and y/n’s relationship is currently 3 years long strong. After a summer apart, it seems to be a 3rd party had become closer to y/n. Is it something that Fred has to worry about or is it just baseless jealousy?

a/n: The pairing the won for this fic is Oliver Wood Cousin!Reader x Jealous! Fred Weasley, Thanks so much for voting!

>>>MASTERLIST<<<

>>JOIN MY WRITING CHALLENGE!<<

--

You and Fred started dating 3 years ago. Fred would like to believe that the relationship is strong, other people believes it so too. However ever since the start of 5th year, something started to get on his nerves, or should he say someone.

See, Fred had noticed you getting closer to his Quidditch captain, Oliver wood. He didn’t want to blame it on the summer you two spent apart but he could quite help himself. You had spent the entire apart, no letters whatsoever. At first, he tried to be understanding, it was after all a summer you and your family spent in Italy while attending your aunt’s wedding, you had told him that this was the first time in 8 years that the whole side of your mother’s family was present as they were all scattered into various parts of the world. He understood the importance of family so he had let it slide that you and he hadn’t communicated in the past 2 months- besides, it must be really exhausting to overwork the owls to post cross country.

Which was why he was so excited to finally see you in person at Platform 9 ¾ on the first of September, to his dismay, you had arrived with Oliver Wood. Back then he had pushed his jealousy aside and concluded as a coincidence that you had turned up together at the barrier. You and Oliver are just friends, he told himself, and that was completely fine.

Fred had sneaked a hug behind you and whispered into your ear. ‘Had a great summer?’

You had jumped at the touch but once you realised who is was from you relaxed. ‘Ohh Freddie!’ You turned and hit his chest. ‘Don’t scare me like that!’ Earning a laugh from him. ‘I did, I had such great times catching up with my cousins! You wouldn’t believe how much trouble we almost got into. But of course.’ Your fingers played with the back of his head. ‘I missed having my love around.’

~

‘Hey love I’m off to Quidditch practice now.’ Fred informed, kissing your cheek. ‘Will you be there?’ Ever since you and Fred got together 3 years ago, you would go cheer him on during Quidditch practices whenever you can.

This year however, more are at stake.

During the semi-finals, Quidditch matches are dotted with professional quidditch team mangers in hopes to scout for potential recruits to join their team upon graduation.

It is rumoured that the manager for Puddlemere United would be attending the next match, Hufflepuff vs Gryffindor. Puddlemere United being Oliver’s favourite and dream team, he had been pushing the team with more frequent trainings then ever, hoping to perform the best game they would ever play, to further increase his chances to chosen to be part of the team.

You looked up from the letter you were writing. ‘Yep, just gotta make a quick stop to the owlery. I’ll soon you soon okay?’

~

Arriving at the owlery, a large parcel instantly caught your eye. ‘Oh mum..’ Examining for any potential damage, which thankfully weren’t any.

The barn owl nearest it hooted. ‘Alright! Alright! I was looking if there were damages.’ The owl flapped its wings in annoyance. ‘Here,’ offering your owl some treats. ‘You’ll need to store up some energy on the way back.’ Another hoot sounded, this time from a grey owl, that you recognised belonged too your mother. ‘There’s some for you too.’ After the 2 owls finished their food, you attached your letter your owl’s leg. ‘This is for mother, a thank you note on behalf of Ollie. I’ll write another when we see his reaction to this-I can’t wait.’ You bid the 2 birds goodbye, watching until they disappear unto the horizon.

Now you turn to face your major problem. You had thought that your mother would have had it placed in a box, rather what you got was a large parcel that is clearly wrapped with parchment, with no subtlety in hiding what it truly is.

~

You had finally manged to sneak the parcel into the Gryffindor boys’ locker room, though it had taken a lot more effort than you thought.

You were just leaving when you had bumped into someone.

‘oopf! Sorr-‘

‘y/n love! What are you doing here?’  Fred wondered, looking over your shoulder, trying to figure out what you were up to. ‘You missed the whole practice.’

‘ohh it’s nothing really----Ayyeee! Not so fast!’ You grabbed Harry’s shoulder, preventing him in enter any further. In all honestly, you hadn’t hidden Oliver’s surprise well, there aren’t a lot of hiding places in the changing room. Determined to not ruin the surprise, you need, you must get Oliver to see it first. ‘Had any of you seen Oli-‘

Right then you heard his unmistakably Scottish accent. ‘I’m just saying George, with this new and improve game plan, we are for sure going win the House Cup!’

‘Oliver!’ You shouted, pushing your boyfriend and Harry aside to reach him. ‘Come quick, I’ve got something to show you!’ With all your strength you hauled him to move faster.

‘What is it now y/n? Can’t you see I’m……..’ Oliver had come to a stop. Based on his sudden lack of complaining, you knew he spotted it.

‘It’s a gift from mum and dad. We thought it would future help your chances to be in the professional league.’ You noted. ‘I wasn’t sure which one of these was your locker, so I decided to just hide it behind the benches.’

Oliver hurriedly torn away the wrappings. ‘Oh my…. y/n! A FIREBOLT!’ He turned towards his teammates with eyes watery. ‘A FIREBOLT, A 1993 EBONY WOOD WITH BIRCH TWIGS FIREBOLT!’ He declared with glee.

Too caught up in your cousin’s precious reaction to your gift, you however had failed to noticed Fred displeasure.

‘I think I’m gonna be sick. So much for a girlfriend.’ He grumbled to George. ‘Excuse me.’ Shoving his broom to Harry, Fred walked out of the locker room.

The next thing you knew, you were spinning through the air. Oliver had lifted you in celebration, ‘Thank you y/n thank you so much!’ He mumbled into your hair. ‘Pass on my gratitude to Aunty and Uncle.’  

‘Wait? Did you just say Aunty and Uncle?’ voiced a very confused Harry.

‘Yea.’ Confirmed Oliver. ‘Y/n is my cousin.’

George’s bafflement turned into a startle. ‘You’re joking right?’

‘No, why would be joking George?’ You frowned. ‘Didn’t you know?’

‘Nope’ He replied, popping the “p”. ‘Now it clears everything up. Freddie is going to be--.’

‘Speaking of, where is Freddie?’ You scanned around, wondering where he might have gone to. Which was when you spotted Harry holding up not one but two brooms. ‘Harry…’

‘y/n listen…..Freddie is uhh ’ George was trying to come up how to break it to you gently.

When Harry blurted out. ‘He left.’

‘He whot?’ demanded Oliver.

