#I feel like I didn’t give this kid a fair shake when the series first came out

[dattebabunn]

What are you, an uchiha adoptee?

[bingoboingobongo]

the reason (ii)

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley (Call of Duty) x Reader

Type: Fluff, smut (minors dni)

Summary: You’re the reason why Ghost wakes up in the morning, and you’re why he lets himself dream at night. (a part 2 to the right thing to do)

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: use of female body descriptions, explicit language, masturbation, needles/stitches, forced proximity, pining

A/N: hiii, so yes, this is a part two to ‘the right thing to do’ (yayyy). i’m not gonna lie, this chapter was going to be longer, but i decided to cut it so that 1. you guys can get more ghost content faster and 2. you don’t have to read 20k words. as always, likes/reblogs and comments are always appreciated, hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 3

In Ghost’s life, moments of domesticity were rare. Between his turbulent childhood, his initial years during and after the military, and the crippling paranoia being in special forces came with, Ghost could count all the times he had felt that comforting sense of peacefulness; of safety; of not worrying about who was waiting to kill him or who was going to hurt the people he loved; that feeling; that soft, warm, light feeling; he could count all the times he felt it on one hand.

The first time had been when he was a kid — maybe six, maybe seven. Or maybe he was younger, he didn’t know. Everything from back then was blurry. He remembered feeling safe because his brother and his father were gone, and it was just him and his mom. He didn’t know why they were gone, just that they wouldn’t be back until the end of the week. He remembered sitting in front of the fireplace with his mom, eating takeout and listening carefully as she read him a story: Treasure Island. When the book was finished, he remembered dragging his mom to the backyard and begging her to play Long John Silver while he, Jim Hawkins of course, challenged her to a pirate duel.

The second time had been at his nephew’s first birthday. It had been a small party, his brother and his wife, his mother, and him. He had been on leave for a while at that point, tending to family issues but by then, everything was fine. His sister-in-law had tucked his nephew into bed, and the rest of them were sitting outside around a fire drinking cheap beer and reminiscing over the past. He could still remember that warm feeling in his chest, a combination of alcohol and happiness.

And the last time he could remember, the third and final time, was now. It was here, with you by his side and the snow falling around him. It was the warmth of your body against his; the way you fit against him perfectly, like he was made only for you; it was the way you smelled, the way the fragrance of his cheap soap, the one you had made fun of just hours before, mingled and danced with that familiar, smokey smell of guns and bullets; the way you made him feel, light and airy and safe, as if you and him were alone together in a tiny pocket of space where nobody could reach you. 

You made him feel safe. You made him feel sleepy. It was odd, because Ghost had never been a stranger to staying awake before. As a child, he spent his fair share of nights hiding under blankets with a book and a flashlight, staying up the entire night reading so he wouldn’t have to deal with the nightmares that plagued his sleep. And if anything, the military had only worsened his sleeping habits. He had gone days — one time a week — without sleep while on the battlefield. He knew how to shake off the tight grip of exhaustion, how to spit in its face and tell it to fuck off so he could keep doing his job. He had done it time and time again in the past, but for some reason in this moment, his ability to do so was escaping him.

It was something about you — it was everything about you — that made it hard for him to stay up. The way he unconsciously synced up his breaths with your steady, even ones; the way the warmth of your body pressed against him rolled off of you in waves, encouraging him to just give in; the way you somehow made him feel so relaxed and peaceful and content, as if you were a long-term mission he had finally accomplished; everything about you made his eyelids droop and his mind hazy. 

And it killed him to have to wake you up, to have to be the one to disturb your rest when you looked so happy and satisfied sleeping. But what choice did he have? He couldn’t risk falling asleep when he was supposed to be protecting you. He would be letting you down, and he knew that disappointing you — or worse, getting you killed — would hurt far more than waking you up. So with a heavy heart and a stiff shoulder, he carefully nudged you until you woke up.

You opened your eyes slowly, peeling yourself off of him as you looked around, trying to remember where you were. He watched you bring a hand to your mouth as you let out a yawn, your eyes squinting shut as tears welled up under them. “My turn?” you asked, your voice slightly scratchy. 

Ghost swallowed, your voice was definitely doing something to him. “I don’t know,” he said, “you think you’re awake enough to do it?”

You huffed, “Do I even have a choice?”

“Not really.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you said, letting out a sigh as you cracked your neck. “Give me a second though.” He nodded, watching as you rubbed your hands in front of you, before slapping yourself on the cheeks lightly. “You gonna sleep in here or outside?” you asked, sniffling a little.

He wanted to stay outside with you, but the cold was starting to get to him and he could already feel his back starting to get stiff. “Inside. But I’m showering first,” he said, picking up his bag as he moved to stand up, “and I’m getting your gun. You think I’m gonna let you keep watch unarmed?”

“Don’t bother,” you told him, shaking out your legs as you stood up, “I’ll get it myself.” You followed him into the house, and he could hear you rustling around behind him as he walked into the bathroom. He had forgotten how small the bathroom was, or maybe he was just large. He barely fit between the sink and the door, causing him to have to shuffle awkwardly just to put his bag down.

He let out a sigh as he stared at himself in the mirror, running his hand down his face. Looking in the mirror was always weird for him. In one way, he could look at himself and register that that was Ghost, that was who Ghost was, who he looked like. But Ghost wasn’t the same as Simon, and the face staring back at him? That wasn’t Simon either. He knew Price considered the man under the mask to be Simon, that the mask was what ‘made’ Ghost. But if he was being truthful, he wasn’t really sure if he knew who Simon actually was, if Simon was even still a part of him after all these years, bright-eyed but scared and hidden under the surface.

He looked away, peeling the mask off of his face. He stared at it for a moment before folding it neatly and placing it on the sink. He started taking off the rest of his gear too, his vest, his boots, his belts, the various pockets and holsters he kept clipped to his thighs and the accompanying firearms. He turned on the shower, the pressure was dismal and the water ice cold, before unzipping his jacket, peeling off his undershirt, and stepping out of his pants and boxers. 

The water had barely warmed up by the time he got in, sending a shiver down his spine. To make matters worse, the showerhead was much shorter than him, reaching only up to the base of his chin. He winced as a sharp sting of pain shot through him when he tried to crane his neck downwards. He tried reaching for the back of his neck, but the shower was small and maneuvering around was difficult. 

His thoughts trailed over to you again. For some reason, it was weird to think that you had been in this same shower just a few hours before. What had you been thinking about then? Had you been thinking about him? Or had you been thinking about the others? If you were thinking about him, what were the specifics? Did you like him or hate him? Want him or not want him? And if you did want him, how did you want him? Did you just want him as a friend or as a trophy? Did you actually want to know him, to be there for him, or was he just an accomplishment for you to boast about, a way to prove you were able to conquer the elusive Ghost?

And what if you wanted him as more than a friend? What if you wanted him the same way he wanted you? With him towering over you, his fingers working miracles inside your wet cunt or with you pressed against him as he thrust into you over and over and over again. Maybe you wanted him to push you down flat against a table and whisper dirty things into your ear as he pulled you back on his cock, or maybe you wanted to push him down on a bed and ride him until your legs gave out and he had to take over for you.

Shit, he thought as his cock began to twitch, but he couldn’t stop himself. His mind kept coming up with new images, new scenarios that only stoked the fire growing in his core. You on your knees, your lips swollen and red and wrapped oh so tightly around him; you sitting on his face, your thighs clenching around his head and your hands gripping on for dear life as you came into his mouth; you tied up to a bed while he held a vibrator to your clit as you whined and wiggled and begged as orgasm after orgasm racked your body. 

Fuck. This wasn’t right for him to be thinking of you like this. He was your boss for fuck’s sake, your coworker, your teammate. It wasn’t fair to you for him to be thinking of you this way, not when you were just a few yards away. But god damn it, he couldn’t remember the last time he had been this hard, so hard it was on the verge of hurting and it would be so easy to just get rid of his stupid erection, all he needed was a few minutes. That was all it would take, and besides, what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you, right? He stifled a groan, using one hand to ease himself onto a wall as the other finally wrapped around his cock.

He shuddered at the touch, staying still for a moment before he started moving his hand. It had been a considerable time since he had touched himself; so long, in fact, that he really couldn’t remember the last time he had. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, trying to imagine it was your hand wrapped around him instead of his. He knew how it would feel too. Somehow, despite all your time in the military, your hands were still butter smooth and pillow soft.

He let his mind continue to fill with dirty thoughts of you as his hand stroked his shaft, letting his head fall back against the wall. He swallowed down a groan as he brushed his thumb over his tip, spreading his precum along his erection. He tried to pretend it was your smooth hand rubbing along his dick instead of his own rough one, letting his mouth hang open as his hand slid along his cock at a steady pace.

He threw his head back against the wall, letting the pleasure wash over him in waves as the fire in the pit of his stomach grew. He could feel his breaths shallow as his hand moved faster along his cock. He snaked another hand down to cup his balls, shuddering at the touch, while his other hand moved to focus on the head of his penis. It wasn’t long until he could feel his balls start to tighten and his cock start to throb. He closed his eyes as he let the pleasure dictate his movements. He focused his attention to his tip, stifling a moan as he finally came onto the tiled wall. He tried to ride out the high for as long as he could, shutting his eyes as he felt his cock start to soften.

He opened his eyes, watching as his cum began to drip down the tile. Shit. Had he really just done that? He could feel the shame bubbling up on his stomach already. God, he was your boss, you trusted him, and he took that trust and spat in its face. He rubbed one of his hands down his face, leaning the other against the shower wall as he considered the weight of what he had just done. He had violated you, and for what? A few seconds of relief? Cupping his hands, he gathered up the cold shower water and splashed it against his face, his eyes falling to stare at the cum-stained wall, a glaring reminder of his wrongdoings.

“Fucking idiot,” he muttered to himself as he washed it off, desperate to get rid of the sight of it. He took one last look at the area, forever tainted by the knowledge of what he did, before reaching for the soap. He felt dirty, dirtier than before, and suddenly he was desperate to clean himself.

Letting out a sigh of frustration, he turned his attention to the rest of his body, grabbing the soap you had left behind and lathering it up in his hands. Washing his body was awkward in the small space, but not completely impossible. He tried bending down again, and this time he was relatively successful. It was painful, considering he probably had a nasty cut on his back and he was essentially hunched over at a forty-five degree angle, but he was able to get his hair wet enough to wash it which was all that mattered.

He finished up his shower, wrapping the towel around his waist as he shook his hair dry. The cabin was much colder without his clothes to keep him warm, but that was the least of his problems. Gracelessly, he turned to examine his back in the mirror, pursing his lips as he saw the nasty scratch just below the base of his neck. He wasn’t surprised at its presence, after all he had felt a bullet graze past him while they were being shot at, but he didn’t realize the extent of the damage. He had assumed it was just a small injury, a minor scratch he could sleep off, but the wound in the mirror was longer than he thought.

He sighed as he reached for his first aid pack, pulling the suture kit out. He turned to the mirror again, trying to get a better look at the scratch. He turned his attention back to the kit, squinting hard as he tried to get a good grip on the needle. Once he was finally able to, he stood up to look in the mirror again, trying to twist around to get a good angle, but it was no use. Ghost threw the needle down onto the sink, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. He knew he should have asked you for help, but he knew the stitches would take a while and he just wanted to sleep.

He put his cargo pants and undershirt back on, ignoring the sting from his back as he grabbed his equipment before tugging on his balaclava once more and exiting the bathroom. The cabin seemed emptier without your presence filling it up with thick tension. He tried to take a deep breath but was interrupted by the stinging pain from his back. He exhaled, clenching his jaw as he bent over to grab his bedroll from his pack.

The sound of creaking behind him caused his head to shoot up, his hand curling around the handle of a small pocket knife he kept in his bag. He swiveled around to see you, your hands in the air with one of them clenched around your blanket. “Woah there, Ghost,” you said jokingly, “I come in peace. You alright?”

He relaxed a little, before remembering what he had done in the shower and stiffening again. “‘M fine. What are you doing here?” he asked, wondering if you had somehow heard him.

You lifted your blanket, “Figured I’d give this to you, that way you can sleep on the bed instead of the floor.”

He eyed you warily, before reaching it out and grabbing it from your hands. “You sure you don’t need it?”

You nodded, your eyes wide and encouraging as you watched him ball it up in his hands. He gave you one last look before turning around to the bedroom, content to call it a day when he heard you gasp. He looked around to see you, one hand over your mouth and the other pointing at him.

“Something wrong?” he asked, his stomach dropping with worry. Did he somehow leave something behind that exposed what he had done in the shower? Fuck. He never would have forgiven himself if this ruined your relationship. He would have to leave the task force, that was for sure, he wouldn’t be able to see you without knowing what he had done, what he had messed up, what could have been.

You stared at him like he was crazy. “Ghost,” you said, your voice laced with disbelief and something else, concern? “Your shirt… There’s blood on it.”

He groaned, partially in annoyance and partially out of relief. Of course his cut started bleeding now. “Oh, that?” he said, feigning ignorance, “it’s nothing, just got clipped back in the forest. It’ll be fine.”

You stared at him, your mouth gaping open. “That is not fine,” you said, “do you see how much blood there is? That needs stitches. Get over here, I’ll sew you up.”

“It’s—”

“No excuses,” you said sternly, silencing the words in his throat. “Sit,” you insisted, pulling a chair from the table. 

He sighed, rolling his eyes, but he sat down in the chair nonetheless. “Off,” you said, moving behind him and tugging at his now bloody shirt.

He stilled, his heart skipping a beat. He knew you were just saying it to get access to his wound, but still, it wasn’t like he had ever actually undressed in front of you. “You know, if you wanted to see me shirtless, you could’ve just asked. No need for all this ‘stitches’ business,” he said, trying to hide how nervous he was. 

“Ha ha,” you said sarcastically, and he could practically hear you rolling your eyes from behind him. Was that a good sign? Was that a bad sign? He couldn’t tell.

“Just saying,” he said, before lifting the shirt off his body, being careful to not lift his mask in the process. He could hear you suck in a breath as your eyes scanned over his back. He suddenly felt incredibly self conscious as you stared at him; he knew his body was far from perfect. His back alone was littered with scars from wartime, knife scratches and stabs, scrapes and bruises, bullet scars. He knew it was perfectly normal for the military, an occupational hazard, but he couldn’t help but worry you would be disgusted by the sight.

You didn’t say anything though, just groaned quietly as you crouched down — to rifle through your bag, he assumed. “I’ve already got an opened suture kit in my bag,” he said, listening to you stop your searching.

“Oh, so you knew it needed stitches earlier and you still let it sit?” you asked, the disapproval clear in your voice.

He sighed, “Now who’s sounding like Price?”

“Yeah, well, Price is right,” you said, echoing Ghost’s words. “See what happens when you don’t apply stitches? Now I gotta clean up all this blood.”

“All this blood?” he asked, his head tilting towards you slightly, “is there that much?”

You clicked your tongue, and he could feel you eyeing him, “I guess not,” you said after a while, “but your shirt smeared it around a lot. Your back could probably give Carrie a run for her money.”

“Carrie?”

You hummed, the sound of you moving towards the kitchen sink filling the quiet room. “Have you never heard of Carrie?” you asked, turning on the tap.

“Is that the one with the uh, with the girl?”

“The one with the girl?” you called back over your shoulder, “real descriptive there Ghost.”

He scoffed, “Just hurry up and get these stitches done before I fall asleep.”

“Just hurry up and get these stitches done before I fall asleep,” you repeated in a shrill falsetto, mocking him. He turned to watch you as you returned from the sink, a damp cloth in hand and a small smile on your face. “No squirming, the water’s cold.”

He took in a breath when he felt you sliding the cold cloth against the plane of his back, suppressing a shudder when you swiped the fabric over the cut. He stayed still as you continued wiping down his back, listening to your quiet breaths instead. 