‘He left, said something about being sick of his girlfriend.’ Commented Harry frankly. ‘owhh!’

Even though it would have been too late to stop Harry from spitting out more wrongfully worded sentences- the damaged has been done- It still made George happy to put some sense into him. Praying that a smack on the head would have made Harry shut up, George took control of the situation, hoping it could still salvage the weakening remain of his twin’s and y/n relationship.

‘Listen y/n. Regarding my idiot brother, you got to know that he, like everyone else in the room, had thought that you and Oliver were flirting with each other.’

‘eww!’ You couldn’t control your reflex.

‘yeah, his emotions got to the best of him when he witnessed everything that got down here and stormed out because of jealousy.’

‘Oh gosh.’ You head towards the door, you could see a red figure walking towards the castle, kicking at fallen leaves every now and then. ‘I’ve got to get to him.’

You felt someone grab your arm ‘No let me handle this y/n.’ voiced Oliver. ‘I’m part of this… complication after all, besides I bet Fred’s fuming right now and as your older cousin, I am willing to take the heat and make him see reason until he has finally calmed down to talk to you with a clear head.’ He explained reassuringly.

‘But---

‘No buts.’ Oliver kissed your forehead. ‘Stay here and send for him back so all this misunderstanding could be sorted out. Now…’ he addressed Harry to get his new firebolt. ‘I’ve got a relationship to fix.’ Oliver hopped on the broom and sped away.

~

‘Fred! Fred!’ Screamed Oliver.

Fred choose to ignore him, picking up his pace.

Leaving Oliver with no choice but to cut him off.

‘WEASLEY!’ Oliver jumped off his broom.

‘Get Out of My Way Wood!’ Fred raised his hand to shove the other boy away but met with resistance. ‘I SAID GET OUT!’ Fred tried to free his fist from Oliver’s grasp, but the older boy was much stronger.

‘Not until you calm down and listen to what I have to say.’

‘Fine.’ Oliver let go of him, he raised his arms high in surrender. ‘y/n sent you, didn’t she?’

‘No. I came here on my own will. I told her to stay behind to protect her.’ Oliver confessed.

‘To protect her?’ scoffed Fred. ‘From what? From me?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact.’

‘Oh of course, it’s HER who needs protecting and not me. Not me, after I see you both shamelessly act so close to one another, closer, might I tell you then her own boyfriend! If was as if I wasn’t there’

‘Fred,’

Fred brushed his hand away, ignoring Oliver’s interruption. ‘When did you two get so close anyway? You know at first, I tried to pass it off as friendship but as time when on, I could help but think-‘

‘Y/N IS MY COUSIN!’ blurted Oliver, unable to hear another person thinking that they were other than family. ‘THERE’S NOTHING GOING ON BETWEEN US!’

‘what?’  

‘Apparently for some reason most of you lot don’t know. George and Harry were just as surprised too. But yes, y/n is my cousin, on my father’s side. My father and her mother are brothers and sisters. I thought with all these years we’ve known each other that you’d know we’re related. Guess I was wrong.’

‘I….I didn’t know.. I’m sorry.’

‘Apology accepted but we both know there is someone more deserving of hearing that apology.’ Oliver nodded towards the locker room. ‘She’s there waiting.’

‘Thank you, Oliver.’ He held out his hand. ‘Friends?’

‘Friends’ Oliver shook his hand, the stared straight into his eyes. ‘BUT…’

‘but?’

‘But if you hurt her again Weasley, you have me to answer for, that is of course after she’s done her share.’ Without another word, Oliver flew off, testing out his new gift.

~

Fred ran full speed ahead, praying that he didn’t completely ruin a wondering 3-year relationship with the girl of his dreams. Before entering the room, he conjured up a bouquet of your favourite flowers, hoping that could help out his image.

Testing the waters, he called. ‘y/n? are you in here love?’

‘In here’ you sighed. He hated hearing you so sad. He hated it more that it was him causing you to feel that way.

Cautiously he made his way to you with arms outstretched. You accepted the flowers, to that he let himself relax a bit, bringing them up to you nose, you noted. ‘They smell nice, thank you.’

Fred was grateful that you hadn’t scolded him off on his baseless jealousy, still he knew he had to apologize and win his girl back. Kneeling in front where you sat, Fred took your hands and poured out his heart.

‘Y/n, I am sorry. I made a huge mistake, I… I got jealous of how you had gotten close to Oliver this year.’ He confessed.’ Ever since the start of this year, I thought that Oliver was stealing you away from me. I thought that perhaps you two had something going on behind my back.’

Chuckling to himself he continued. ‘I didn’t even realise that you were cousins until he told me just now. I feel so stupid. 3 years together, 5 years of knowing you. It was so obvious.’ Fred closed his eyes.

‘Still, with my worries, I should have asked, asked what you and Oliver were.’ He stressed. ‘I should have come and talked to you, to sort this out like what a, healthy, trusting and understanding relationship would. But instead I keep all my doubts and insecurities brew, I went deep into my own conclusions that were without evidence, I let my jealousy get the best of me.’

Fred brought your knuckles to his lips. ‘y/n love, I’m sorry. I love you and if you want a space, I understand. But there is no a day in this world where I would not rather be back in your loving arms. I hope that you could forgive me.’

‘Freddie, I forgive you.’ You cup his tear stained cheek. ‘It was just a stupid misunderstanding.’

Gesturing for him to sit beside you ‘I thought it was common knowledge that Oliver and I are cousins. Apparently not. Yes, we weren’t that close before.’ You admitted.  ‘But we really did get to know each other in the summer. 5 weeks either being sounded by adult relatives or small children, we hung out often, being the only 2 cousins similar in age.’

You return back into a more serious tone. ‘Of course, I did wish you had voiced it out, we could have avoided this conflict altogether. So, promise me this. Whatever problems may arise, before we delved into our own assumptions, we would always talk it out. Alright?’

‘I promise.’

~

Taglist [All/General]: @gruffle1​

Tagging also all those who voted for the~Oliver Wood Cousin!Reader x Jealous!Fred Weasley~ Thank you! @jenniweaslee​ @ najiler @ im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @ gweaslvy and the lovely anons!

[violets-page]

In her arms |R.M|

Rebekah Mikaelson x reader

Word count: 2181

Rebekah and you have been friends forever, but when Damon and Elena try and use you as leverage she confesses her feelings. 

warnings: torture, nothing too extreme or graphically depicted. 

MASTERLIST

God, you hated living in Mystic Falls.