He tried to ignore the awkwardness that settled in between the two of you. Or maybe there was no awkwardness and it was just a figment of his imagination, because you seemed completely unbothered by the silence. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad thing, that you were so calm even though your fingers were ghosting over his back. He wondered if you could tell how nervous you were making him, how you were making his cheeks heat up under the mask every time your breath tickled his neck, how his muscles tensed up every time your fingers brushed against his skin, how his heart pounded in his chest with every little sigh or concerned click of your tongue. In a weird way, he was thankful for the blood smeared on his back, considering it allowed him a valid excuse if you asked why his skin was turning red.

He felt you lift the cloth off of his back and walk back over to the sink. Your soft hands wringing out reddened water from the fabric as you ran it under the tap. You returned to your spot behind him again, continuing the task of wiping off his bloodied back. You started to hum quietly as you worked, setting off another swarm of butterflies in Ghost’s stomach. He couldn’t tell what you were humming, it could’ve been a song or it could’ve been a random melody you made up. Either way, he enjoyed it just the same, listening closely to every note.

After a while, he felt you take a step back and stare at him for a second, before returning to the sink and discarding the cloth inside it. “Get the kit out,” you said, your back turned to him as you washed your hands. He complied, stifling a groan as he bent over to pull the kit out from his pack. He fiddled with it as he watched you walk back to him, noticing the way your eyes lingered on his chest for a split second before extending it out to you.

“Alrighty, I don’t think I need to tell you this is gonna sting,” you said as you set up your materials. It was silent for a moment, before he felt you put one of your hands against his back for leverage. He tensed up at the touch of your cold hand against his skin, and you pulled your hand away. “Sorry,” you said, sucking in a breath.

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly, “just didn’t expect it.”

You hummed, “So this is okay?” you asked, putting your hand on his back again.

He nodded, stifling a wince as he felt the needle pierce his skin. Once again, you were humming as you worked. For some reason, the entire scene felt oddly domestic: you humming as you patched him up, with a storm raging outside. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine the two of you were in his flat in Manchester.

He had never really given much thought as to what domestic life with you would look like. He had never allowed himself to, after all, what was the point of entertaining a dream that would never become a reality? But now he needed something to take his mind off the painful pricks of the needle, and you had already proved yourself to be a worthy distraction.

He tried to imagine what it would be like to actually live with you, to have someone to do laundry with, to do dishes with, to wake up with, someone to come home to. He had a feeling you would never approve of the way he lived currently. It had been a while since he had been in his flat, but he could still remember how he left it. Light gray walls as bare as when he got them, his closet filled only with empty hangers, his kitchen cabinets empty save for a few pots and pans, and one lonely set of dishware. His bed wasn’t any better, he didn’t even have a bed frame. Just a mattress pushed against one wall, one white pillow at the head and a neatly folded white blanket at the foot.

But if you moved in, everything would change. He could line the walls with photos of the two of you, fill his closet with your clothes. His dishware wouldn’t be lonely because he’d have to get another set for you, and he wouldn’t mind spending the entire day shopping for a bed frame as long as it was with you. He wanted to wake up with you, to be able to roll over and bury his face in your chest; he wanted to come home and wrap you in his arms after a long day, or to feel you sidle up behind him as he prepared breakfast. 

The more he thought of a life with you, the more awkward he felt with you behind him. You were so ignorant of everything he thought, you didn’t know how badly he wanted you, how he would kill anyone for a chance with you. In your mind, he was nothing more than a coworker, someone you only talked to at work, but in his mind, you were his entire world. When he let his mind run wild, you took up every thought, every whim, every idea. You were tattooed on his mind in technicolor; everything was laced with your presence, your being. 

“Alright,” you chirped, clapping your hands together. “Stitches are all done. I can’t believe how well you took that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that even Price at least winces whenever he gets stitched up. No offense, Ghost, but sometimes I seriously question your humanity.”

“What, you think I’m a robot?”

You snorted, “It wouldn’t surprise me, especially with that mask. It really sells the impression that you’re a cold, heartless, killer.”

“Yeah well, can’t let the enemy know I’ve got a heart, can I? That’s a sure recipe for disaster.”

“Oh so you do have a heart?” you asked, turning to face him.

“Last I checked.”

“And I’m just supposed to take your word for it?”

“What, you want proof?”

You shrugged, “Can’t hurt.”

Ghost stared at you for a moment, his mind racing a thousand miles a minute. He didn’t know what possessed him when his hand reached out for yours; it was as if he no longer had control of his body and he was just a spectator being forced to watch as his body moved on its own. His hand grabbed yours, and he watched as you stilled, but didn’t pull away. He pulled your hand to his chest, letting it settle above his heart.

Ghost tried his best to keep his breaths steady and his heart from hammering in his chest, but between the warmth of your hand against his cold skin and your wide eyes which were trained on his, he had a feeling his heart might have skipped a few beats. It was silent for a moment before you spoke. 

“I guess I was wrong,” you whispered, your eyes flickering down to sneak another glance at his chest.

“I guess so,” he said in response, his eyes dipping down to stare at your lips. They were reddish-pink and slightly chapped from the cold weather; Ghost wanted to kiss them. Slowly, he looked back up at you, meeting your gaze. You seemed awfully nervous all of a sudden; a stark contrast to your usually confident and relaxed nature. He wondered if he was making you nervous, and if it was a good nervous or a bad nervous.

He didn’t want you to be nervous that he would hurt you; he would never hurt you. Doing so would be like stabbing himself in the heart, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t look at your tear-filled eyes and know that he was responsible. He wanted you to be nervous that he had caught you staring, that he knew you liked him. Of course, Ghost didn’t know anything at the moment. Once he realized how distracting you were to him, he made himself stop trying to read you, that way he wouldn’t have to worry about even more things.

“Oh shit,” you said, breaking the silence, “you said you were tired right? You should probably go to sleep, I don’t want to keep you up.”

Ghost was slightly disappointed as you pulled your hand away, but the way it lingered for just a second too long — as if you wanted to go back for another touch — didn’t slip by him. “Of course,” he said, rising from his seat, “we’ve got a long day tomorrow. We need to find the others and secure exfil. I don’t think we’re gonna be taking on Zhelyazkov any time soon after this.”

You nodded, your lips pressed into a line as you watched him grab his hoodie from his bag and slip it on. “Wake me up when you get tired,” he said, turning towards the bedroom.

“Yes, sir,” you said.

The soft cushion of the bed was a warm welcome compared to the hard wood of the chair, although this time he didn’t have the warmth of your hands to keep him company. He set his stuff down next to his bed, letting out a groan as he lay down. It felt like ages had passed since they first arrived at Zhelyazkov’s base and he started shooting at them. Ghost let his eyes fall shut as exhaustion began to kick in, his mind too tired to think. Sleep came to him quickly once his head hit the pillow. His eyelids became too heavy to open and he could feel his body sinking into the mattress. 

Ghost wasn’t typically a dreamer, and yet that night, he dreamt of you. There wasn’t much meaning or direction to his dreams, just images and flashes of you, brief pockets of peacefulness or lust. He dreamt of waking you up in the morning with breakfast in bed, savoring the way you smiled up at him, your sleep-filled eyes crinkling at the corners. He dreamt of holding you against the wall, one leg wrapped over his shoulder as he ate you out, drinking in the way you cried out his name. He dreamt of walking along the street with you, one hand wrapped tightly around your waist as he admired the way you looked up at him with loving eyes. He dreamt of thrusting into you on a fur rug in front of a fireplace, delighting in the way your nails scratched down his back.

For too long, you had been nothing more than a distraction to Ghost. It was all he allowed himself to categorize you as, a mere inconvenience in his job. It was all he allowed himself to categorize you as, because the truth? The truth was that you were so much more.

You weren’t just the reason Ghost forgot to triple check his intel; you were the reason he looked forward to early morning meetings with the team. You weren’t just the reason Ghost had gotten sloppy at covering his tracks; you were the reason his heart fluttered whenever you were nearby. You were the reason his chest skipped a beat whenever you brushed up against him, you made his cheeks heat up whenever you pretended to flirt. You were the reason he flared up with jealousy whenever you talked to Soap instead of him. You were the reason for his bad mood when he didn’t see you at breakfast. You were the reason he felt safe; you were the reason he lowered his guard. You were the reason he made himself get up in the morning. You were the reason he let himself dream at night.

[jackfrombaskinrobbins]

the avengers meeting your boyfriend [teenage avenger headcanons!]

type of writing: headcanons / scenario

word count: 1.2k

request: yes / no

original request: can you do one where the reader gets a boyfriend and everybody is getting overprotective and when they see their door closed they all bust in while we are watching a movie bc they thought the reader & bf were making out so they give them “the talk”😭😭

dynamic: avengers x teen!reader (teenage avenger series)

characters: so many oml but some include tony stark, bruce banner, natasha romanoff, clint barton, thor, steve rogers, scott lang, bucky barnes, wanda maximoff, sam wilson, there's probably more but that's all i'll put for now lol

a/n: y'all know i had to use this picture LMAO anyways ty for the request!!! two in one day #slay (that rhymes) requests are still open, send in an ask whenever :)

taglist: @nutellani @thecloudedmind

(fill out this form to be on my taglist!)

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ok first i’m gonna name ur bf so it doesn’t get confusing

HAHA

let’s call him

jack

guys i’m so unoriginal pls ignore :’)

anyways so you had been dating jack for a while

he had asked you to go to midtown’s winter formal together :) 

and ofc u didn’t tell any of the avengers bc u KNEW they wouldn’t react well

but of COURSE mr. peter parker was so excited that he had to open his big mouth

miles kicked him under the table but it was too late

“who asked you to the formal y/n?” natasha asked, a small smile on her face

you could FEEL yourself blushing

all you wanted to do was like sink into the floor

which is actually physically possible (though it’s an anomaly)

bruce told you that :D 

anyways you just shook your head 

so then HARLEY decided to go “jack lastname”

IM REALLY BAD AT NAMES IM SORRY

and you were ready to die

right then and there

if the grim reaper decided it was your time you would be fine with it

so tony goes “jack lastname… huh.”

“tony, please don’t – “ you tried, but he was already there.

“jarvis, can you run a background check on that kid.”

you were so embarrassed.

miles, sweet sweet miles tried to change the subject

“so um… steve. how was… your day.”

but then there was sam wilson butting in

“when is winter formal anyway? you know we gotta know so we can take pictures.”

and that made you, harley, peter, and miles groan

tony was still looking at some tablet or whatever.

“stark!” came thor’s booming voice. “i thought you said no electronic devices were permitted at the dinner table! if they were, i would be much happier!!”

“yeah yeah. well they’re not. i’m busy.” tony replied, dismissing the god with a wave of his hand.

and happy, who was right next to tony, kept leaning over and shaking his head or nodding.

SO EMBARRASSING

anyways once you got done with dinner you went to put the dishes in the dishwasher robot

idk why i said it like that but it’s basically this cool thing where you put the dishes in the sink and this robot will wash them & put them away

very nice bc doing the dishwasher is so much work sometimes.

but then wanda, nat and carol came in

and you KNEW they were gonna try to get you to talk

“i’ll tell you guys later.” you spoke, trying to end the embarrassment. 

“come on y/n! we want to see him at least.” carol said, tilting her head and raising a brow.

“ok fine.” you said, and pulled up a picture of jack. you showed it to them for like one second and then put your phone back in your pocket.

“hey wait! no fair! i wanna see! yeah.” came the voices of sam, clint, scott, and bucky as they tried to fight their way into the kitchen.

“that’s a hard no. maybe i’ll bring him here after the dance. harley peter miles and i were already going to stay over. then he could walk by you guys for TWO SECONDS and then do something with me.”

“alright.” said sam, crossing his arms and nodding.

“seems fair!” said bruce.

“perfect.” you replied, leaving the room to leave them all to inevitably gossip.

SKIP AHEAD

ok so it’s winter formal

and you strategically told jack to meet you there so that the avengers couldn’t bombard him during picture taking time.

so y’all had a super fun time

& u slow danced with each other 🤭🤭

it was super fun

but you were kind of dreading going back to the tower

you had told jack about being an avenger a few weeks ago

and he was super excited to meet them all

jack is like super sweet & really awesome

so it put you at ease a little bit.

so you went back to the tower with him

peter harley and miles had gone to get ice cream and were coming back later

so you did the retinal and fingerprint scan that would let you into the elevator

and you went up to the main floor (so you could get to your room)

but ofc they were all there

and so you took jack’s hand and brought him over to where they all were

he was lowkey freaking out

and bro

bucky and sam and clint and scott looked so unamused

tony and happy too

SO YOU JUST TRIED TO KEEP IT CIVIL

but they all were acting so clipped and like not charismatic 

idk

but wanda, steve and bruce were rly nice so that put jack at ease a little bit

anyways so then you took jack to your room

you guys had been planning to watch a movie together

he was kind of nervous because he didn’t think the avengers liked him

but you assured him they did

(at least you hoped)

anyways you turned on the movie & watched it

and it was soo funny so y’all were laughing a lot

BUT THEN THE DOOR SUDDENLY OPENED

and it was so loud you got freaked out fr

but then you saw it was tony, bucky, sam and steve.

“y/n. could you go out in the hall for a minute.” steve said.

“this is my room!!” you tried, but tony just pointed out to the hall. 

“i’m sorry jack.” you said to your boyfriend

jack was literally about to cry omg

poor thing

“don’t be mean.” you said as you left, taking extra care to give them all a withering stare

natasha and bucky had taught you that skill well bc you saw sam shiver HAHA

so you went to the hall and clint, scott, and natasha were standing there.

“what are they DOING??” you hissed at them.

“they’re just worried for you y/n. they wanted to talk to the kid.” natasha assured you, patting your shoulder.

“yeah, nothin’ to worry about!!” scott added, a big grin on his face

“well i really don’t trust that coming from you.” you replied

“well tony thought you guys were kissing in there!” clint laughed.

although it turned into an “ow” when natasha elbowed him

“he WHAT?!” you replied

“yeah, that’s why he came up here. he said he wanted the most intimidating ones to go make that kid afraid or something.” scott added. “not sure why he didn’t ask me…”

you gave scott a nod but then made your way back into your room, crossing your arms and raising a brow as tony, bucky, sam and steve turned towards you.

“hey y/n.” sam said, raising a hand to wave.

“are you guys done now? i’d like to finish the movie.” you said, trying to be stern.

“i think we are. right jack?” steve said, standing up and gesturing towards your boyfriend.

“yes sir! i mean steve. i mean mr. rogers?” he said, clearly scared out of his mind.

“yeah yeah. alright. get out please!!” you said, guiding them out of your room.

bucky was the last to leave, but despite you pushing him, he turned back to face your boyfriend.

“hey, you. hurt them in any way and i’ll find you.” he said, accompanied by his signature deathstare.

then he gave a little salute to you. 

“night kid. don’t stay up too late.”

and then he was gone.

“did he really mean that??” jack said, eyes wide.

“yeah, he did.” you said, sitting beside him and holding his hand. “isn’t that sweet?”

-----------------------✰----------------------

[outro-jo]

you’re on your own, kid (pt. 1)

pairing: yang jeongin x gn reader

type: series

descriptors: enemies to lovers, soulmates, idol au

warning: reader is kind of an asshole eventually reader helps mother with undisclosed illness, time jumps, reader is supposed to be a little older than jeongin but no age is specified, i can’t think of anything else lmk shitty writing

request: yes

masterlist | info

———————————————

2016

the air was thick in the practice room with anticipation. all the trainees were on edge, practicing their routines amongst each other but you sat quietly against the wall, bopping your head to the music in your earbuds. the dance routine had become like second nature to you so you didn’t feel the need to practice once again. suddenly, a body sits next to you and you recognize the smell of the body spray almost immediately. the pink haired boy gives you a smile and throws his backpack down beside him.

“you feelin’ ready, y/n?” he asks cheerfully in his thick australian accent.