Those were your first thoughts when you woke up alone and in the dark.

Where you were was a mystery but how you got there was plain and simple. You had been kidnapped. But by who was what you still had to wander.

You sat as still as you could trying to listen for voices, footsteps, or hell; even traffic. Not that you could even hear anything over the sound of your own heavy breathing. Your head pounded as you tried to figure out how you ended up here. 

Last you had remembered you had been walking to Bekah’s house. It was only about a mile from where you lived and the sun had shone brightly. Not to mention your mom’s car was in the shop so she had taken yours. 

The last thing you remembered was smiling at the thought of the Mikelson’s trying the spicy pasta you were going to make for them tonight. That and then your head colliding with something hard.

You gave up on listening and started to struggle. Your hands were bound in front of you by a thick rope and your feet bound underneath you. After trying to shift your hands out of the ropes for probably a good 10 minutes you realized that whoever tied them was making sure that you weren’t going anywhere. 

By now all the thoughts had started running through your head. They’re going to kill me. Or worse. I’ll never see my family again. Will they ever find my body. Oh my god oh my god. Rebeckah is waiting for me. If I die… I hope she never has to see my body or hear about what happened. 

By now your hands had brush burn where the rope laid, and your legs had fallen asleep. the old shirt of a gag that they had tied around your mouth was soaked in spit and you could no longer taste the bourbon on it that you could when you first woke up. Not to mention the pains in your stomach from skipping lunch, and now probably dinner. 

Rebekah- god knows why- had become rather insistent in training you on self-defense so you had gotten pretty good at that. She failed, however, to show you how to escape from rope bonds. 

You managed to scoot forward quite a bit. Reaching up towards the door handle you twist it only for it to be locked. Of course. But that didn’t mean it was useless. 

The door handle looked ancient. It was metal with one of those old keyholes. Part of the metal plate jutted out in what looked to be an attempt to yank it off. 

Reaching up you started to rub the ropes against the metal piece hoping to cut it off. Your actions halted before starting again faster at the sudden appearance of footsteps.

Shit shit shit.

When the door opened you fell threw. Not realizing how much you’d been leaning against the door. 

“Damon, we already have her. You don’t need to torture her too.”

You were pushed onto your back by a foot to the stomach.

Your eyes met pale blue ones song and a terrifying smirk.

Damon Salvatore

The only reason you knew who he was was because of the absurd amount of time he spent pestering Bonnie and Rebekah. Who happened to be the few people at Mystic fall high you talked to regularly. 

You recognized the voice scolding Damon as Caroline.

“Oh come on, she’s not gonna come if she thinks her girlfriend is A-okay. We gotta ruff her up a bit.”

Girlfriend?

They definitely had the wrong person

As you made eye contact with Caroline she dared to shoot you a little smile and wave. You just glared at her.

“Alright listen here hun, all you gotta do is scream, cry maybe spill some blond for us then call your dear friend Rebekah over to save you and we can all leave happy. Okay?΅

Your brows furrowed. What do they want with Bekah?

Bekah must have a girlfriend she never told me about. And they must think I’m her. 

Your heart hurt at this realization.  

When you made no move or any attempt to reply he continued on.

“look, we just need Stefan back’

Your reply came out muffled by the gag. Which he promptly (and aggressively) ripped off. You shifted so you were sitting up with your back against the cold wall.

“Bekah doesn't have stefan”

He rolled his eyes at you

“I know that. But Klaus does. Klause doesn’t love anyone but his family, and we couldn’t catch them. Trust me we tried. However, Rebekah loves you, which means she’d do anything to save you even if that meant betraying her brother.”

“Maybe.” Caroline piped up.

“Even if she did she would call the authorities to come and save me. Bekah wouldn’t risk her life to come and get me. Plus I’m not her girlfriend.” 

At this, they all rolled their eyes.

“Trust me she will” Damon scoffed

“Let’s just give this over with” came the voice of Elena. Who had somehow appeared at your side. 

Your eyes went wide at the sight of the needle in your leg before quickly dropping closed. 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

When you awoke again you were in what appeared to be the Salvatore living room. A quick glance down showed that your hands and feet had been bound tightly to a chair.

“Finally she’s up.” Elena grumbled

“Well someone miscalculated the dosage” Damon side-eyed her. 

“Well no one told me she was a human”

Human. There was that word again. You never really understood what they meant. Bekah and her brothers always referred to you as their little human, which implied that they were different. While you didn’t fully understand it, you knew parts of how they were different.

You knew Rebekah and her brothers were all extremely strong and never seemed to get hurt. And you knew from eavesdropping that there were others in the town like them. 

You weren’t scared though. Well, at least not of the Mikelsons. They would never hurt you. Damon and Elena on the other hand….

The earlier stalked towards you with a devilish grin on his face. He reached for your hand and you immediately tried to pull back. Unable to because of the restraints you felt his cold hand engulf yours. 

Right before he broke your finger.

You screamed partially from the shock of seeing your finger bent flat against the back of your hand and the other part from the pain.

It wasn’t until you saw Damon glance back at Elena did you notice that she was recording.

Other hand. Same finger. 

Again you screamed. Louder this time. 

One by one he broke each one. Waiting for your screams to subside before moving on the next. *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

After there were none left to break and your vision was fading in and out from the pain, he leaned in close. 

“Now beg for her”

At first, you didn’t know who he was talking about. But as the tears started to run down your face and all you could think of was the safe embrace of a certain blonde, you knew. But never would you drag her into possible danger. You would rather let him break every bone in your body. 

And it seemed he might.

“Is that all you’ve got?” you mumbled so quietly that you weren't sure if he even heard you or not. Apparently, he did. And boy was that the wrong thing to say.

He motioned to Caroline who handed him a sleek and simple dagger before covering her mouth and turning away.

You hoped you were wrong about what you thought was coming. But when the dagger pierced the skin on your thigh there was no denying it. 

“Bek… “ it had slipped through your lips without you even noticing. Damon however easily caught it.

He removed the dagger and aimed a little lower before plummeting it back in. Your mind rattled as the sound of your screams filled the house.

“BEG FOR HER” but it was too late. You had already passed out

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

“It’s good enough,” Caroline tried to convince the pair. “Just send it to her”.

So they did.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   * 

Rebekah was starting to get worried. You were supposed to be at her house by now for family dinner night. Plus it was your turn to cook. 

She wanted to tell you all about how mad she was at Nik as you played with her hair. She wanted to see you smile as your warm arms wrapped around her with promises that everything would be okay. 

You would have texted her if you were going to be late. Right? 

She let out an audible sigh of relief at the sound of your ringtone coming from her pocket.

Her ease was short-lived when instead of a text she saw a video. Of you. Hurt.

A million thoughts raced through her head as black veins extended from beneath her eyes. 

Before her mind even caught up with her body she was out the door.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

By the time she arrived at the Salvatore house, she thought her dead heart would just about burst out of her ribcage. 

Flinging the door open she ran right to Damon. Steak already in her hand she raised it high above her head

“STOP” she looked over to see Elena holding a knife against y/n’s tear-stricken face.  Her demeanor quickly changed as she let the stake clatter to the floor. Her tight grip on Damon’s shirt, however, remained. 

“If you touch her Elena it’ll be the last thing you ever do.” 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

At the familiar sound of her voice, you couldn't help but let every muscle in your body relax, despite the situation you were in. 

You couldn’t even hold back the words that left your mouth.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

“Beckah.” She heard you sigh in relief. Her heart swelled at the sound of your voice. 

“Here’s how it’s going to go.” Elena spoke with a sudden burst of confidence “Call your brother and get him to bring Stefan back and make him turn back on his emotions. No Stefan. We kill her. Hurt any of us. We kill her. Got it?” 

Rebekah looked back at you. There was no way she could get to you in time, the dagger was already drawing blood from your neck. Shoving Damon back she walked out with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The moment she was out the door she immediately dialed Nik.

“I need you to bring Stefan back.”

His reply was exactly what she had been fretting: “You know I can’t do that bekah.” 

Her hands shook as she tried to keep her voice steady. “Please Nik, they-” breath in breath out. “They took y/n.” 

The line went silent.

“Please please please” she begged as silent sobs wracked her body.

“Wait right there”

* * * * * 

Klaus had a soft spot when it came to anything involving his sister. And if that meant protecting a weak human girl that made her happy then so be it. 

Don’t get him wrong he adored you as well. You came over every Thursday to prepare a new dish from around the world with them. And while he wasn’t as infatuated with you as Kol and Bekah are, he had grown fond. 

He arrived at the Salvatore house hours later to find Bekah curled up on the sidewalk out front. When she looked up he saw that her makeup had been wiped off and her eyes rubbed red. 

As she took note of the lack of a Stefan she stood up. “Where's Stefan?” 

“Don’t worry I'll handle this” he made a move towards the door but Rebekah quickly moved in front of him.

“No Nik you can't, they’ll kill her. You need Stefan, please just go get Stefan.” 

He gripped her shoulders and gave her a slight shake to bring her back to her senses. “Bekah. Don’t forget who you are. Who WE are.” she gave him a nod and they turned towards the house. 

Within moments the pair had knocked out two of the vampires and the third was left cowering far away from y/n.

Becka leaned close so only Elena could hear. 

“If you ever even think about touching her again, I will kill everyone you ever love. For all of eternity,” she smiled and the quaking brunette. 

As soon as the vamps were taken care of Rebekah wasted no time running to your side. Your head felt light and you weren’t sure if you were hallucinating because of the blood loss or if Bekah just snapped Caroline’s neck. You also weren’t so whether she was talking or that was just the ringing in your ears. 

As she undid the ropes you faded in and out of consciousness. But now you were certain you had heard her mumbles clearly

I love you. I love you. I love you. I’m so sorry. I’ll never let you go. I love you. I love you. I love you. 

as she pulled you into her warm embrace you knew you were safe.

And as tears and lips hit your forehead. You knew this would be the end of your friendship.

Pt.2

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

It’s Just a Movie: Part 25 (Poly!Lost Boys x Fem!Reader)

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Warnings: slight angst, violence

Word Count: 3613

School has started for me!! I was able to get the past couple of chapters out despite the first days, but with a work/school combo I’m gonna have zero time to write!! Basically, the next (and final chapters) are gonna be slower to get uploaded, but they’ll get posted soon!!!

You couldn't believe this was happening. Never in your life did you think you'd be in this situation in the first place, but you never thought that you'd be leading the Frogs and the Emerson's down into the cave either. You had made an agreement before you'd even parked Paul's bike. You weren't there to fight, you were there to talk. The Frogs, and Michael, wouldn't believe what you said until they heard it from the boys themselves. No matter how much you tried to convince them. This definitely wasn't part of the plan, but it was better than the ones the Frogs wanted to go with. You saw them clamor out of the car, and then Edgar grabbed Alan. He said,

"Weapons check." And then he was twirling his brother around to grab his pack and check him. You walked over, and grabbed Edgar, and Alan, by the back of his pack, saying,

"Woah, you are not going down there with those stakes." You knew that, peace talk or not, the boys would freak the second they saw the stakes. Especially Marko. The last thing you needed was the boys seeing that the first second they woke up. It'd be a bloodbath, and it'd be hard to defend the boys' case after that. It was Edgar that said,

"Then, we're not going down there at all." And Alan was quick to second him,

"For all we know, this could be an ambush. We are not going into enemy territory unarmed." And you fought the urge to roll your eyes from all the military talk. You sighed, defeated, and looked over when you heard Michael say,

"I don't want you going down there." Sam had already helped him out of the car, and a piece of you softened when you heard Sam reply,

"Well, I'm going." You knew, horror movie or not, their relationship was the backbone of the movie. None of this would be happened if they didn't care about eachother as much as they did, and you didn't interrupt as Michael said,

"Look, this isn't a comic book, Sam. These guys are brutal killers." And you felt the urge to almost agree with him. They were, but, as far as they knew, they wouldn't be if they killed Max. Sam quickly replied,

"So are the Frog brothers." And you looked at the two little brunettes. You watched as Edgar said,

"Check me." And Alan immediately went for the stakes. You scratched the back of your neck. As goofy as they seemed, you knew, unfortunately, that was true. But, you also knew that you weren't going to let it happen. Not this time.

"Look, who would you rather go down there with? Them or me?" To you, it was an easy choice. It seemed like this was the only thing you and Michael could agree on.

"If something happens down there, I'm not gonna have the strength to protect you." And you swallowed. You knew what line was coming, and you had to stop yourself from saying something about it.

"Well, this time I'm gonna protect you, bud. Even though you're a vampire, you're still my brother." You turned away, trying not to let the words affect you. Sam was a sweet kid, and, while you loved your boys, you weren't going to let them do anything to him. And, if you could help it, the Frogs. You looked back and snatched the knife from Edgar's hands.