“as ready as all ever be.” you give him the best smile you can muster which widens his before he looks over his sheet music again.

you know chan’s gonna do well because he always does. he’s pdnim’s “golden boy”and you’d probably hate him if he wasn’t so damn nice. it’d be kinda like kicking a puppy to be rude to him. he’s also been there longer than you have so you almost feel bad for him, especially when he was just about to debut with got7 only to see his dream slip from his hands. but it wouldn’t be long before the godfather would let him debut, you can feel it. your only hope is that you’d debut either with him or in a group of your own.

the trainee manager claps loudly to gain the attention of the room and you pull your earbuds out. next to the man is a young kid who you assume to be a new trainee. hell of a day to be joining the group when everyone is prepping for an evaluation. you can already hear some of the girls giggling together about how adorable he is, which to be fair, he looked like a little baby so they weren’t entirely wrong. there was something off about him… you couldn’t put your finger on it.

“everyone! gather around and meet the newest addition to the jyp team!” the manager called out, making your increasing headache worse.

“great,” you think. just what you need.

as everyone takes a seat in a circle on the floor, the manager continues, “everyone, this is yang jeongin. his specialties are singing and dancing. be sure to make him feel welcome… while he’s here.” the last part was muttered under the manager’s breath. of course by now the trainee team of managers understands that the trainee system is a bit if a revolving door mixed with survival of the fittest—only the strong survive here. well, see if this kid sticks it out.

“while he won’t be participating in the evaluation today, he will go ahead and perform the piece he auditioned with.” the manager explains.

chan starts off a round of supportive applause as the groups shifts to give the new kid the floor. he takes a second to center himself, looking down to the floor and taking a deep breath before looking up. the music starts and you have to admit that he’s not terrible. definitely needs some work in his pitch and stability with his dancing but it’s not the worst you’ve seen walk through the door. however, he did pick the worst song with an absolutely pounding beat.

“hey, you good?” chan asked when he sees you wince and grab your head.

“i’m fine.” you shake him off, trying to get back in the zone for your evaluation.

new kid finishes his performance and the group offers a scattered applause with chan once again at the helm. the manager asks everyone to now step into the hall as pdnim will be coming in soon to see the evaluations and they will call the first one.

once in the hall you put your headphones back in to listen to the song a few more times before you’re called. this time it’s jisung that sits next to you, his knee frantically bouncing. after a few minutes you put your hand on it to stop and give him a glare.

“sorry, *honorific*… i’m kinda nervous.” he gave you a sheepish grin.

“you’re always nervous, jisung.” you rolled your eyes.

the group falls to a hush as the ceo of the company comes strolling down the hall, singing a new melody to himself and doing the choreography at half capacity. the intense smell of strong cologne begins to announce his arrival, making you nauseous.

“hello, everyone!” he greets the troop of anxious teenagers. “fighting!” he says in a light tone, throwing up two fists in what he perceives to be encouragement and dances into the practice room.

everyday you contemplate if debuting with this company will actually be worth it solely because of that man. on the other side of the hallway, mirroring you, changbin seems to share the same disgusted look on his face as yours, likely contemplating the same sentiment. if this wasn’t one of the big three companies in korea, you might try something else. also if you hadn’t already put in 4 years of training.

the names start to be called and one by one trembling trainees go into the practice room. while your song continues to play, you watch how they all come out, either breathing a sigh of relief or with tears staining their cheeks—more of the latter than former seems to be occurring. in between, you see chan conversing with the new kid, trying to make him feel welcome and eavesdrop a little.

he’s apparently only 15, he was born in busan, loves singing trot, and his role model is bruno mars. typical. before long, it’s just you, chan, and the kid when chan’s name is finally called. chan leaves with the promise of showing him the dorms as soon as he’s done and then it’s just you two. he gives you an awkward smile accompanied with a bow and greeting, which you reluctantly return. you wanted so badly to be anywhere but here. you weren’t exactly the most welcoming when it came to new trainees.

in the four years you’ve been here, you’ve seen too many come and go to get close and you weren’t here to make friends anyways. when you debut, you might allow yourself that luxury but for now all of the trainees are competition for your dream and you weren’t giving up.

the seconds tick by excruciatingly slow. what was he performing a whole concert in there? with chan, it really wouldn’t surprise you. with a sigh, you dug your hand through your backpack for your cell phone and flip it open.

“good luck today! -mom”

you smile at the screen as you read the encouraging message, reminding you why you’re here. a squeaky voice chimes in, suddenly ruining the moment for you.

“did your mom send you a message? my mom sent me one earlier.” the kid finally spoke up for the first time in almost 30 minutes.

you gave him a look, not moving from your slumped position over your phone and he immediately cowers at your glare. the instant power you have over him goes straight to your ego and you have to withhold a smirk. he suddenly inhales sharply and hold his head with his fingers.

“hey, do you have like a tylenol or something? this headache is killing me.” he asks.

you almost feel bad for him, but, “no, i don’t. sorry.” your tone is less than sympathetic.

“you’re a dancer? you don’t keep any kind of pain pills?” his slightly irritated tone is now pissing you off.

“you’re also a dancer. carry your own damn pills. besides, your new bestie chan should have some.” you snark back and slump back against the wall.

he scoffs but you ignore him, pretending to be busy on your phone when the door abruptly opens, sending you upright.

chan of course, is in high spirits, likely getting a glowing review from the boss man.

“you’re next, y/n. good luck!” chan’s dimples form in his cheeks as his smile grows wider.

you nod, gathering your stuff and stand. the kid looks at you through his eyelashes as you walk into the practice room. your head begins to pound again and you chalk it up to nerves, dehydration, and lack of sleep. you try to push everything from your mind except the performance you’ve studied for weeks as you stand in front of your manager and ceo.

[azazelsazaleas]

I finished watching through DS9 a few weeks ago and I’ve been meaning to do a rundown of my thoughts on it. Here goes:

- Oh my god that was fantastic. I really wish it’s given it a fair shake back when it was on the air; I was a dumb teenager who resented it for not being TNG and was going through a weird self-loathing phase where I didn’t want to admit to myself that I was the massive nerd that I am. This seriously lived up to the hype. I may have to do a TNG rewatch because this might just have upstaged it as my favorite 90s Trek.

- Andrew Robinson should’ve been made a full cast member. Ditto Max Grodenchik and Aaron Eisenberg.

- Damar’s transmission at the end of The Changing Face of Evil lives rent-free in my head. I cheered out loud at that.

- One thing the show did fantastically that a lot of other SF/fantasy properties don’t quite get right is that it lands a pitch-perfect balance of “these characters are major, important figures in the larger multinational conflict” and “this conflict is absolutely massive and not everything revolves around the same small group of people.” The fact that Sisko, Worf, Kira, Odo, et al are so important is entirely plausible and it never feels like the writers are trying to gratuitously bring everything back to them.

- That said, I kind of love that Admiral Ross’s leadership approach during the Dominion War eventually consists of doing whatever the hell Sisko tells him to do.

- God, the acting was incredible. Andrew Robinson, Armin Shimerman, Nana Visitor, Marc Alaimo, and Louise Fletcher were real standouts, but everyone was just so damned good.

- Actually, I really need to give special mention to Shimerman. The man went above and beyond to make Quark be something more than a joke character, despite how obvious it was that basically the entire production team wanted him to just be cartoonish comic relief. He worked harder to flesh out his character and show his race as a race of *people* (not just caricatures) than just about any actor playing an alien on Star Trek before him except for maybe Nimoy. Give the man a goddamn Emmy. Don’t believe me? Go rewatch the iconic root beer scene from The Way of the Warrior.

That said: I do have a few criticisms:

- Pretty much all of the (canon) romantic subplots were just…yikes. The only major exception I can think of Sisko/Yates, where they actually seemed to have a healthy dynamic, fall legitimately in love with each other, and generally treat each other like adults in a serious relationship, not bickering teenagers.

- Seriously, Worf/Jadzia got so hard to watch and then the fallout with Ezri was just ugggghhhhhhhhh stop please for the love of god

- Why did the writers need to try to romantically pair off all the female characters? Just, why?

- Kira had more sexual tension with that Romulan lady in half an episode than she did with any of her bucket-of-paint boyfriends over the course of seven years.

- I totally get the behind-the-seasons reasons why things panned out the way they did, but (hot take) I think Dax’s whole arc would’ve worked better if they had killed Jadzia off after the first season or two and brought in Ezri earlier. Jadzia was fun, but she was just too perfect to get many interesting stories and her relationship with Worf felt too much like manufactured drama. Having a trill who didn’t want to be joined, agreed to in a life or death emergency situation, and now has to reckon not only with taking on this symbiotic relationship with no preparation whatsoever but also succeeding this beloved person in the eyes of her loved ones is such a better setup for a character and it’s a pity we didn’t get to see that play out properly.

- Sisko deserved a better conclusion to his story. Give the man his damned house on Bajor and let him raise his kid with Kasidy. He’s more than earned it.

- Next time I rewatch the series, I’m skipping the mirror universe episodes and the ones with the genetically enhanced walking-90s-neurodivergent-stereotypes.

Other random thoughts:

- Dukat’s storyline should’ve ended with him getting killed at the end of Waltz. Either by Sisko, or by deluding himself so thoroughly that he does something suicidal. The pah-wraiths subplot felt like a lazy afterthought (except for the episode where he pretends to be Bajoran and starts fucking Kai Winn) and as much as I liked watching Marc Alaimo act, his story arc was basically over at the end of Sacrifice of Angels….which, incidentally is when Damar actually starts to get interesting.

- I loved the O’Brien must suffer episodes but I thought Hard Time was kind of overrated. Mostly for the plot line with the cellmate; I think I’m a little burned out on seeing stories that have a moral of “deep inside us is a line between humanity and savagery and when pushed to the limit, even the best of us would turn to murder.” It’s been done to death, and it’s really not truthful, at least for many people.

- I think I may have a little bit of a crush on Major Kira. It would never work out if I met someone like that in real life, though. I’m a laid-back, atheist, creative type; she’s a deeply devout former insurgent. Given certain real-life crushes I’ve had recently; maybe I’m just into strong women with big, expressive eyes who wear their hearts on their sleeve and have a spine made of fuckin’ steel. I have no idea what this says about me.

- MORN

- Favorite Episodes: In the Pale Moonlight, The Visitor, Improbable Cause/The Die is Cast, In Purgatory’s Shadow/By Inferno’s Light, In the Cards, Duet, The Wire, Civil Defense, The Magnificent Ferengi, basically the entire Dominion War arc.

[cjsinkythoughts]

His Only Contact

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1014

Warnings: Falcon and the Winter Soldier Spoilers!!!! A little angst, a little fluff, no cursing (I think)

A/N: This is a quick thing I wrote because I can’t sleep after watching that episode. I have so many ideas. I might continue this, too (just like everything else I write because I’m incapable of writing one-shots), but I’ll probably just write a few drabbles here and there when new episodes come out. I also added HBC’s Lucky in Love prompt for Day 19 in here, which is Odds.

FATWS SERIES MASTERLIST

Find my Day 14 Prompt here - Spring Forwards - and my Day 18 Prompt here - Ocean Eyes, Cherry Lips, Ivory Keys

AGAIN: SPOILERS UNDER CUT!

Shooting up. Greedily sucking in air. Sweat sliding down skin. Adrenaline rushing through veins. Wide eyes darting around the room.

Another night. Another nightmare. He was starting to think he’d never get another restful sleep.

The floor was hard beneath him, far better than the soft, malleable mattress he had in his practically empty room. The TV was on, as it always was, the soft glow making his eyes squint. The apartment was silent except for his pants, empty except for his shuddering form. He’s shirt was off - he didn’t like it sticking to him, it was too constricting, and he always ran hot anyways - his sheets tangled with his legs.

Reaching over to the small couch besides him, his hand slid over the cushions until he found what he was looking for.

He flipped open the small phone, going straight to the Contact page. He only had one in this phone. This phone no one knew about except them two. Not Sam, not his therapist. No one.

He quickly dialed the number, leaning back against the couch and letting out a puff of air. Finally, after a few rings, an exhausted voice came through, hoarse with sleep.

“Hello?”

“Hey…it’s me.”

“Oh. Hey. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, no. Everything’s…I’m…we just haven’t talked in a while.”

“I know. I’ve been meaning to call, but-”

“No, no. I get it. What you’re doing is important.”

“You’re important, too, Buck.”

Bucky took a breath, a small nod moving his head. “Uh, so, how’s the search? Found anything yet?”

“No. I’m in Edinburgh right now. They met here right before the whole thing in Wakanda…I thought she might come back.”

“No such luck?”

“No…you know what she did. What she’s capable of. The odds of finding her…” He heard her sigh and a frown etched onto his features. She sounded tired, but she spoke before he could bring it up. “What about you? How’re you doing?”

“I dunno, honestly.”

“Yeah. Okay, that’s fair. How’s therapy going with what’s-her-face?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “It’s basically the same every session. ‘Are you having nightmares?’ ‘Are you making amends?’ ‘Are you following the three rules?’ ‘This is part of your pardon.’ Yadda yadda yadda.”

“Is it helping at all, at least?”

“I guess. The amends thing gives me something to do if nothing else.”

“Are you following the rules, though?”

“No one will know if I don’t.” The giggle she gives makes him brighten up. “I got lunch with Yori again on Wednesday.”

“Oh? How was that?”

“Fine. Good, even. I guess. I dunno. He set me up on a date with the girl who works behind the counter at Izzy.”

“OOooo! Fun! Is she pretty?”

“As a picture.”

“What did you do?”

“Played Battleship and drank. A lot in my case. Not that it did much...”

“James-”

“No, no! Not like that! She made it into a drinking game! I was losing.”

“You?”

“I’m a super soldier assassin. I don’t have x-ray vision.”

“Okay, okay. What went down after Battleship?”

“I, uh…I ran out on her.”

“Oh no. Why? What happened?”

“She, uh…she started talking about how nice it is for me to spend time with Yori and his son…I went to tell him, you know. I looked him in the eye and opened my mouth…but I saw a picture. Of his son.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Buck. You know that. It wasn’t you.”

He didn’t feel like arguing with her, so he just agreed. “Yeah. I guess.”

He could feel her suspicion through the phone, but luckily she decided not to pursue the topic. She always seemed to know what to say and when. “Did you have a good time at least? While you were there I mean?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess. I was - I was really awkward, I think. I dunno. It’s been a while.”

“But it’s better than online dating. I told you that was a bad idea.”

“You were also the one who told me to jump in head first.”

“Not on the internet. You psycho. There’s really whack jobs out there.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Hey!” He chuckled at her faux-offended tone, picturing her hand over her heart mockingly. “That hurt!”

“Kidding. You know I love you.”

“As long as you know I love you back…have you talked to Sam lately?”

“Uh…no. Not…not recently. How is he?”

“He’s fine. We just talked earlier. He’s in Louisiana right now with his sister. He’s got some family dilemma he’s trying to fix. He, uh, he gave the shield up earlier this week. Apparently the new Smithsonian exhibit is pretty good. Maybe we’ll check it out sometime…what do think?”

“Yeah. Maybe. Sometime. Are-are you coming back soon?”

“I was planning to. I really don’t think I’ve got any chance of finding Wanda at the moment. Or Vision for that matter. I still can’t believe SWORD didn’t contact us. I’m so pissed.”

“I know. Maybe it’s good you didn’t get informed, though. We all know how you get when it comes to the team.”

“The Avengers are my family, Bucky. I’m loyal to a fault, you know that.”

“Yeah. I do. I think Steve rubbed off on you after all those years.”

“You think?”

“Definitely.”

They fell into a comfortable, contemplative silence, Bucky’s eyes watching the screen of the TV still glowing from across the room. “What if I dropped by tomorrow? Is that too soon?”

“Tomorrow as in today? It’s one o’clock here.”

“It’s five here. So tomorrow as in tomorrow. I’m tired.”

“Either one would be fine, but yeah. Get some rest. Call me when you have your flight information.”