"Wave this around, and I'm not gonna be able to stop the boys from making assumptions. Keep your stuff in your pack, and stay behind me. Got it?" You told them, and the brothers looked between eachother. They didn't seem pleased to be taking orders from you, and you sighed again as you decided to pocket the blade instead of giving it back to the boy. Really, they shouldn't even have this many knives anyways. You thought. You were going to need to come up with a good explanation for this, or else the Frogs weren't going to be the only ones getting chewed out. You let Edgar turn to Michael and say,

"Listen, just so you know, if you try to turn on us," He said, directly pointing at you. "Or vamp out in any way, then I'll stake you without even thinking twice about it." He said, his finger directed towards Michael this time. He added, "Both of you." And you frowned at the boy. You noted the change in dialogue, but you supposed it was a good sign. You were changing things, changing the movie. Hopefully that meant you'd changed enough to guarantee the boys' safety. But you knew that if he went around making threats like that, the boys were going to give him something to worry about. It was Sam that said,

"Chill out, Edgar." And you agreed. Everyone was going to need to chill, or else this was going to go sideways fast. 

"Yeah. C'mon." Edgar said. As you followed the Frogs down the steps, you heard Michael say,

"Where'd you say you met these guys?" And you tried to keep up with the brothers in front of you. The Frogs were supposed to lead you down into the cave, but you quickly slipped past them. You hopped down the stairs with ease, having months of practice navigating the creaking, falling apart stairway. When you went to the cave, you walked in it as one would walk in their own house. 

"Holy shit!" Edgar exclaimed, and you didn't comment. That was pretty much everyone's reaction, even yours.

"Vampire hotel." Alan commented, and you rolled your eyes as you walked ahead of them. As soon as the Frogs saw Star, you knew what was coming. You tried to grab them each by the back of their packs, but Edgar was already saying,

"Here's one. C'mon, let's stake her, man!" Michael had already seen the way they'd rushed for her, and he quickly tried his best to protect her in his weakened state.

"Don't you touch her!" He shouted, and the boys slapped away your hands. You let them go as Edgar said,

"C'mon. Vampires have such rotten tempers." And, they were running off. They ran around like two excited kids in a candy store, seeming to forget the object of their mission as soon as they were confronted with their threat. It seemed that getting them off course was going to be harder than you thought, and you quickly put two fingers in your mouth to let out a loud whistle. Like a pair of excited puppies, their heads snapped towards you. You could hear Star murmuring behind you, but you didn't know if it was your whistle or Michael that had awoken her.

"You two! Sit down over there and stay put. Sam," You said, turning towards him. You noticed that Michael was already going for Laddie, aiming to get him out of the cave after Star told him to. While you were here to talk, you didn't imagine the boys would be too upset if the two half's were gone. Well, at least, most of them wouldn't. "Watch them, okay? I'm gonna get the boys-"

"I'm coming with you." Sam quickly said, and you found a small smile developing on your face. He looked so earnest. So willing to protect. You reached out to touch his shoulder, lowering your voice. "I know you want to, Sam, but I need you to keep an eye on the Frogs, okay? If they follow me, I could be in deep shit." You told him, and, in a second, his face seemed to change. He understood what you were trying to suggest, quickly nodding. You had figured out that they apparently thought worse of your boys, way worse than you'd ever intended, but, if it helped, you were going to play into it. Plus, you did need to talk to the boys alone. 

You walked through the halls of the cave, slipping into a hallway different than the ones the boys had taken in the movie. You wandered around for a bit, listening for the sound of footsteps and purposely taking a few wrong turns just so you'd have to double back and would bump into the boys if they'd decided to follow you. You finally went to the cave where the boys slept, and you looked up to see them hanging from the ceiling. The five of you had talked about them sleeping in your room instead, but you'd pointed out that them being on the floor would make them far too easy targets. So, their room really was the best bet when it came to keeping themselves safe. The only suggestion you'd made was that they all gathered away from the ladder. Then, there'd be no way the Frogs could reach them. They seemed to have listened, and Paul had even taken Markos place as the closest to the ladder. Even then, he was still out of arms reach. You sighed, tapping your foot as you tried to think about how you'd get them down. Touching the boys was the only real way to wake them up, as they were all deep sleepers. You guessed vampirism had that as a side-effect. You cringed as you thought of one way you could wake them up, but you didn't hesitate to reach into your bag for the knife you'd swiped from Edgar. You decided on a small cut to the tip of your finger. It took a moment, but, the second the smell of blood hit them, you knew. Paul's eyes were the first to flick open, and he reached for the blonde besides him. As soon as Marko was awake, and they all knew it wasn't him that was bleeding, Paul fell from the railing. He grabbed your finger, bringing it to his mouth as he quickly said,

"What'd you do this for?" He licked the blood trailing down your finger and sucked on the wound for a moment, while the others fell from the railing in a circle around you. You answered with a,

"Well, I figured this would wake you up." And he hummed around the cut. You'd been right. Blood was a sure-fire way to get any of them to wake up. They seemed confused, but relieved. You weren't screaming, yelling, warning them that the Frogs were coming. Marko was bouncing on the balls of his feet, a smile growing on his face. He wasn't laying on the floor with a stake out of his chest. As far as they knew, it had worked. 

"What happened?" David asked, and you nearly had to yank your finger away from Paul when you felt the graze of teeth. He gave you a teasing smile, and you looked at the platinum haired blonde to do the same. A smile you only used when you were trying to get him to consider something. He narrowed his eyes.

"Well-" You started, but Marko grabbed your arm. He stopped you, and his eyes flicked towards the entrance. You took an inhale, and you mentally said, Shit. 

"They followed you." He said, his voice hollow and his eyes wide. You could see a speck of fear in his eyes, replacing the relief,  and you had to grab Paul before he went to do anything stupid, like try to walk into sunlight. They had a look in their eyes that you'd, luckily, never had to see before. Well, at least, in real life. You recognized it from the opening scene, when David had looked ready to kill that surf nazi. And again when he'd tried to grab Sam. And when Paul had tried to kill the Frogs. And when Dwayne has grabbed Sam. Hell, perhaps you'd seen it more than you thought. 

"I went to the Emerson's, and I brought them here-" You started, but that was as far as you got before David snapped,

"You what?" He asked, and you internally cringed at the tone of voice and how the room shook from the loudness of his voice. Yeah, you were in trouble. Rightfully so when you saw the look of betrayal in the shortest boys eyes. They moved for a second, and you already knew what they were thinking. You had betrayed them. Sold them out. You were going to kill them. Before they could do anything rash, you said,

"I told them that you want Max gone. It was the only way to get them to stand down, and they're here to talk." You said, and the boys stared at you in shock. You went silent, refusing to tell them anything else that may dig your grave any deeper. They stared at you, and David looked like he was about to have an aneurysm for a moment. He was pissed. But he was silent, and you could see that he was thinking.

"They're here to...talk?" David asked, disbelief clear in his voice, and you nodded. The boys stood behind him, flanking him. If it had been your first couple of days in their world, you would've been terrified. But you knew your boys, and you knew that they, at least, wouldn't do anything without David's word. "All of them?" David asked, and you nodded. Then, quickly, you corrected yourself.

"Michael is still taking Star and Laddie up to the car, but Sam and the Frogs…" You said, letting yourself trail off. They were silent, obviously not willing to fill up the silence for you. Even when you casted a glance over to Dwayne, who was seeming to try his best not to be effected by the inevitable. "They just wanna hear it from you. I told them what we planned, the whole turning back to a human thing, but Michael wasn't convinced. He thought that you guys had to be lying or have some sort of ulterior motive so- So, I gave them one." You said. The one time you needed to bank on Michael being stupid, he hadn’t been. So, you’d told him something closer to the truth. They did want their father-figure gone, just not for the same reason why. They wanted him gone because they hated him, despised him. The others thought they wanted him gone because he'd turned them, which was true, and because it would turn them back into being human. "They just wanna hear that you won't try to stop them from killing Max." You said, trying to get rid of the silence once more. All of the boys were quiet, and they were exchanging glances. You guessed that they were either waiting for David to decide, or if they were somehow communicating without you. You knew that you were just supposed to correct them and push them in the right direction, but, even then, would that have worked? What would've stopped them from hunting the boys down after they killed their sire? If anything, this was the best course of action, and you forced yourself to believe that. Finally, after a moment, David said,

"Where are they?" You had to bring the Frogs, and Sam, back into the cave simply because of the sunlight pouring inside the main room. You'd found them snooping around the cave, and you had to tell them to put down Dwayne's skateboard. You hated it, leading the boys through the tunnels that you knew so well. Leading them straight to the boys. To where they slept. Your mind replayed the look of betrayal you'd seen so clearly in Markos eyes. It made every step feel like you were trudging through wet concrete. But this was how things had to happen, and this was the only way to save them. Hopefully, it would save them. 

For a moment, you considered the fact that, maybe, despite agreeing not to, you may be leading the boys behind you to their deaths. It made a lump develop in your throat, and you prayed to whatever god you could think of that everything would turn out fine. You took them into the room, where the boys were standing near the far wall of the cave. The room was cramped, but you had long ago gotten used to the smell. Your boys towered over Sam and the Frogs, even if the tallest of the bunch, Dwayne, was leaning against the cave wall with his arms crossed. Paul was standing partially in front of Marko, the two huddled as far away as they could get. David stood away from the wall, the closest to the humans. Almost acting as a block. He glared down at the Frogs, then at Sam. Finally, his eyes shifted to you. "Well?" He asked. He didn't sound happy. He sounded almost antsy. Impatient. As if he wanted this over with. You didn't blame him.

The whole thing seemed to go by in a blur. Threats had been thrown on both sides, and you'd had to toss yourself in the middle of an altercation more than once. Edgar had muttered something about staking you for being a "traitor to your race" when you'd asked if they trusted you, and Paul had nearly exploded. He was practically vibrating as you pushed back on his chest, shouting to get his attention and to get him to calm down. You hadn't even noticed that Dwayne had already grabbed Edgar, and was holding him by his shirt until you heard the young boy start to yell. You'd managed to tear the boy out of his hands and you'd ended up screaming at both parties to knock it off. Finally, it was decided that most of the boys couldn't handle this sort of confrontation. So, the Frogs were put on timeout on one side of the inner cave, with three of your boys on the other. David and Sam stood in the middle, with you besides them to act as neutral ground. Well, as neutral as you could be. 

"So, if we kill Max, you'll go back to being human?" Sam asked, and you heard a murmur from behind him. Your head snapped to the Frogs, fire behind your eyes that got them to zip it for at least a moment. David replied,

"That's what we think." He said, and Sam furrowed his brow. That wasn't what you told them, but, David knew that lying to them completely wouldn't be well received when Max was dead. But, if they didn't know for sure, that was a different story. Plus, the look you gave him after he said it was definitely helping him sell it. From behind him, Edgar said,

"That's not good enough." But, this time, it was a snarling growl that shut them up. It had come from the smallest of the boys. Marko looked completely on edge and ready to snap. You supposed he would be, since Edgar had been the one to kill him. Sam looked over his shoulder, whispering,

"Cool it, Edgar." And you had to hand it to the kid. While he was obviously scared shitless, he seemed to be the most reasonable of the three. And the most gullible. After another moment, he said, "Even if you don't, you swear not to try to kill us? Or stop us from killing Max?" And David almost looked amused. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he glanced at you for a moment. He, now that he'd had a moment to process, seemed to find this situation weirdly hilarious. Or, maybe, it was just Sam.  "Well?" Sam pressed, copying what David has asked in the beginning of their talk. David said,

"We swear. Cross my heart and hope to get staked." He even did the motion of crossing his heart. From behind, you could hear Alan mumbling,

"Oh, you will." And you were this close to letting the boys have free range. You didn't say anything, not when David opened his mouth again to speak,

"But, you have to swear that you won't come after us. Even if we don't get turned back." He said, and an eruption of protests were heard from the Frogs. They were silenced by a single glare from David, who's face shifted into one of a monster. You could tell it scared the boys half to death, to the point where they both seemed to fall back against the wall. He changed his face back before he glanced back at the youngest Emerson. Sam had nearly fallen back, but you'd caught him by the arm. It took him a minute to steady himself and find his voice, and he straightened his blue cardigan sweater right before he said,

"You'll leave us alone? Mike alone?" Sam asked, and you watched the way David's face softened for a moment. It seemed that he had the same effect on him that he had on you. David gave him a nod, and then Sam sighed. He held out his hand, saying, "Deal." And, despite the Frogs protests, David was quick to take it. They shook on it, and then David's eyes lifted to the Frogs. He spoke again, saying,

"So, how are you going to kill him?" And Sam was quick to give up the information that his mother had a date with him that night. Tonight seemed as good as a night as any to get it over with. When Alan sarcastically asked,

"Why, you have any ideas?" David smiled. It was handsome, as handsome as the first smile he'd given you. Though, it seemed to have a chilling effect on the younger boys trapped with them in the cave. David's voice was almost charming as he said,

"We have a few."