“Okay. You get some rest, too. Or, at least, try to. You sound tired.”

“You know I don’t sleep well without you.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow. Promise. Then we can stay in all day and you can catch up on sleep.”

“How long will you be here?”

“As long as you need me, James. Good night.”

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

Bucky hesitated, before shaking his head. “G’night, doll. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Buckaroo.”

[no-droids]

Out of a Trillion

gif credit: @bestintheparsec​

Part Fifteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.6K

Warnings: uhhhh so there is a bit of SMUT in this one, not too much and I imagine if you’ve made it this far then that won’t be too big of a deal LMFAOOO uh some ANGST and my attempt at HURT/COMFORT and also violence/blood/injury description, so look out for that!

A/N: I started writing this before the season finale aired and I know we all want a bit of goodness and softness after it, but hopefully this will be okay!  I’ll start working on the next part tonight

***

Everything changes and yet somehow nothing does.  

From that point on, it’s like… like you’re both just suspended in this perpetual state of wondering, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  You know he said it’s up to you, but what the fuck?  Look whenever you want?  That’s way too much fucking pressure, he’s out of his mind.  You’re not equipped to handle that, who does he think you are?  Someone that can just… decide things?

And it’s not like you’re afraid of the commitment, or that you don’t want to look.  You do, but every single time a moment comes, it just never… feels right.  You don’t know what you’re waiting for, what feeling or meaning you’re expecting to magically present itself to you, but you can’t shake the idea that there should be more to it than just randomly deciding to open your eyes at some point, shouldn’t there?  Din said there was no ceremony, nothing fancy, and he gave you permission to look because he said he’s not allowed to ask outright, whatever that means.  It’s a standing offer because you guess he isn’t allowed to prompt it for some reason, but unfortunately, that leaves you in just about the shittiest position possible.  Now everything falls to you—initiation, execution, and consequence—and Maker knows you’ve never been that great making decisions under pressure.

But you do want to look.  Sort of.

Sort of.  Because… well, this probably won’t make that much sense, but you’re afraid.  Mostly for him.  What if he’s making a mistake?  It sounds stupid, but you’re afraid of what this means for him, the sheer perpetuity of this decision he’s now expecting you to make for the both of you.  This isn’t your creed, not yet, and you feel like there’s still so much to learn.  Not only about the Mandalorians and his culture, but about him.  To know is to love, and so you’ve taken to asking any nonsensical question you can think of whenever he’s around.  Though you weren’t expecting it at first, you’ve learned that he’ll always give you some sort of an answer.  Some of the highlights include:

“How old are you?”  (“I don’t know.  Probably mid-forties, but there’s no way to tell anymore.”)

“You don’t know your birthday?”  (No, I… think it was in the winter.”)

“What’s your last name?”  (“Djarin.”)

“Do you have any freckles?  Or moles, or birthmarks?”  (“No, none that I’ve ever noticed.”)

“Do you cut your own hair?”  (“Yes, but it’s been awhile.”)

“Do you have dimples?”  (“I don’t smile in mirrors.”)

“Are your earlobes attached or detached?”  (“What kind of question is that?”)

And so forth.

He also gives you so many fucking opportunities to look.  One right after the other.  You used to think Din was incredibly trusting with how often and voluntarily he decided to take his helmet off around you—he didn’t wait a single day once he first felt your hands on his skin to take it off in your presence.  You remember being blown away by his unexpected willingness to part with it after hearing so many tales of the Mandalorians from Kuill; stunned by the ever-present ability to just open your eyes at any moment and that’s all it would ever take.  One simple movement—life-altering, and so easy.

Now you find it nearly impossible, muscle memory just won’t allow it to happen naturally.  And yet somehow, avoiding it is like stepping around land mines.  He doesn’t trick you—he doesn’t set it up, he doesn’t surprise you or anything, but he’s… less careful.  When the kid is awake, Din acts normal—he walks around fully armored, he goes on hunts and returns a few days later with a quarry, teaches you more self-defense techniques in the cleared out hull while the kid watches and giggles at your pain from the safety of his floating crib.  But when the baby goes to sleep, he’s taken to lounging with the helmet off.  He only used to remove it to eat, sleep, or… do other things with you, but he never used to take it off just… because.  Now he does.  Now he’s less careful about darkness, less strict about how much light he allows to touch him.

Now he shares every single meal he can with you, sitting just off to the side so you’ll never see him on accident but providing the free exercise thereof should you ever decide to seek it out purposefully.  Now he interrupts you in the middle of your complaining about the bruises on your knuckles just to lift the rim of his helmet the slightest bit, lean down and give you a quick kiss, and then lower it back into position again before you can even catch a glimpse of the lips you only recognize by touch.  Now he keeps the light on when he goes to take a shower, he leaves the door cracked.

It’s starting to give you heart palpitations, you swear.  At one point, he lets you to see the entire back of his head and it nearly launches you into a fucking crisis.

It’s the middle of the night and he just got up from bed to use the restroom.  He’s quiet enough not to wake you on the way over, but then across the hull and with his back to you, Din flicks the light on in the small bathroom without closing the door.  Immediately rousing you after being so accustomed to the pitch blackness, you lift your head from the warmth of your shared pillow just enough to blearily make out the sight of him leaning a hand up against the wall and dropping his head down, and it takes you a second to realize that it’s actually him.

Soft, dark brown locks ending at his collar but somehow looking longer than you ever imagined when you’ve run your fingers through them.  Cascading in shaggy, natural curls—tall, broad shouldered and trim waisted, naked as the day he was born.  Your heart starts to squeeze in your chest and it just never stops, and for the second time in your life, you feel like he woke you up in the middle of the night just to show you one of the most beautiful things the universe ever decided to hide.  There are trillions of people in this galaxy and how many of them have ever seen a sight that would compare?  He’s just a man, you don’t think a single person would bat an eye.  But to you, he’s… his own monument.  Constructed in honor of everything dazzling that happens to lie just underneath something else.  A breathtaking view, even from this angle, that could only ever mean something to you.

Would you ever be able to know him?  No, that’s not phrased right.  What you mean is that… over the course of all your time together, you remember thinking that if he ever took his helmet off, he could walk right by you and you’d never be able to tell the difference.  He could be anybody.  There are trillions of people in this galaxy and how many of them have the same features?  Brown hair, brown eyes, sunkissed skin that only one person is allowed to kiss, not even the sun.  Would you ever be able to know him?

Staring at his back in the blissful silence of hyperspace and feeling like the Maker himself is letting you in on one of his proudest secrets, some wild thought suddenly occurs to you that… you think you would.  Somehow.

You can’t explain it and you’d never be able to prove it, but you feel like if you lined up every single person in this galaxy shoulder to shoulder, all however many trillions of them there are, then you could walk the entire length of it and somehow come to a stop right where he’s standing.  Every single time.  You feel like you could do it in the pitch black.  You could do it with your eyes closed.

And, he must just be so gorgeous.  Maybe not in a traditional sense (or maybe in one, you’d have no way of knowing), but mostly in just… the rawest sense imaginable.  Not like how symmetry and straight lines are gorgeous, but how a mountain is gorgeous.  Rocky, dangerous, steep, the product of constant conflict between two immovable sides.  He’s got scars littering his body, one of which you remember giving him yourself with a cauterizer on his lower back.  He holds himself like his shoulders could tell their own story if anyone ever asked them; built to endure, weighed down and made strong with a collection of burdens he chooses to strap to them, steel or otherwise.

You don’t want to close your eyes once Din slowly turns around to look at you, but it happens anyways and you’ve never been so disappointed in your own cowardice.

But then, in a way, it could just be your own self-preservation instincts taking over.  No matter how stunning and life changing the spectacle would be, why would anyone ever stare directly at a supernova?  For so long, you’ve told yourself that his face is something you shouldn’t ever see on principle, but in a way, you suppose it’s fair he put this decision on you because he always has, even from the very beginning.  He trusted you to keep your eyes closed for months on end and you never had a problem with it, so why is it so hard to open them now that he’s given you permission?

A couple weeks of that, and you start to worry that you’re unintentionally rejecting him.

It’s the last fucking thing you want, but how can you avoid it?  Din is… different, he notices.  He’s made a living off of finding things that inherently don’t want to be found—he knows all too well what secrecy looks and sounds like, he’s quick and observant and you don’t stand a single fucking chance against him in all the years of his practice.

But strangely, for as often as you feel like you can figure out what he’s thinking without ever seeing his face—realizing what his intentions are ahead of time and not feeling slighted when he phrases things a certain way or just chooses not to speak at all—you never truly realized how much that extended back to you.

He knows you, too.  He told you so.

For some reason, you didn’t even consider the possibility of it working just as well the other way around.  That you could choose to stay silent, and he’d know why.  You feel like the mystery of him just eclipses you in every single way that you don’t consider even yourself much of anything, much less something else to be contemplated and understood.  While you wouldn’t necessarily qualify the conflict as not being ready to commit, he seems more than willing to respect it regardless and nothing about the way he treats you or interacts with you changes.  Normally you’d say it’s like he forgot the whole thing ever happened, but it’s almost the exact opposite.  Like he was just naturally expecting it from you.

Are you truly so predictable, you wonder?  He said you’d say no.  Was he right?  You’re not saying no, you just… can’t remember the word for yes right now.  It’s right there on the tip of your tongue and the harder you work for it, the more frustrated you become with your own inability to find it.

But, instead of waiting, you think Din just decides to continue the conversation with the promise to come back to you when you finally figure it out.

Sometimes, especially when he’s gone, you find yourself thinking about what moment you’d choose, if you could.  Since you can never seem to find the right one naturally, how would it all go if you could construct everything yourself?  Where would it be?  Naboo?  No, that’s too cheesy.  One thing you and Din both have in common is your practicality, your respective propensities for wanting to tackle one thing at a time and not needing frills attached to something in order to find a deep connection to it, a personal value to it.  You weren’t even bothered when he didn’t claim you as a girlfriend to Peli, that’s how reasonable you used to be about labels.  Now you’re your own antithesis, trying to conjure meaning where there isn’t any just so you don’t feel like you’re the one who’s ripping it away.  You want this decision to feel as permanent as it is.  You want it to be a happy thing, something that happens when you’re both so in love that you can’t bear to have metal separating you any longer.

You think… you’ll just know it when the time comes.

***

“I have to leave,” comes Din’s hushed voice through the darkness, and even though it’s the first thing either of you have said in hours, it sounds frustrated.  Like it’s been bothering him for awhile and he’s just now finally telling you.  “I… fuck, I can’t stay here, I should’ve left a long time ago.”

You whine softly into the pitch black, turning your head into the pillow and curling your fingers into his hair.  “But it’s still so early…”

“It’s mid-afternoon,” he groans back, dropping his forehead down against your skin and breathing hot air along it.  “We’ve been parked here for hours, I don’t know how you can sleep so long.”

“I’m not sleeping,” you pout, before gently dragging your nails down his scalp and feeling his whole body shudder with it.  “Earlier I was.”

“Mhm,” he murmurs, leaning down to give you one last long, slow kiss.  You sigh when his tongue comes out and glides soft and hot against your lips, tightening your grip on his hair.

But soon he pulls away, lifting the covers from over his head and pushing up from between your spread legs.  “This one shouldn’t take long,” he gruffs, planting both palms next to your head and kissing you once more in the darkness, dipping his tongue into your mouth this time.  You moan softly and taste yourself on him, moving to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, but he breaks the kiss and leans back before you can, preemptively avoiding the possibility of getting lost in it.  “I’ll be back around dawn.”

You’ve known it was coming for hours now, so you’re able to play it off way better this time around.  “Okay,” you breathe softly, dragging your palms up his bare chest as he lifts himself tall over your body.  The slight disappointment underneath is so masterfully hidden, you’re almost positive you’re going to get away with it.  “Be safe.  Please.”

But then… well.  Bounty hunter.

Din pauses for a moment like that in between your open legs, letting you slowly slide your hands down his ribs and over the lines of his stomach.  You wait for him to move, find his clothes so you can get around and make some food, wake the kid up from his nap in an hour or so.  Can’t stay in bed all day, no matter how much you wish you could.

Only, he still hasn’t moved and you start to become concerned.  “Din?”

But then he suddenly groans like he just can’t help it, grabbing both of your spread legs and easily lifting them up.  You make a sound of confusion as he maneuvers them until they’re pressed together and draped over one of his shoulders, and then his hips drop and push forward to slide himself thick and perfect into your blazing hot cunt.

Still drenched and swollen from cumming in his mouth so many times earlier, you gasp and he just groans louder, a ragged thing scraping out of his throat while you struggle through blind and unexpected euphoria to reach him.  But you can’t—Din hugs your legs tight to his chest and settles in just like this, turning his head to drag soft lips and a hot tongue over your ankle before he starts fucking you.  Right up against your g-spot, with your whole lower body in the way and preventing you from slowing him down.

You just have to clap both hands over your mouth just to keep quiet since you can’t reach him.  You feel his teeth sink into the meat of your calf, hips pistoning far beyond your reach and it feels so fucking good that you almost don’t hear his gritted words against your skin.

“I have to go,” he groans, repeating it over and over until his voice begins to pull tight and it just sounds like a plea.  “I have to go, I have to go, I h—have to… h-have to go, I have to, I have to, I have…”

*** 

When Din finally steps foot out of the ship, fumbling with his rifle and cursing quietly through the modulator, it’s the middle of the night some twelve hours later.

***

Steady…

Steady………

Fire.

—and… you blink as bark splinters.

Did you…?  You look down at the blaster in your hand and then back to the ginormous charred tree trunk for a few seconds, wondering if you’re just seeing shit.

No, it’s real.  You actually fucking did it.  You…

… hit the target.

All of a sudden, your ecstatic giggle echoes loudly throughout the foresty autumn wonderland around you, reds and oranges and yellows crunching under your feet while you start to dance.

“Hey!  See that, bug!?”  You call out, shoving the blaster into your waistband and shimmying up to your enthralled audience of one, who just so happens to be smiling as wide as you are as he’s scooped up into your arms.  “I hit the target, I hit the target,” you sing, beginning to sway the baby back and forth as he squeals, laughing while you bounce him.  “No demon powers necessary, little man!  I figured it out, I just have to use one hand instead of two.  You can retire now, you’re the right age for—”

A twig snaps in the distance somewhere to your left, and you quickly spin around while reaching for the blaster behind your back.

Except all you see is a blue Twi’lek standing out amongst all the fall foliage, his hands cuffed behind his back and stumbling a few steps at a time while a considerably taller suit of beskar shoves him forward.  You relax and immediately turn to look down at the ground, trying to bite your lip so you don’t smile too hard while they both approach.  You did it—finally, you did it, you’re on top of the fucking universe right now.

You wait for them to pass by and move up the open metal ramp to the carbonite chamber, but then Din apparently decides to pause when he’s directly behind you, yanking the quarry to a sudden halt.  

You know you should probably turn around to address them, but you can’t hide the happiness from your expression, it’s way too obvious.  Though, after a moment, you decide to shyly turn to face the two men while continuing to bounce the baby in your arms, hoping that his and your matching expressions of excitement aren’t too terribly inappropriate right now.

Din looks from you to the splintered bark on the tree, and then back to you again, before slowly tilting the helmet up in a way that feels… proud of you.

“Congratulations,” he finally says, and you can hear the genuine smile hidden in the modulated drawl.

“Thank you,” you beam up at him, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks.  “Was pretty awesome.”

“I’m sorry I missed it,” he tells you, and you don’t know why, but the tone of his voice makes you go so warm.  It’s not like he’s openly flirting with you, but coupled with your giddiness and sounding like that in front of a bounty he caught in record time, it just makes your heart fucking throb for him.

“It’s alright,” you murmur, shuffling your feet through the crunchy leaves below and trying to play it as cool as possible.  You have company.  “I’ll be able to do it again.”