[the-desolated-quill]

WandaVision: ‘Subverting’ Good Television - Quill’s Scribbles

(Spoilers for the first five episodes)

Hey everyone! Well... it’s been a while, hasn’t it? The last time I wrote a proper review or Scribble, people still thought the COVID crisis would be over within a month. The poor saps. But I thought that as a special way to mark this year’s Valentines Day, we could take a closer look at the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s shittiest power couple in their new Disney+ show WandaVision.

The first of many MCU spin-off shows that nobody asked for, broadcast exclusively on Disney’s totally unnecessary streaming platform, WandaVision is about everybody’s favourite whitewashed Nazi experiment and her red sexbot boyfriend as they try to fit into a suburban sitcom neighbourhood without arousing suspicion.

Yes, you read that correctly. The MCU has a sitcom now. My life is now complete.

Sarcasm aside, I was legitimately curious about WandaVision because of its unusual setting. And considering one of my most common criticisms of the MCU is its total lack of creativity, anything that’s even a little bit subversive is bound to attract my attention. Of course ‘subversive’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘good.’ I could hand you a canvas smeared with my own shit and call it subversive. That doesn’t necessarily make it good art. And that’s exactly what WandaVision is. A canvas smeared with shit.

So lets split this critical analysis/review/angry bitter rant into two distinct chapters. The first focusing on the plot and setting, and the second focusing on the characters. Okay? Okay.

Chapter 1: Bewitched

Critics seem to be utterly enamoured with the whole sitcom gimmick, and it is a gimmick. As far as I can tell from the episodes I’ve seen, the sitcom setting serves no real purpose whatsoever other than to make the show ‘quirky.’ Which I wouldn’t mind, believe it or not, if the show was actually funny. There’s just one problem. It’s not.

Now in some ways describing why a sitcom doesn’t work is often futile because comedy is largely subjective. What I find funny, you won’t necessarily find funny and vice versa. With WandaVision, however, I won’t have that problem. I can demonstrate to you precisely why WandaVision, objectively, isn’t funny. And it all comes down to one simple thing. The stakes. Or rather the complete and total absence of stakes.

The show makes it very clear from the beginning that none of what we’re seeing is real. The cheesy theme song, the era appropriate special effects (mostly. It’s actually very inconsistent), the joke commercials, and, in the case of the first two episodes, which are in black and white, the appearance of red lights and objects in Scarlet Witch’s general vicinity. (Gee, what a mystery this is).

Basically Wanda has brought Vision back from the dead and created this sitcom world for them to inhabit. I’ll explain the stupidity of this in Chapter 2. The point is none of this is real, and that has a negative effect on the comedy because the very nature of comedy is suffering. Take the plot of the first episode. Wanda and Vision have to prepare a dinner to impress Vision’s boss. If they fail, Vision could lose his job and the couple could be exposed as superheroes. If this were a normal sitcom, it would work. The stakes are clear and it would be satisfying to see the two struggle and overcome the odds. But here, we know it’s not real. If it’s not real, it means there’s no stakes. If there’s no stakes, it means there’s no suffering. If there’s no suffering, there’s no comedy.

It would be one thing if the unfunny sitcom stuff lasted for like the first ten minutes or so before making way for the actual plot, but it doesn’t. Oh no. It doesn’t even last for the first episode. Out of the five episodes I’ve watched, four of them are almost entirely about these unfunny, objectively flawed sitcom homages, each set in a different time period. The fifties, the sixties, and so on. And what’s worse is that nothing that happens in them is plot-relevant. That gets relegated to the last five minutes of an episode. So you’re forced to sit through twenty five minutes of boring slapstick and puns in order to catch even a whiff of actual story. Which begs the question... who is this for exactly? It can’t be entertaining to Marvel fans, who have to slog through all this pointless shit so they can figure out what the fuck is going on. Comedy fans may get a kick out of the sitcom pastiche at first, but after four episodes, surely the joke would wear thin. So why is it in here? Clearly someone in the writer’s room absolutely fell in love with the idea of doing a Marvel sitcom, but nobody put in any time or effort to figure out how it would work in context.

I cannot stress enough how bad the plotting of this series is. As I said, the vast majority of a thirty minute episode is about shitty sitcom plots that aren’t funny and don’t have any impact on the story, only to then tease you with a crumb of actual plot in order to keep you coming back for the next instalment. Admittedly it’s an effective strategy. I was more than ready to quit after Episode 2 until that beekeeper showed up out of the sewer (don’t ask. It’s not important). WandaVision essentially follows the Steven Moffat school of bad writing. String your audience along with the promise that things might get more interesting later on and that all the bullshit that came before will retroactively make sense by the end. Except, as demonstrated with BBC’s Sherlock, that doesn’t work. And even if it did, it wouldn’t justify wasting the audience’s fucking time. And that’s what the majority of WandaVision is. A waste of time.

The only episode that doesn’t follow the sitcom format is the fourth episode. Instead it basically exists to explain all the shit that happened before. The shit that the audience, frankly, are smart enough to figure out for themselves. Wanda created the sitcom world as a way of coping with the loss of Vision, blah, blah, blah. Yeah, we got it. Thanks. It doesn’t advance the plot or anything. It’s just a massive info-dump. But by far the lowest point was when Darcy (by far the most annoying character in the first Thor film and is just as obnoxious here) was sat in front of the TV, watching the sitcom and asking the same questions we were. Not even attempting to look for answers. Just reiterating what the audience is thinking. Like this is an episode of fucking Gogglebox.

In the end it becomes apparent why the series is structured the way that it is. It’s to hoodwink people into subscribing to Disney’s stupid streaming service. If you think about it, there was no reason for WandaVision to be a TV series other than to lure gullible fans in with a piece-meal story buried in a mountain of crap. This isn’t a TV show. It’s what is cynically known in the world of big business executives as ‘content.’ They’re not interested in entertaining the audience. Instead they crave ‘engagement’, which isn’t the same thing. Watching WandaVision is like staring into the void, waiting for something to happen, while Disney charge you for the privilege.

Chapter 2: I Love Lucy

So the plot sucks balls. What about the characters? Surely if Wanda and Vision are likeable at least, it’ll give us something to cling onto.

Well as I was watching the first episode, it suddenly hit me that I couldn’t remember anything that happened to them in previous films. I knew Vision died, but other than that, I couldn’t tell you significant plot details or their personalities or anything. Not a great start.