“Let’s see it, then.”  He tips the helmet over at the tree, and you look between him and the unfamiliar quarry for a second, not used to Din just… ignoring their existence entirely for you.  It’s not like the Twi’lek has said anything or inserted himself into the situation at all, but still.  Din has one hand latched onto the cuffs behind his back to prevent him from booking it, but other than that, it’s like he’s pretending he’s not even there.

“Uh…”  You immediately feel yourself get nervous.  “I can… try.”

He nods one single time in silent encouragement, and you slowly turn to face the tree once more.  The kid stays cradled in your arm while you reach for the blaster in your waistband, removing it and using your longest finger to flick the safety off with a practiced fluidity.  Then, extending it out in front of you and taking advantage of your newfound strategy of only firing with one hand, you line up the sight and pull the trigger.

You wish you could say it hits.  It would be so fucking cool and impressive if you hit the target like that, wouldn’t it?  But it doesn’t hit.  It misses, like usual.  Miserably.  And then an amused snort comes from behind you.

“Right stormtrooper, you are—” you hear an unfamiliar accent begin to snark, but the rest of it turns into a garbled howl the second Din jerks his elbow back to slam it in his face.

You whip around just in time to see a cascade of blood pouring down blue lips and sharp teeth—holy fuck.  You gasp and take a step backwards with the kid, not horrified by the sudden display of violence (not after Din spent an hour teaching you how to do that, too) but not quite expecting it at that moment, either.  But then, well… that’s the second time he broke a quarry’s nose for addressing you with disrespect.  There was that other one he choked, you’re pretty sure—though you can’t remember exactly what initiated that.

Din yanks the bounty up the ramp without another word, leaving both you and the kid there to process while he shoves him through the hull and towards the carbonite chamber none too kindly.  However, by the time he seals the quarry to his fate and eventually makes his way back to you, you just… 

Fuck, you feel so stupid.

You shouldn’t even bother, what’s the point?  All that practice and nothing to show for it.  If you can’t even hit a stationary target with the pressure of others watching, what makes you think you’ll have any hope at all in a situation where you actually need to shoot?  Are they gonna stand still for you?  Are they gonna be as wide as a fucking treetrunk?  You’re horribly embarrassed, so downtrodden in the face of a cruel taunt that you don’t even want to look at Din when he steps in front of you.

“Hey, just try it again,” he says without delay, but the damage has already been done.  It’s not his fault, you’re just… not the kind of person who is meant to shoot a blaster, maybe.  

“Ah… it’s alright,” you look out and smile sadly at the line of trees surrounding you, wondering how it’s possible that you only managed to hit one of them this whole time.  You don’t see it, but Din quickly touches the tips of his fingers to the side of his helmet twice before you look back at him.  “I hit it earlier.  I did, I promise.  You can see the mark if you look.”

His glove reaches out to brush your hair back, so unbelievably gentle after using the same arm to shatter bone just a few minutes ago.  “I know you did.  It was a perfect shot, you hit dead center.  I see it.”

“I did it with one hand, that’s why I tried the thing,” you mumble stupidly, looking down at your feet.  Dumb.  Dumb.

A strand of your hair is tucked behind your ear.  “Wish I was here.”

You glance over at him, feeling your expression suddenly go soft with a wave of affection.  It stops all the harsh criticisms, halting your negativity in its tracks and replacing it with just… soft, abstract things.  Mostly just warm, nonsensical fluff, but one clear and resounding thought breaking through.  You wish he was here, too.

“Maybe I’ll get good at it eventually,” you sigh, slowly handing him the blaster with the barrel pointed down and away from both of you.  Din carefully takes it from you, tucking it away somewhere on his utility belt while you gaze out at the designated target and victorious char mark decorating it.  “Or hopefully just okay at it at some point.  I guess I just need to practice more, right?”

“That’s right,” he tells you warmly, catching your free wrist.  “Try using this one when you do.”  And then a lightweight piece of metal is gently pushed into your empty hand.

Your expression furrows while you quickly look down at it, and—

You go utterly still at the gift, not even knowing what to think.

The first thing that you notice is the craftsmanship.  Brilliant, structurally flawless, the perfect size to fit your hand.  You don’t recognize the specific kind of metal that was used—definitely not beskar—but you think it might be constructed from the same material as Din’s old armor.  Dull silver, but with reflective chrome filigree accents around the handle, trigger, and safety.  It’s uniquely constructed and unlike any weapon you’ve ever seen before—no hard lines or edges, just a soft fluidity to the design that’s so aesthetically pleasing, it doesn’t really even resemble a blaster at all.

You can feel the visor silently studying your reaction while you continue marveling, noticing something new every time you look.  The safety is towards the back of the chamber, just like he said it’d be.  The sight is electronic, and you examine the way it’s built directly into the barrel.

Are those extra magnets on the inside?  Is this able to micro-adjust the plasma release for the best shot?  Holy stars, it must have cost a fortune.

“Din, this is…” you can’t decide where you want to look—the gorgeous crafting, the custom design, or him.  Standing so close to you, not saying a word while you search for the right ones.  “It’s so beautiful, I…”

“Was made for you,” he murmurs.  “Had to be.”

You look back down at the blaster to stop your eyes from tearing up.  He didn’t have to do this.  This is so… sweet, such a lovely thing to do.  Don’t cry, don’t cry—

“What is this?” You ask breathlessly instead, rotating the gun until he can see the symbol branded on the handle.  You recognize that it’s his signet, but you never bothered to ask him what it’s called, you never saw it as your place.  It’s an animal of some sort, one with a giant spike attached to its skull, and you’re glad you’ve never come face to face with one.

“It’s a mudhorn,” he answers quietly.  “They’re… dangerous animals.  Fiercely protective, preferring solitude.  The kid saved me from one a few days after I met him.  It’s… the mark of my clan.”

How fitting, you think, and an honor.  Perfect for him, and a bone-deep reminder of your two favorite people in the galaxy on your hip wherever you go.

“Thank you,” you tell him, hoping the sincerity in your voice sounds anywhere close to how you feel.  You haven’t even had it in your hand for longer than a minute and it’s already your prized position, the most important thing you’ve ever called yours.

Din nods and takes a small step back.  “Now hit the target.”

Feeling invigorated and renewed in every single way, you keep the kid tucked firmly in one arm while raising your blaster with the other.  The safety clicks off and your back straightens, chin lifting until something about the angle feels… right.  The trigger moves easily under your fingertip, and there’s almost no kickback considering how light the weapon is.  What you’re not expecting is the pure white beam of plasma shooting out of the barrel—unlike any blaster you’ve ever seen before—but then the immediate sight of it hitting the tree dead center sends a roar of triumph through your ears.  Fuck yes.

“Look at that!”  Din calls out over the kid’s happy squeal, and there’s nothing you can do to stop your loud whoop of victory.  Even though you know it only hit with the addition of those extra magnets to correct your terrible aim, that still feels so good—you feel so fucking powerful and dangerous.  You glance over to Din with a wide smile, but then his arm extends out towards the trunk directly next to the one with charred bark.  “Hit that one.”

You automatically swing the blaster in that direction and shoot.  A few pieces of wood split on impact and send sharp bits flying as soon as the bright white beam collides with it.

“That one,” Din tells you, and then bark splinters a half second later.  “That one.”  Bark splinters.  “That one, that one, that one—” hit, hit, hit, white plasma flying through the air and bark splintering in rapid succession.

He stops and spins around, pointing to a tree at the very edge of the clearing.  “That one?”

It’s furthest away but the trunk’s diameter is enormous.  As you lift the blaster, you know you’re likely to get it easily with this sophisticated weapon, even across the considerable distance.  So instead, feeling like nothing at all can touch you right now and wanting to see how smart the aim mechanism is, you raise up a few degrees higher before pulling the trigger.  Pale plasma launches from the barrel, and then one of the tree’s most prominent branches comes creaking and crashing to the ground right where you split it.

You’re beaming by the time Din turns back to you, the most excited you’ve ever been with your own progress.  He holds there for a moment while you lower your blaster and wait for him to speak, both of you looking at each other and not moving, until suddenly you hear his voice coming back to you.

Hit the target and I’ll marry you.

One of Din’s hands slowly comes up to the edge of his helmet, but before you can even process the implication behind the gesture, you’re immediately looking down at the crunchy leaves under your feet and clearing your throat.

There’s a beat of silence where you stare down at the dead foliage and wonder why the fuck you just did that.  Right in front of him, right to his face, too startled at how quickly you were being confronted with the possibility that you responded in an equally startled way.  It was instinctual, automatic and entirely out of your control, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to take it back.

But… you can’t take it back.  That’s the way things are, and after a few moments, you hear his boots begin to cross the distance to you.

“Come on,” Din murmurs gently through the modulator, carefully taking the blaster from your hand and clicking the safety back on again.  “We have to get going.  The fifth quarry is far.  Three day trip through hyperspace.”

He doesn’t sound upset or disappointed by your unintentional rejection, thank the Maker.  You want to explain yourself somehow, but it appears it isn’t necessary in the slightest.  His arm wraps around your lower back and he leads both you and the baby back up the open ramp of the Crest, squeezing you close enough to his side that you have to learn how to walk in a different way to stop yourself from tripping over his boots.

The helmet turns and presses to the top of your head while you focus on moving straight.  “Proud of you,” Din murmurs quietly, and your chest fills with enough air that you’d be worried about floating away if he wasn’t latched onto you so tightly.

He eventually releases you and walks over to the armory, pressing a button to unlock the doors while you hold the kid and watch him start to remove the multitude of weapons strapped to his body.

Maybe… maybe this isn’t the right time, but something brave surges up inside you.  After receiving the most precious gift imaginable from him, hitting all those targets and hearing him say that he’s proud of you, you’re buzzing with just enough energy that for better or worse, it makes you open your mouth and ask.

“Could I… come with you this time?”

Din nearly jerks upright and looks over at you immediately, but he takes a while in responding.  You hope he sees it in your eyes.  You hope he sees just how much you don’t want to be stuck here again when this is possibly the one time you’d be able to tag along.  It’s a bullshit quarry, one he could do in his sleep, and you’ve been getting increasingly restless while stuck on this ship.

When Din eventually does respond… well, judging from his shift in tone, you’re assuming he was just shocked at the question and didn’t take any of that time to actually consider his answer.

“No.”  Short.  Unfeeling, and not sorry about it in the slightest, before turning back to return the blasters you were using previously to the armory as if you said nothing at all.

Okay…  Um.  Not great, not what you wanted to hear, but maybe if you explain yourself better, he’ll listen.

“I just… I’m the only reason you have to get this quarry in the first place.”  Your voice is quiet, trying to let go of some of the concerns you’ve kept to yourself over the past two weeks.  Your fingers fiddle idly with the kid’s little woolen sack as he hangs out in your arms, wanting to plead your case but feeling slightly nervous now.  “You were out having a crazy expensive blaster made for me while I shook hands with Karga and agreed that you’d take more work for less pay.  I hate that I did that.”

“You had no choice,” Din mutters, turning around and striding past you while pressing a button on his vambrace to close the Crest’s ramp.  “My fault for being late.”  And… for as warm and comforting as his voice sounded earlier, it now just sounds… dismissive.  Aloof.  Half-listening, not really wanting to talk but forcing himself to.

“Well this time, I thought maybe… I might be able to help?  Maybe?”  Maker, you feel yourself going quieter the more he walks around the hull and ignores you.  “Karga said it was just a missing person, not even a criminal…”

“Karga says a lot of things,” he grunts with his back to you, voice completely monotone through the modulator.

Come on, speak up.  You’ve lacked a backbone for so long, you’ll never get what you want unless you say it out loud and let it be known.  You take a deep breath and straighten your shoulders, trying to put a little bit of spine into it.  “I can be useful.  I can fight now, I’ve been working on my—” 

“You think I’m telling you no because I don’t think you’re capable?”  He suddenly whips around, voice ringing sharp and challenging throughout the hull while you freeze.  You don’t move but everything about you suddenly feels like it shrinks.

“I-I didn’t—” But he cuts you off, taking a step forward.

“I know you can fight, a Mandalorian taught you how.  I know you’re useful, I know it’s just a missing person, and I know you hate it when I leave.”  He pins you with his eyes through the visor, his tone harder than you think you’ve ever heard it before.  “No.  Your job is to stay here, on this ship, with my son, where it is safe, and my job is to go get the quarry.  Quit asking.  I’m not telling you again.”

The baby makes a tiny little distressed sound in your arms and you blink a few times up at the cold metal, feeling all the good feelings from before just… drain out of you.

Okay, that’s fine.  Uh.  You… the cockpit is behind you, you’ll go up there and fly then.  No reason, just… he should get going.

“Okay, yeah,” you nod and tell the wall over his shoulder brace in immediate agreement, before abruptly spinning around and grabbing the ladder.  Din doesn’t move a single fucking muscle while you try to find your way up to the cockpit with the baby held to your chest and a dead stone sitting heavy inside of it, hoping your face doesn’t show the vulnerability you feel wanting to take over as you retreat.  Get to the cockpit first, get to the cockpit first, get to the—

“Sweet girl, I…” you barely hear murmured through the helmet from the floor, soft enough to sound slightly shocked, but you scramble into the cockpit and shut the door behind you before he can say anything else.

***

Silence didn't used to feel like this.

At first it was eerie, unnatural and stifling when you spent years in a wide open desert, wind swirling and dust pelting.  It suffocated you the first few times you jumped into hyperspace, a phenomena you read all about and considered mathematically fascinating before ever experiencing for yourself.  It was… foreign and strange, but you began to value it more and more as time passed.

Then, you started to get to know him and silence just became comforting.  Something you could bask in, knowing it was a comfort to him.  A choice he made because it just fit him best.  You felt safe in it, you felt like you didn’t have to be anything else but you.  You never had to break it just to avoid awkwardness, you became… closer to it, until you learned to fall in love with it.

But only when he was with you and it was his silence.  Not… everything else’s.  Now it’s haunting again.  Now the sheer lack of sound through hyperspace is a stranger to you, and the distortion of light surrounding the cockpit feels less about the sheer magnificence of manipulating space time and more about the fundamental disconnect it causes.  Gorgeous, but at its core, a severance.  Ripping the fabric of the universe apart, tearing a wound in it.

It’s been a few hours and nothing exceptional has happened since your conversation in the hull.  

You’ll admit that you’re a sensitive person, and because of that, you’ve always had a problem knowing if you were right or wrong when someone comes at you with a hard enough will.  You second-guess yourself, it’s one of your worst traits, and you feel like trying to squash that tendency without knowing the limit is partially to blame for why you’re holed up in this cockpit with the kid.  You’re quiet but in a different way from Din.  When he doesn’t speak, it’s because most of the time, he’s sure of himself and doesn’t need to.  When you don’t speak, it’s because most of the time, you’re insecure and don’t want to.

After being left alone with your thoughts for this long, you’re starting to realize that… he was right.  What were you thinking, wanting to tag along?  Wanting to hang out while he risks his life for this occupation, you probably sounded so fucking ignorant.  Maybe… maybe he didn’t have to say it like that, but his point is still very valid and you’re not sure if you’re really justified in hiding like this anymore.

The way he said… your job, though.  That still stings a bit.  This hasn’t felt like an actual job in a very long time.  Was that just an expression, or did he mean it literally?  You’re stuck on it, you’ve just been going over this for hours in your head, trying to figure out if you should be the one to apologize or not—or if this is just you overreacting from the start and no apologies will be necessary at all.

“Sorry you got stuck with me, kid,” you mutter sadly to the baby, watching him fiddle with his favorite metal ball in your lap.  He makes a little gurgle, purring in that weirdly adorable little way of his and it somehow feels like a reassurance directed to you that he’s just fine the way he is.

Maker, you haven’t heard anything from the hull in a fucking eternity; it’s like Din turned into a ghost, hasn’t even made a single footstep that you could hear since you last left him standing there.  You remember performing a quick flight check as soon as you got up here, lifting off as fast as you could and hoping the thrusters would rumble loud enough to cover your series of pitifully shallow sniffles at being yelled at unexpectedly by a very large and intimidating man, not really crying but not really able to breathe normal either.  The little monster was able to wiggle himself around in your lap as you were trying to punch in the correct coordinates for the fifth quarry with rapidly blinking, watery eyes, and then proceeded to give your belly the smallest hug you think you’ve ever been given and pretty much break your heart with it.

Lovely little boy, so sweet when he wants to be.  He’s sat with you this whole time, he even tried giving you his metal ball to play with but ultimately decided to keep it to himself when he realized you aren’t nearly as fascinated by it as he is.  You know it’s probably getting late for him, and you’ve been weighing the idea of handing him over to his father so he can at least get a good night’s sleep somewhere that isn’t your arms.  There’s no blankets in here, just your lap.

“I think I gotta go take you to your dad soon, tiny.  He’s probably missing you,” you tell him, trying to keep quiet enough that you won’t disturb Din in the hull.  There’s a good chance he’s already asleep.  “I think… he might still be mad at me.  Maybe you can give him the big eyes, soften him up a little?”

Right on cue, his enormous eyes start to droop closed, and you let out a tired sigh of exasperation.  That’s not gonna work, come on.  They gotta be open, booger.

You watch him slowly drift to sleep, his ears relaxing until they too start to droop, but when you try to take the ball from him and set it down on the console, his eyes immediately pop back open and the toy slips from your fingertips.  It levitates right back into his tiny hands as you watch, and then he closes his eyes once more while tightly cuddling the thing he loves most to his body.

Unbelievable.

He’s a child, and yet he’s…

“How are you so strong?”  You ask him, unable to even fathom.  “You’re the smallest, most helpless little thing I’ve ever seen and you’ve got such… strength.  You defy the universe for a piece of metal.”

He doesn’t hear you, you think he’s asleep again.  It’s just as well, you figure.  He needs to go sleep in his crib, it’s time.  You scoop him up and make sure the little ball stays tucked snugly in his arms, before finally standing up and stumbling over to the door on numb legs.

Only, when it slides open, you quickly stop short.

Because there, sitting on the floor and resting his helmet against the corner of this small little platform leading to the ladder, is the Mandalorian.

So much closer than you expected him to be.  So big, crammed into such a tiny place.  You didn’t hear his footsteps climbing the ladder, and you would’ve noticed it during the hours you’ve spent in the suffocatingly muted quiet of hyperspace.  He can be silent but not when absolutely nothing else exists and he’s got a thousand fucking pounds of steel weighing him down at any moment in time.  You took off almost immediately once you barricaded yourself inside the cockpit, so has he… did he follow you up in those last few seconds, right after you shut the door?  The ones when you were sniffling like a child and trying desperately to turn the thrusters on before you let the tears come?

His head lifts and his back straightens as you’re looking down at him with his sleeping son cradled in your arms, your eyes slightly redder than they should be.  You’re a mess and… he’s been here this whole time?

“Could you hear me in there?”  You whisper in sudden mortification, but Din just keeps gazing up at you through the impenetrable metal visor.  A complete mystery again.  Unreadable—he could be anyone.

When he doesn’t answer you, your heart twists with the possibility that he’s still upset with you, and you quickly turn to the ladder to figure out the best way to get down without jostling the baby.

“I’m sorry.”  His voice stops you dead in your tracks.  It’s so soft, nearly flipping in and out of the modulator from the lack of volume, the most cautious sounding thing you’ve ever heard coming through the filter.  “I… hurt your feelings.  I’m sorry.”

And…  Maker, if anybody else had said it.  If literally anybody else had said it, you know it would’ve sounded like the most sarcastic, dickish remark in such a delicate moment.  But, you also remember him telling you once that you were tenderhearted.  That the galaxy would never be as kind to you as you are to it.  This… comes out sounding like he’s trying to change that.

It comes out sounding like he’s trying to use his voice to hold you because he doesn’t think you want to be touched right now.  Like… like he’s doing everything he can to be as careful as possible here because you think he might be attempting to do something he’s never done before.  Apologize for saying something he didn’t mean.

“You don’t have to,” you quickly tell him.  He’s not good with words and apologies are difficult enough to phrase for normal people, you don’t want him to fret over it if that’s what this is.  “It’s okay, I know you’re not… you don’t have to.  It was stupid of me to ask.”

“It wasn’t,” he instantly counters, his voice finally seeming to find the floor when it was just hovering before.  Not loud—still gentle, still making sure the kid doesn’t wake up and you’re not frightened away, but a bit more grounded this time.  “It wasn’t… what I wanted to hear, and I didn’t take it well.  Not stupid.”

“It was stupid,” you return amicably, looking down at your feet.  “That’s not my… job, like you said.”

Din suddenly hangs his helmet down to his chest, pressing his gloves to the part that curves over his forehead and rubbing it.  “Shit.  I didn’t mean—”

“You were right,” you acknowledge, having spent the past few hours coming to the understanding that it’s the hard truth and he just phrased it poorly.  “I’m not… built for it, I’d only get in your way.  I barely just managed to shoot stationary targets with a blaster today, and that’s only with that aim corrector built into the barrel.  I’m here to be helpful, not—”

“What are you saying?”  He suddenly lifts the beskar to study you, sounding genuinely confused.  “What aim corrector?”

That… makes you pause.

“The, uh…”  Now you’re confused.  “The one that adjusts the plasma release on the gun you gave me.”

He doesn’t move an inch or say a single thing to you in response and you awkwardly shuffle your feet for a second, everything so quiet that you can hear every little snore that goes in and out of the kid’s tiny button nose.

You blink at him after way too long of that, not knowing why he still hasn’t said anything.  “There’s an electronic sight and like a bazillion extra magnets packed into the barrel, Din, what else could—”

“Sweet girl, that’s… that’s for the Philithiorium,” Din breathes out, like he’s absolutely blown away by you right now.  “That gas is less stable than normal canisters, it takes more magnets to focus the white beam without overheating the metal.”

You stare at him, not truly processing.  He’s saying that… you made all those shots today without any help at all?  By yourself?

Your eyebrows furrow and you blink a few times, but then his slow, heavy sigh echoes throughout the metal walls with disappointment… and you don’t think it’s directed towards you.

“You’re just… always so unsure of yourself.”  He sounds genuinely distraught as his helmet tips down to look at the ground.  “I made that worse today.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you quickly shake your head, your chest already beginning to loosen slightly by just being around him, hearing his voice, seeing the metal glint under the fluorescent light overhead when he’s in such a vulnerable position on the floor.  “It’s okay, let’s just… pretend neither of us said anything at all, okay?”

“Is that what you really want?”  He asks you after a moment of quiet, and for some reason, you hear something in your mind tell you that his arms look so nice right now, don’t they?  You could fit right there, perfect and safe again.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you smile at him, feeling a bit of the ache trapped inside you continue to work itself out little by little.  You’ll be back to normal soon, it’s fine.

“No, I mean… do you really want to come with me?”  Din asks you, the words sounding cautious.  Confused, like he truly never expected the proposition from you at all.  “Or… do you just not want me to go?”

Oof, what a fucking question.

Why would he ask this?  It’s not pointed; it’s the softest, gentlest inquiry you’ve ever been posed.  Maybe in other circumstances, you’d say that him leaving doesn’t have anything to do with it, but… you’re certain that internally, it absolutely does have at least something to do with it and he was just able to know it before you did.  Which is probably why his sharp words seemed all the more cutting earlier.  It hurt because he said the truth first, verbalized a very deep insecurity you’ve been trying to hide from him and threw it right in your face when shutting you down.

Though, if it worked differently and you were the one who had to be away while he stayed here, you’d like to think you’d handle it way better than how it is now.  At least you’d have a real mission to focus on, new things to see and experiences to have.  You just feel… confined sometimes.

You take a deep breath and figure you’ll use sitting down as an excuse to think for a second.  There’s practically no room but you find it in the back of the cockpit near the doorframe anyways, doing your best to keep the kid level while you slowly lower yourself to the ground near him.  Not touching him, but close.

“I just… I lived my whole life stuck in one spot, wanting to see the galaxy,” you finally admit to him, staring at his chestplate but seeing the helmet tilt slightly in your peripheral.  “Sometimes it’s just… hard to see the galaxy and still be stuck in one spot, I guess.”

“…You want an adventure,” Din proposes quietly, and though there’s not a single hint of mockery in his voice, you suddenly feel like it’s really fucking dumb when he phrases it like that.  What are you, an eight year old?  Wanting to go on an adventure, see things you’ve never seen without any concept for real life?  Credits?  Time?  Resources?

You shrug a shoulder to make it seem like it’s no big deal.  Why is he even entertaining this right now?  “It’s stupid, I kn—”

“Like on Naboo,” he goes on, ignoring your harsh self-criticism, not allowing you the ability to even get it out once he heard the first couple words.  “Going through the forest, seeing that waterfall.  Someplace to find for yourself.  Explore.  Experience.”

You… you want it so badly that you think your eyes might tear up just hearing the words coming out of his mouth when he says them like that.  Like he… just inherently understands.  He knows.

He knows you.  He’s not good with words and yet he found the single most succinct way to put what you thought was a complex yearning without even trying.  You can’t even answer him, he hit the target dead on and you’re left with nothing to say that wouldn’t just be a miserable lie.

“Okay,” Din says after a moment, giving you a small nod.

You’re lost now.  “…Okay?”

“You’re never going on a hunt with me,” he tells you very seriously, no room for arguing.  “Ever.  And not because you can’t handle it, understand?”  He inhales, quickly adding on to his response before you’re able to analyze it the way you want to.  “But if you want an adventure, then… I can try and find a way to give you one.”

Stars.  He’s… too kind.  You somehow feel like it’s more than you deserve.  You were honestly hoping to just shadow him on a hunt, watch him work and stay well out of the way when he needs you to.  Helping if you think you’d be of any help; an extra set of eyes and hands.  You would’ve been fine even if he didn’t apologize for raising his voice at you, he doesn’t have to do this for you.

“Thank you,” you say for the third time today, feeling like each one has somehow multiplied in sincerity.

“It can’t be right now,” he quickly tells you, apologetic but earnest about it.  “I have to find the quarry, and I’m supposed to meet with Karga again in a week.”

You never did let him know about the other part of the deal you made with Karga, you admit.  Four pucks, no hassling, no hard time constraints.  That’s what you shook on, but you just never found a way to bring it up to Din.  Especially since you’ve been so preoccupied with hiding your growing disappointment from him whenever he has to go.

“If…” you pause, wondering the best way to phrase this.  Yikes, this is a toughie.  “Um.  If Karga… I don’t know, hypothetically, if Karga decided to loosen the time constraints back to the way they were before the Corellian bounty, would you… still need to meet with him again in a week?”

You don’t think he even bothers shuffling through all those words.  “Say what you mean.  Please.”

“That was part of the deal I struck with him,” you quickly explain.  “You can hunt on your own timetable again and he’ll keep giving you four pucks like before, no more or less after this one extra quarry.  It’s like a… replacement of sorts, for the one I kept you from getting the time before.  If credits aren’t an issue, you can take more than a week.  But only if you want to, you don’t have to.  It’s just there and you should know, that’s all.”

He takes his time responding, lifting his helmet just the slightest bit in… surprise?  Maybe?

“You never told me you did that,” Din finally murmurs.

“Ah.  Well.”  You look down at the sleeping kid in your arms.  “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to… keep you here.”

It genuinely is a struggle for you, and you think he’s just now realizing that.  As much as you know he gets frustrated with you for always wanting him to be here when he physically can’t be, you think it’s only now that he’s truly realizing the lengths you go to in order to stomp that part of you down whenever you feel it threatening to come up.  You allowed him to leave every single time without telling him he could stay, knowing that all that was left for you was babysitting and target practice for days on end.

“Will you come over here?”  Din finally asks, and the tone of his voice just punches you in the chest.  So soft, so distressed from having you so close yet so far from him and just… full of a quiet hope, like he’s fully expecting you to say no.

“Will we fit?”  You whisper after a moment, even quieter.

He doesn’t answer, he just reaches for you.  You do your best to scoot over to him without waking the kid, and then Din pulls you the rest of the way once he has a grip.  You go right into his arms, laying sideways across his lap and supported by his steel embrace.

Oh, it’s not comfortable but you’ve also never been more fucking comfortable.  One of his knees lifts and allows you to rest your back against it without worrying about falling over sideways and down the ladder to the hull, thank the Maker.  The beskar pauldron over his shoulder digs into your cheek, but Din immediately pushes an arm up to nudge his helmet off and make it better for both of you.  Your face automatically fits into the crook of his neck while he sets the beskar on the bend of his knee, and then he silently cradles you while you do the same to his little boy… who does the same to his favorite metal ball.

“Ni tar’tayl su,” he murmurs into your hair, the one phrase in Mando’a you do recognize, especially with how beautiful and elegant it sounds rolling off his tongue.  “Forgive me.  Ni ceta.”

You sigh your contentment and melt into him, well aware that you’d still be more comfortable in bed.  But when you’re pressed hard against his chest like this and the baby is fast asleep in your arms, you get to feel both of them breathing.  Din’s right lung is probably bigger than the kid’s whole entire body, but you like the radically different cycles they go through.  You think you count six full breaths coming from the brown sack in your palms for every one of Din’s and two of yours.  It creates the most beautiful little symphony that sometimes gets a little off track, but always finds its way back around again.

“How do you say…”  You ask, feeling his hand slowly move down the curve of your spine, mindless and hypnotic.  It catches the edge of your shirt and goes underneath, and even though it’s not his bare hand and there’s no skin to skin, it still feels so good.  Not sexual or sensual even, just… a comfort to you.  “In Mando’a, how do you say… out of a trillion?”

Din’s breaths pause for just a second, his portion of the synchronized rhythm faltering.  Soon it starts back up, and his head turns to press his lips against your hair.

“I don’t think there’s a word for it,” he admits, gently brushing a thumb across the baby’s forehead while he snoozes.  “There could be, but I don’t know it.  I’d use… out of a million million millions.  Dayn alanyc bal alanyc bal alanyci.”

Your eyes begin to drift closed, exhausted from keeping them open after shedding a few tears earlier.  Your first fight and you’re already completely in love with him again after a handful of hours of sulking and one conversation.  How is that possible?  You’re normally a very forgiving person and it wouldn’t have taken much to make you feel better, you just never expected him to… actually want it from you that badly, care enough about it to get on the floor and ask.

Din doesn���t move the entire night through.  You assumed he’d make everyone get up at some point and move to the hull, but he doesn’t.  You fall asleep against his chest, comforted by the silence once again.

***

The next morning, Din quietly climbs into the cockpit while you’re humming in the shower.  You’re too busy basking in the indoor rainfall to feel the ship pull out of hyperspace, and then jump back into it a few moments after.

***

“How long do you think you’ll be this time?”  You ask two days later, sitting on the extended flattop of Din’s old cot and swinging your legs back and forth.  The baby is currently sitting on your lap and trying to roll the metal ball down your knee so you’ll kick it in the air, you think, because he keeps dropping it at different moments and forcing you to stop moving your legs to prevent accidentally denting a wall.  Every time the ball clatters to the floor, he makes a sad sound and it immediately lifts back up into his tiny hands for another try.

Heavy boots clang against the metal floor as Din drops down from the ladder, having just landed the Crest on the surface of whatever planet you’re on.  “I’m not leaving yet.”

“Oh…”  You blink, surprised.  “Okay.”

“I wanted to do some more training with you first, if that’s okay.  You can say no if you want, but maybe not,” Din drawls, striding over to the armory and opening it.  He carefully removes your blaster from the front shelf, speaking with his back to you.  “You’re going to run.”

“Um.”  You take a moment to glance around the enclosed hull, before turning to look back at him with your eyebrows raised.  “What, like… in place?”

Din sighs and closes the armory before leaning back against the doors, rubbing the face of the helmet in exasperation.  “From me, sweet girl.”