See, up until now, Vision and Scarlet Witch have been little more than background characters. So already there’s an uphill struggle to get us invested in their relationship, especially considering we haven’t actually seen that relationship develop. In Avengers: Age Of Ultron, Scarlet Witch is killing people because she’s pissed off about Tony Stark killing people (you work that one out) until all of a sudden she stops and joins the good guys because the script said so. Vision meanwhile is introduced as a convenient deus ex machina to beat Ultron and gets no real personality other than he’s a robot. Captain America: Civil War comes the closest to giving Wanda a story and personality of her own as it’s her actions that cause the Sokovia Accords to come into effect, but she never gets any real growth or payoff as the film is heavily focused on Cap and Iron Man’s penis measuring contest. And as for Vision, all he does in the film is accidentally cripple War Machine. No real character or arc there as such. And then we have Avengers: Infinity War, where Wanda and Vision are now sporadically in love and on the run until that pesky Josh Brolin, looking like a CGI cross between Joss Whedon and a grumpy grape, comes along and rips out Vision’s Infinity Stone to power up his golden glove of doom, and the film treats this like a tragic moment, except... it isn’t. Because we haven’t really had the time to properly get to know these characters and see their romance blossom. So instead it just comes off as hollow and forced.

WandaVision has the exact same problem. Apparently Wanda was so distraught about Vision’s death that she broke into a SWORD base, stole his corpse, brought it back from the dead... somehow, and then enslaved an entire town of people to create an idyllic lifestyle for her and her hubby while broadcasting it as a sitcom to the outside world... for some reason. Putting aside the dubious morality of it all, it’s impossible to really sympathise with Wanda or her supposed grief because we’ve barely spent any time with her. Had the Marvel movies taken the time to properly explore the characters and show us their relationship grow and develop, this might have had more emotional resonance. But no, it just happens. In one film they barely speak to each other and in the next they’re a couple. No effort to explore how they feel about each other or any of the problems that may arise trying to date a robot. It just happens and we’re just supposed to care. Well I’m sorry, but I don’t care. You’re going to have to try a little bit harder than that I’m afraid. What’s worse is that, thanks to the whole fake sitcom thing, it’s impossible to really become invested in Wanda and her plight because the show has to constantly keep us at arms length at all times in order to keep up the pretence that this bullshit is somehow mysterious.

Looking through the WandaVision tag, it amuses me how many people say that she’s acting out of character. And yeah, her actions are a bit of a head scratcher. Why would an Eastern European’s ideal life be an American sitcom? Why a sitcom? Why kidnap an entire town? Why keep changing the decade? None of it makes sense, but you’re wrong for thinking that Wanda is behaving out of character for the simple reason that Wanda has never actually had a character. In fact, ironically, Wanda mind controlling an entire town and forcing them to do her bidding is probably the one consistent thing about her as she did this in Age Of Ultron. In interviews, Elizabeth Olsen and Paul Bettany described how they used actors like Elizabeth Montgomery and Dick Van Dyke as influences, which is really funny because they’re straight up admitting they don’t have characters and even now they’re still not playing the characters, instead emulating the work of far better actors.

As I was watching the show, it became abundantly clear that not only do Marvel not have the faintest idea what they wanted to do with these characters, but they also straight up don’t give a shit about these characters. Wanda in particular has had a rough time under the tyrannical regime of the House of Mouse. First they cast Elizabeth Olsen, a white woman, to play a Romani character, then systematically erasing her Jewish roots, even going so far as to put a cross in her bedroom in Civil War, and now the character is being butchered even more by forcing her into an American sitcom housewife role that she apparently willingly chose for herself, which is laughable. I mean say what you like about Magneto in the X-Men films, at least they actually depicted his Jewish culture. At least they recognised his Jewish background was important (though not important enough to cast a Jewish actor apparently). Wanda’s steady cultural erasure over the years is incredibly insidious and judging by Olsen’s comments in interviews, where she called Wanda’s comic book outfit a quote ‘gypsy thing’ unquote, it seems nobody has an ounce of fucking respect for the character or the culture she’s supposed to be representing. (and to all those kissing her arse saying it was a slip of the tongue, she has been repeatedly called out for using the slur in the past, so at this point I’d describe her behaviour as wilful ignorance)

If you want further proof of how much Marvel doesn’t seem to care about Wanda, look no further than her brother Pietro, aka Quicksilver. At the end of Episode 5, Wanda brings Pietro back from the dead, except it’s not Pietro. It’s Peter Maximoff, the Quicksilver from the X-Men films played by Peter Evans, who coincidentally is not Jewish or Romani either. So Quicksilver has the dubious honour of not only being whitewashed three times, but also twice within the same franchise. But should we really be surprised at this point? It’s Marvel after all. The same company that whitewashed the Ancient One in Doctor Yellowface and claimed it wasn’t racist because Tilda Swinton is ‘Celtic’. But now I’m going off topic. My point is that this isn’t a simple case of recasting an actor like Mark Ruffalo replacing Edward Norton as the Hulk. WandaVision actually acknowledges the recast in-universe, which makes no sense. Why would Wanda bring back her brother, only to make him look like a different person? We the audience may be familiar with this version of Quicksilver, but she isn’t. That would be like me bringing my Grandad back to life and making him look like Ian McKellen. He’d be perfectly charming, I’m sure, but he wouldn’t be my Grandad. 

If Marvel really cared about the characters or narrative consistency, they would have brought Aaron Taylor Johnson back. Instead, now they have absorbed 20th Century Fox into the hellish Disney abyss, they use X-Men’s Quicksilver as a means to keep viewers from switching off and so that people will write stupid articles and think pieces about whether the rest of the X-Men will show up in the MCU. It’s like dangling your keys in front of a toddler’s face to distract them from the rotting corpse of a raccoon lying face down in the corner of the room.

And it’s here where I decided to stop watching the show because fuck Disney.

Epilogue: One Foot In The Grave

You know, I am sick and tired of the so called ‘professional’ critics bending over backwards to praise these god awful films and shows when it’s so clear to anyone with a functioning brain cell how bad they truly are. WandaVision is without a doubt one of the most cynically produced and poorly structured TV shows I’ve ever seen. Its riffs on classic sitcoms are pointless and self-indulgent, the writing is terrible, the characters are unlikable and unsympathetic, and it’s entirely emblematic of what the entire MCU has become of late. And it’s only going to get worse as Disney drowns us with more ‘content’ to keep the plebs ‘engaged’. In short; pathetic.