Your legs stop swinging, and the baby grumbles and slaps three fingers against your knee.  “What?”

“We’re on Sanctuary II,” he explains, turning to grab his black bag from one of the storage shelves.  He unzips it and reaches back into one of the larger pockets on his utility belt, before grabbing a handful of credits and stuffing them inside.  “It’s a moon, the New Republic occupied it years ago and made it a safe world for refugees and orphans of the Empire.  You’ll have your blaster, some credits, a communicator, and a day head start.  You’re going to run from me.  Show me how much you’ve learned.”

Is… he for real?

Right now?  You don’t even know how to respond, you’re too surprised.  Even when Din approaches and carefully trades the kid for your blaster, setting the bag down next to you on the metal bed, you still haven’t answered him.

“If you want?”  He asks after a moment, and you quickly jerk your head into a nod and jump off the raised platform, almost knocking into him with your sudden excitement.

“Okay!  Fuck yeah,” you grin, but Din shakes his head.

“Rules,” he says seriously, and you quickly do your best to frown, trying to compose your thrilled expression to match his tone.  “One.  This is a safe world, but things can always happen.  You have a blaster now, but it’s for emergencies only.  Do not shoot me with it.  Do you understand?”  You nod, but Din reaches forward to grab your elbow.  “Out loud, please.  For me.”

“I will not shoot you with this blaster,” you vow obediently, carefully cradling the precious firearm in your hands.

“Do not shoot me,” he repeats while pointing a leather finger at you.  “Do not… shoot at me.  Near me.  Around me.  No, just—don’t shoot.  Unless I am… very far away.  Okay?”

Well, he didn’t have to phrase it like that.  You frown, but acquiesce regardless.  “I will only resort to blastering if it’s an emergency and you are not around.”

He nods a thank you for putting it into better words.  “Second rule.  Since you don’t have a ship, I won’t either.  We’re on foot.  I don’t doubt you can hotwire a piece of junk to do what you need it to do, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t.  Good?”

Entirely accurate and entirely fair.  “Good.”

“Three,” he says.  “I’ll have the kid with me, which is both good and bad news for you.  Good news is he’ll slow me down, bad news is I can’t promise he won’t also try to intervene at some point if you’re serious about putting up a decent fight.  What I can promise is that I won’t encourage it.”

“Reassuring,” you nod.  “Also not really a rule.  Please continue.”

“Four.”  He pauses for a second.  “I think I’m wanted by the New Republic.”

You nearly jerk back.  “What?”

“I can’t confirm it and I’m not proud of it,” Din quickly tells you, probably the vaguest possible explanation he could provide.  “I’m only telling you so that you’ll know your advantage and find a way to exploit it.  I can’t be seen by any officers, or they might arrest me.”

Is he fucking serious?  “I don’t want you to be arrested, Din, I—”

“I won’t be,” he assures you.  “They owe me one, I just don’t want to cash in yet.  Trust me.”

You… do.  Insanely, and against every logical thought flittering through your head, you do.  If you were ever going to bet money that someone would be able to navigate a safe world on foot without being caught by the numerous officers scattered across the surface, then you’d put all your credits on Din Djarin.  It… also shouldn’t really surprise you at all that the people seeking his incarceration also owe him a favor, should it?  It actually sounds right on par for him.  “Okay.”

“Fifth, and this one is important, so listen up,” he continues gruffly.  “You check in with me tonight over the e-comm, alright?  I don’t care where you are or how safe this planet is, if you don’t check in, I’ll come find you before the sun rises.  Say you understand me.”

“I understand you,” you tell him, your heart beginning to pound in your chest at the reality of this actually happening.  “I’ll check in tonight.”

“And if,” he goes on, “by some miracle, you manage to make it more than a full day, you check in with me tomorrow night, too.  Say it.”

“I will check in with you every single night for the full five days it’ll take you to find me,” you assert, the adrenaline starting to make you brash and giddy.  

Din tilts his helmet at you sternly.  It is a very, very stern tilt.  “Okay.  New plan, forget everything I just said.”

Your expression furrows.  “What’s the new plan?”

“That is the new plan,” he says, dead serious.  “Us.  Not doing this.”

“Oh, come on,” you grin cheekily up at him, poking his chestplate.  “I’m just giving you some motivation to find me quicker, that’s all.”

Din stares down at you, and… yeesh.  Tough crowd.

“Tell you what,” he finally grunts, sounding incredibly unamused with your jesting.  “If you can last that long with only a day head start, I’ll let you come with me to collect the fifth quarry.  You can even cuff the bastard yourself.”

You know it’s just because he’s rightly confident in his own deadly skill, but hearing him propose the possibility still shoots a thrill down your spine.  “Oh ho, you are gonna regret saying that, shiny,” you beam up at him, starting to hop back and forth on each foot with excitement.

“But if I’m able to find you, you can’t ask me ever again,” he finishes shortly, and you immediately go still in front of him.

“What?”

“If I’m able to find you in five days, I don’t want to hear about you coming with me on a hunt and you can’t ever ask me not to go on one,” Din tells you, his voice rough and gravelly through the modulator.  Not mean or harsh, but firm.  “From now on, it’ll be off-limits.”

You… take a moment, not knowing if you should feel scolded or not.  When you don’t immediately say anything in response, he sighs and turns the helmet away from you.

“Leaving is hard enough as it is,” he mutters, looking at the ground.  “Hearing you ask… makes it impossible.”

You slowly lower your gaze to the floor as well, feeling your heart constrict tight in your chest.  There’s a real pull under his voice, telling you that information even though it sounds like he doesn’t really want to admit it out loud.  It… really is a struggle for him too, then.  You understand.

“Okay,” you nod.  There’s not a single part of you that actually thinks you’ll be able to stay hidden from him for five days while stuck on foot, so this is essentially a given.  You’re not thrilled about the idea, but you’re going to do your best to respect it nonetheless, especially if he cares enough to put off hunting and allow you this experience for yourself.  It’s a better compromise than you ever imagined, and you’ll do everything you can to hold up your side of the bargain.

Din clears his throat and straightens his spine, turning the visor until it faces you head on once more.  “Final rule.  I reserve the right to break any rule we just agreed to, or any fucking rule in this galaxy to keep you safe.  Good?”

Your cheeks flush with heat, your stomach suddenly filling with butterflies.  He doesn’t do that.  Din says what he says or he doesn’t say anything at all, there’s no… taking things back, he’s already breaking his own code.

“What happened to The Way says no take-backs?”  You ask quietly.

“This is my way,” he answers you.  Quick, not even taking a moment to think about it, before pulling out a fancy looking wristwatch thing and clipping it on you himself.  “This is your communicator.  It takes more power than the one you have now but it’ll reach a further distance.  I have one just like it, they’re locked into the same frequency and timesynced together, and the batteries need to be charged every three days.  If you make it that long, I’ll remind you.”  Din grabs the bag while you slide your arm into it, helping you hook it around your shoulder with one hand while he cradles the kid in his other.  Your heart is pounding now, pumping with adrenaline as he pulls you towards the middle of the hull and then wraps an arm around you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, pulling you tight to him and pressing the helmet to the crown of your head.  His voice is barely a whisper through the modulator.  “Gar darasuum.”  For an eternity.

You find some way to wrap your arms around him, even with your blaster in your hand and the kid hanging out in his dad’s other arm.

“Dayn alanyc, bal alanyc, bal alanyci,” you murmur dutifully against the beskar chestplate, knowing your accent is probably butchering the words but hoping they still carry the same sentiment.

And then you’re squeeeeeezed hard enough to get a little air out of you, before you’re let go and he turns around, pressing a button on his vambrace so the ramp begins to lower.

It’s bright outside but not too bright, and everything is warm and gentle and breezy, right in the middle of a lush plain.  You inhale the fresh air into your lungs, looking out across the wide open field, having no fucking clue this is where your day would be leading when you woke up this morning.  Oh Maker, it’s gorgeous here.  Not like Naboo, where every single thing is picturesque and fit for an e-card, but in a soft, understated kind of way.  The sky is a canvas of swirling pastel clouds, pale pinks and yellows and blues, and the communicator on your wrist lets you know that it’s just after noon here.

You take one single step down the ramp, before immediately stopping and turning around to bite your lip at him.

“How am I… how am I supposed to outrun you?”  You ask, already clueless.  “You’re too good, better than me at everything.”

“That’s not true,” Din reminds you sternly, grabbing your hand at your side.  “You already know who’s after you, that’s an advantage nobody else has ever had against me.  You know how I think.  I don’t know how, but sometimes it’s like you can…”  He slowly shakes his head.  “See me.  Through the metal.”

“But… but that works both ways,” you point out, breathless at hearing him say that but needing to focus right now.  “You know me, too—you’ll know exactly where I—”

He shakes his head again, but quickly this time.  “Remember what I told you a long time ago?  What your best weapon is?”

You… do not.  He told you so many things, and you’re assuming every single one of them is going to come into play during this endeavor if you want to outlast.  You’re going to have to think back and remember all of them individually, find the time to figure out your best plan of action based on the remarkably little you know about how he hunts.

“You’re smart, remember?”  Din murmurs, squeezing your fingers.  “Your mind works differently, it sees things in ways I’ll never be able to, not even with this helmet.  So…”  He shrugs a shoulder like it’s the simplest thing in the galaxy.  “Don’t try to outrun, okay?  Just try to outsmart.”

You give him a nod after a moment, still not really sure about it, before giving his hand one last squeeze in return and eventually letting go.  

Outsmart.  Outsmart him, use what you know about him to be the most elusive quarry he’s ever hunted down.

As you make your way down the ramp, you’re already thinking.  His helmet tracks footprints, that’s a thing you know.  You’ll have to find someone to trade shoes with, then—yours aren’t too beat up, maybe you can find a local who’d appreciate a better pair.  Are you going to a city?  Would there be one in walking distance?  The wilderness won’t work, you’ll be too exposed and it would make you an easy target for either him or wild animals.  The weather seems clear here though, and you don’t think you’ll need to worry about rain or snow, but if—

“Oh—but when you do see me,” Din decides to add when your feet finally touch the grass, and you pause once more to turn around and look at him.  He stays quiet for a second, studying you through the helmet for too long.  Like the anticipation is getting to him already.

You bite your lip back at him and adjust the bag on your shoulder, tummy swirling with nerves and excitement.  He tilts the visor up, gazing down at you from the hull with the kid tucked in his arms.

“Try to outrun,” he says gruffly, before turning back into the ship and letting the ramp slowly close behind him.

[peakyswritings]

Sham | Tommy Shelby x OC

Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Final Part

Summary: Whatever they had before France was over the moment he stepped on that train. Whatever they had after Grace left for New York was consolation. And their marriage was a sham.

Warnings: mentions of cheating, mentions of death, smoking, cursing, this is pure angst

A/N: hi! This is my first fic with a OC, I’m thinking about making a series with her and explore her dynamic with Tommy, let me know what you think! Also, feel free to picture her as you wish, I haven’t made a description (I still don’t know if I’m ever going to describe her to be honest)

The gif is not mine, credits to the owner

Helen stood by the door of her husband’s office. Just like every time she found herself in that room, her gaze was captured by Grace’s giant portrait.

The dim light of the fire ominously illuminated it, creating shadows on her face. There was something sinister in her eyes, in the way her lips were slightly turned upwards. It was almost like she was mocking her.

That portrait gave her chills. She looked away, resting her eyes on her husband.

Tommy sat behind his desk with his legs stretched forward, his head resting against the back of the chair as he smoked a cigarette. He wasn’t even looking at her.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“Places.”

“How strange.”

He gave her a dirty look. “I’m not in the mood, Helen.”

She entered the room, closing the door behind her. Even though she couldn’t see them, she knew the maids were listening. They always listened.

“It’s 3:00am, Thomas. I haven’t heard from you all day. Where were you?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“I’m your wife.”

“My wife. Helen Shelby.” He turned his head to look at her. “You like how it sounds, don’t you?”

She blinked, not quite sure about where that conversation was going.

“After all, this is what you wanted, right?” He scoffed, his eyes as cold as ice. “This is all that you’ve always wanted.” He slowly repeated, shaking his head as a sneering grin made its way on his face.

He took his time to get up from the chair and take one last drag before putting out his cigarette. “You never got over the fact that I married Grace. And when she died, you saw the opportunity to replace her.”

Helen opened her mouth slightly to say something, but she couldn’t utter a sound.

“And now you’re playing the role of the worried little wife.”

They had had their fair share of fights, but that was entirely different. She would’ve never thought that he could be capable of such cruelty.

But his words didn’t only cause her pain. They hurt her pride. What was left of her pride, at least.

“Do you really think that this is what I wanted?” She blurted, face flushed with anger. “Do you really think that if I had had a choice, I would’ve chosen this? To marry a man who loves another woman, to take care of her son, to live in a house that’s not mine?”

Tommy sighed, lowering his head. “This is your house, Helen-”

“This is her house.” She shouted, not even letting him finish his sentence. “Everything here belongs to her, her photographs are everywhere, her things are everywhere. Even the nameplate on the door is hers. It says Mr and Mrs Shelby, but we both know who Mrs Shelby is.”

She paused, giving him the chance to say something. He didn’t. There was no point in denying what was before everyone’s eyes. He still mourned Grace. He still loved Grace. And as much as he cared about the woman in front of him, he couldn’t bring himself to let her in. To love her like she had always loved him. And now he was taking it out on Helen, when the only thing she was guilty of was not being her.

“You chose her. I’ve been by your side since we were kids. I was there when your mother died and when your father left, I was there when you came back from France, I was there when you messed with Billy Kimber, I was there when Grace betrayed you, and you fucking chose her.”

Tears filled Helen’s eyes, but she held them back. She would’ve never cried in front of him. She would’ve never cried over him, not again.

“She’s dead, Thomas, and I’m still competing with her. How can I win?” She asked him, her voice lowering to little more than a whisper as the anger gave way to exasperation.

She felt pathetic. Begging for a man’s love once again, feeling sorry for herself, wondering what made her so unlovable.

“Fuck, I stayed by your side even after you cheated on me with her, because you needed me as a friend.”

“You’re bringing this up now?” He scoffed, shaking his head.

He leaned over his desk, looking at her dead in the eyes. “It was your choice, you were free to leave.” He pointed his finger at her, keeping his voice low. “You just didn’t want to.”

“You asked me to marry you. You did it because you didn’t want to be alone, because you needed me. You told me that. So don’t act like it wasn’t an act of selfishness.”

“So I’m the selfish one and you didn’t want this marriage.” He sarcastically retorted, moving away from his desk.

Helen couldn’t recognise the man in front of her. She had seen him angry, but this time he was treating her like she was one of his enemies. He was showing no empathy, no mercy, no regard for her feelings. That Tommy was unfamiliar to her.

“You’re right. I knew that I was marrying a man who would never be able to love me. I did it for you, I put you first, again. I’ve given up on the chance to find someone that truly loves me, that doesn’t have to choose between me and another woman. A good man.” She emphasised, raising her eyebrows. “And I’ve given up on my happiness.”

She paused, shifting her gaze to the carpet under her feet. “Because I’ll never be happy with you.”

Her last sentence was nothing more than a whisper, but her words seemed to echo in the silent room. She had lied to herself for so long, telling herself that they just needed some time, that she would be happy, eventually. But in the back of her mind, she was well aware that she was fooling herself, and that consciousness was taking over day by day. Saying it out loud made it painfully true.

“How can you say that this is what I wanted?” She asked him, looking at him again.

A long silence fell between them. She shook her head, walking towards the door.

“Helen.”

She stopped, but she didn’t turn around.

“No good man would have married you. You know that.” He said, unable to keep his mouth shut.

He knew that he was hurting her, and he hated himself for that, but he couldn’t help it. A small part of him wanted to hold her in his arms, to tell her he was sorry, that he was going to do better. That part was all that was left from the boy that left for France. The other part of him, the bigger one, wanted her to feel the pain he was feeling in that moment. That part was the man he had become. He let it win. “This is the best you could ever have.”

She left the room without a word, closing the door behind her. She walked through the house without a precise direction, letting the tears she had been holding stream down her face.

Hanging on the wall upon the stairs, another portrait. Tommy, Grace and Charlie. She felt like a hand was ripping her heart out of her chest.

They were a family and she was nothing more than stranger.

The worst thing was the awareness of the fact that she was the cause of her own pain. She should’ve let him go when she realised he had fallen for the barmaid.

Whatever they had before France was over the moment he stepped on that train. Whatever they had after Grace left for New York was consolation.

And their marriage was a sham.

Grace was the love of his life. His love for her was so strong that he had even forgiven her betrayal, just like Helen had forgiven Tommy’s.

But she couldn’t blame him. It was not his fault if her love was unrequited. But was Helen to blame, if all that she had ever wanted was to have someone who loved her, no matter what?

Truth was, she didn’t want someone’s love. She wanted Tommy’s love, and that was something that she could never have. Romantically, at least.

She had even started to doubt his affection for her. Maybe he just wanted her around for his own benefit, because he knew that she would let him take anything he wanted from her. Just like he had let Grace take everything from him.

That’s what love does to people, she thought.

-

Tag list: @arwyn-the-cyrptic-bisexural @iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys @lucillethings @peakyxtommy

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

De(railed) +18

Summary: The canon episode "Derailed" reimagined where Reader is sent on the solo interview and Spencer, recklessly, decides to save her. Plus, the aftermath.

CW: mommy kink sub! Spencer x dom! female (she/her) reader, cum play, penetrative sex, light degradation, praise kink, light choking (mentioned), edging, calling him a slut (please let me know if I missed anything)

Word Count: 6 K (this is the longest thing I've ever written!)

Author's Note: Special thank you to @shemarmooresfedora for reading this for me because I was very nervous about the smut portion. And a very special thank you to @notanotherreidgirl for inspiring this idea! this was my ask so yeah, this is a little out there for me so be kind (*dips into the shadows*). Also I either really hate or really love this title :)

Taglist: You can join the taglist here!

De(railed)

Sitting on the train, headed towards Virginia for the custodial interview, you tried to remind yourself what Spencer said to you the previous night when you dropped him off at his apartment. You had his hands in yours and you could feel him shake with nerves when he spoke.

He told you that he believes in you. Even when you think that Hotch and Gideon are sending you out to the solo interview too early, Spencer believes in you. If only you’d believe a little bit in yourself, then maybe you’d be able to figure out a way off this train, but an armed man and innocent passengers proves that a little challenging.

The man passes the train up and down and you tell yourself to relax. In hindsight, it seems like a horrible series of events that lead to the man shooting the train attendant. You’ve done your best to keep him calm until the police can see him off the train. Looking outside, you see SWAT, local PD, and FBI lined up 50 yards from the train.

Continuing to wave his gun around the train, the unsub rants about wanting to talk to a higher authority. To yourself, to wish that Spencer was here with you. He’d have figured out exactly what was wrong with the man by now. For less than professional reasons, you’re forever grateful that he’s not here- that he’s safe on the other side of the train.

“He’s out of his mind,” the man holding a bottle of whiskey says, “You gotta do something, lady,” he says, taking a swig of his drink. Your eyes dart to him and back up the doctor, the unsub’s psychologist, looking for a way out.

You breathe deeply, hoping that the BAU would come up with a plan. Knowing FBI protocol, you expect them to try to initiate a line of communication. Glancing over at the unsub, you think that he’ll want to talk to someone who looks like they are powerful. That would be either Hotch or Gideon. Selfishly, you’re grateful that Spencer still looks like an underpaid TA with a toy gun attached at his hip.

“No! Please, don’t hurt me!” the young woman screams, trying to release herself from the man, Ted’s, grip. He releases her, throwing her to the ground when his phone rings.

Gideon.

On the phone with Gideon, the man demands for something to be removed. You can’t hear what he’s saying to the unsub, but you place the little faith you have left into hoping your team can save you.

***

His vest is much too big for him.

That’s all you can think of when you realize Spencer is the “technician” that they’re sending in. His tie and shirt stick awkwardly and there is a gap in his shoulders around the vest. The straps are pulled so tight that they nearly fold over. His hands aren’t shaking when he carries the small black box, but his eyes look terrified.

You want to reach out to him, maybe hold his hand or brush the strands of hair that have fallen into his face, but you can’t. You have to sit there and pretend that this is the first time you’ve met him. It’s excruciatingly sick and mildly amusing in an equally twisted way. The first time you’ve come to terms with loving Spencer, you both can very well die.

“I’m here for the chip,” Spencer says, holding his hands up, “the higher authorities sent me,” he claims, feeding into the unsubs delusion. You shield your glance, unable to trust yourself from launching yourself in between Spencer and the man with the gun.

“That’s far enough and drop your weapons,” Ted says, holding the crying woman by her neck, “and take that vest off. I want to see you,”

“I don’t have any weapons. They don’t authorize them for-”

“I said take it off!” the man shouts, throwing the woman to the ground.

Spencer complies, taking off the much too big vest and tossing it to the ground. He holds his hands up, playing the part of the unsuspecting underling well. He reaches out to Ted, showing him the tools that he’ll use to take out the “chip”. You wonder how Spencer will pull it off, but you know he will in the end.

Spencer digs into the man’s skin with the scalpel. You can’t catch the sleight of hand, but you know that’s what he used.

“I have to leave, the higher authorities need the chip-”

“Turn it on,” Ted orders, “Turn it on!” he screams, his voice booming in the small train.

Spencer’s eyes dart to yours thinking of ways that he can get out of here. He looks almost sorry, and you feel a wave of intense regret. The thousands of times you could have said those little words seem so simple now.

“I can’t turn it on,” Spencer says, “I can’t turn it on,” You hate how scared he sounds, and you hate even more how you have to pretend that you don’t know him.

“Why!” the unsub yells, thrashing the gun around, “You’re one of them!”

Thinking quickly when you see him point the gun at Spencer’s face, you jump to your feet. You push Spencer out of the way, terrified that he’ll do something rash. You can’t lose Spencer, not when you’ve hadn’t had the chance to have him yet.

“It needs to be implanted to be activated,” you say, “I know this stuff Ted, I’m a Fed. Only me. Everyone else,Ted is just innocent. Just let them go, Ted,” you plead, “Just let them go,”

“No!” he yells, shooting up into the ceiling of the train, “no!”

The windows are closed, but you suspect that Hotch and Gideon have the train surrounded by now. Spencer moves closer to you, staring at the man as he scratches his upper arm. He drops his hand towards yours and squeezes, like he’s saying sorry and saying goodbye all in one touch. You don’t realize this before it’s too late.

“Doctor Brier,” Spencer says, standing up with his hands near his head, “you’re right, there’s more-”

“Just make it stop!” the desperate man pleas, “Make it stop!”

“I know what it’s like, Ted. The voices, they’ve been talking to you since you were a kid. They don’t stop. I know what it’s like Ted,” Spencer says, inching closer and closer to him, “Leo? Why don’t you let him think for himself?” Spencer says, trying to use the man’s delusion against him.

“Don’t! Stop, you’re trying to trick me!” the man begs, whipping the gun around too close to Spencer’s face, “stop!”

You always listen to Spencer. Whatever he talks about, you listen. From Russian cinema to Star Trek to the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture, you listen to him. It’s not that hard and it’s easy to get lost in his eyes or the way his hands move when he talks. But the seconds leading up to when the gunshot goes off, you’re not listening.

Because without Spencer, there isn’t much worth listening to.

***

Your eyes are squeezed shut so when a large hand hovers over your shoulder you jump at the touch. It takes you all of ten seconds to realize it’s Spencer. You look him over, searching for signs of mortal wounds that will rip him from your clutches, but there isn’t any.

“You’re okay,” you say, wanting nothing more but to kiss him or yell at him, or maybe a mix of the two, “you’re okay,” you repeat, not fully believing it the first time.

“We’re okay,” Spencer says, hugging you tight as you collapse into his arms, not caring if the rest of the team watches.

“I haven’t been fair to you, Spence,” you say, breaking from the hug to caress his face. You stop, holding his face in your hands, soaking him in, “you’re not someone who gets strung along, baby. I fucking love you and you-you mean so much to me. And I hate-I hate that it took you almost dying for me to realize that,” you cry, unable to care anymore.

“You love me?” Spencer whispers, unable, himself to care that they have an audience, “You love me back, but I’m, I-I,”

“Spencer,” you tell him, pausing to kiss him fully, “I,” you plant another kiss, on his right cheek, “love,” left cheek, “you,” forehead.

“You do, don’t you?” he says, looking at you with a proud smirk, “I guess that’s good because, I love you, Y/N. I don’t go risk my life just for everyone,”

“Watch yourself, baby,” you remind him, channeling the surge of pure life that runs through your veins, “you’re in for it later, my darling,” you tell him, whispering into his ear so only he can hear.

***

You didn’t even give him time to breathe before you pushed him up against the wall. Spencer’s hands still held yours, you don’t think that he dropped them since you two safely exited the train. He whimpers through the kiss, his breathy moan only serving to spur you on. His hands broke from yours, clinging to your waist. Spencer tries to peel your clothes from your skin, but he's much too distracted by your lips that travel across his cheekbones and down to his neck. He’s breathless and panting, but you don’t let up. If he’s breathing, he’s alive and that’s all that matters now.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry,” Spencer pleads, the desperation in his voice causing you to pause from your attack on his neck, “I-I, Y/N,” he stutters, feeling empty without your kisses.

“I’m not mad, sweet boy. I’m not mad at you,” you say, laying on a sweet voice as your fingers skim through Spencer’s hair. He’s shaking slightly and closes his eyes, looking like he’s grateful to be alive.

“You’re not, but I wasn’t good,” he whispers, “I wasn’t good for you, Mommy,”

You do everything in your power to keep your composure, but after a day like today, you’re ready to melt into him. He might be the one begging at your feet soon, but there’s no doubt in your mind that it’s you who's wrapped around his finger. He looks up at you, with his back leaning against the wall; his face flushed pink and marks littering his neck.

“You scared me, Spence. I thought- I just let me take care of you,” you request, dropping your hands from his hair and grabbing onto his hand as you lead him to your bedroom. You’ve made it a habit to go to your place after cases; Spencer claims that the sunlight that dips into your bedroom in the morning is more pleasant than his view of the street, but you know he just prefers your bed and the attention he gets at your place.

“Please, Y/N,” he begs, following you into the bedroom. He’s at your heels and burrowed deeply in your heart, exactly where you want him.

You drop his hands, guiding him so his knees hit the edge of your plush bed. He kicks off his shoes and starts to undo his tie and shirt, but you stop him before he gets the chance.

“Let me do that for you, baby. I’m taking care of you tonight,” you say, feeling your heart swell as he looks up at you adoringly, “Mommy’s got you, my brave boy,” you tell him, your fingers grazing over his cheekbones, his nose and eyes. His eyes close as you continue to draw shapeless shapes over his skin.

“Thank you,” he mutters, saying it like a pray as he relaxes for the first time today, “thank you, Mommy,”

You smile at the name, enjoying how pliant he is as you unbutton his shirt and loosen his tie. His flushed cheeks lead down his equally flushed chest. You place both your legs over his body, hovering over him as you straddle him. The proximity eggs him on and the minimal friction near his pants causes him to buck up words. Mercilessly, you chuckle at his attempt to get off. You want nothing more than to put him out of his misery, but watching him squirm for the tiniest bit of affection— your affection makes you nearly as desperate as Spencer.

“Patience, sweetheart,” you tell him, harshly pulling off his shirt as you nibble on his ear. He whimpers out in desire, already unable to form coherent thoughts even though you’ve so much as kissed him.

You stop touching him, sinking down to your knees before him. Spencer looks down at you, his pupils blown and his hair messy from being pushed up against the wall. His breathing is erratic and unmeasured, but he’s heart is still beating. You smile, unafraid and not caring that it breaks character as you give his thigh a squeeze. You bring his hands to his buttons, motioning for him to unbutton his pants for you.

“I can’t do all the work now, can I, baby?” You question rhetorically, quite self satisfied that he nods eagerly. He quickly undoes his pants, kicking the heavy corduroy trousers near your bathroom door. If the moment wasn’t so tense and erratic, you probably would have teased him for his excitement.

“I want to touch you, please? Mommy” Spencer starts, his hands holding your face as you kneel. He holds your face so delicately and gently, it’s a contrast to the sinful way he’s squirming above you.

“Not yet,” you tsk, slipping your finger under the waistband of his boxers. The bulge in his underwear looks very uncomfortable, but Spencer clearly tries his best to behave under your strong stare. You peel back the underwear and let it drop to Spencer’s feet. His cock, now exposed, is painfully hard. He concentrates on his breathing and trying to remain composed as your fingers travel up his leg and towards his groin.

“There’s my pretty boy,” you coo, grabbing Spencer’s jaw and making him look down at you. He lets pitiful whine at your words, “Come on, make my fingers nice and wet,” you order, sticking out two fingers that he sucks enthusiastically.

“What a good little slut I have, you’re sucking Mommy’s fingers just as if it’s my strap, aren’t you sweet boy,” you say, gently resting your other palm loosely around his neck. You don’t apply any pressure, but let it serve as a reminder of what could happen.

Happily, Spencer sucks your fingers, moaning around them and bucking his hips up in frustration. Marred by impatience, you remove your fingers from his mouth and kneel back down on the floor. Loosely, you grip his cock with your wet fingers. Spencer whines at the friction that’s nothing close to enough.

“Tell me how that feels,” you demand, “Tell Mommy how I makes you feel,”

“I-I feel,” Spencer starts, concentrating intently, but unable to truly articulate the passion you ignite in him, “Mommy, you make me feel so good,” Spencer says, finally finding the words, even though they barely scratch the surface.

“That’s all I want, baby. You deserve to feel good. So let me take care of you, my love,” you tell him, watching as he simpers at your words.

For a second there you let yourself think that maybe it’s calling him my love that prompted his reaction, not the promise of his cock in your mouth. You know after tonight there’s no tip toeing around it anymore: you’re unequivocally in love with him and you’re a little disappointed that it took the pair of you nearly dying to figure it out finally.

Looking back up at him, you abandon your plans for a moment. You kiss him hard. Normally, you’d hate the way your teeth clash against someone else’s and how the kiss isn’t really a kiss. It’s hard to pace yourself when he’s whimpering below you as you grind down hard on his crotch. The fabric of your pants provides much needed friction, causing Spencer to cry out in a twisted mix of pleasure and pain. He paws at your work short, silently begging for you to shed your layers as well.

“Good boys wait,” you tell him, kissing his forehead and sinking back down for the last time. You’ll never be done teasing him, but for now you intend to put his needs first.

“Such a pretty cock that only I get to see,” you coo, running a finger up his length, relishing in how he shudders at your touch. You’ve touched him so many times, yet he reacts each time as if it’s the first. He’s leaking precum as his breathing becomes more and more strained. This is far from your first time with Spencer and you’re well aware of the signs of his release.

Smiling up at him, you lazily wrap your hand around him, giving him the smallest bit of friction and attention that he needs to come. You drop him once he’s close to the edge, his pleading, begging eyes turning glazed over when he realizes you’re taking off your shirt. By the way he’s looking at you, you’d think you’d be wearing your best lingerie. Quickly, you’ve learned that with Spencer you could be wearing your ratty college tee shirts and he’d still look at you like you were dripping in gold.

“Mommy,” he pleads, “I’m a good boy,” he says, no trying to convince himself to hold back from his release, “please Mommy. I’m gonna-“ Spencer says, the flush on his face deepening as he throws his head back in ecstasy. However, he summons enough energy and will to reach out and palm your boobs. You don’t hide your moans as he rolls a nipple in between his thumb and pointer finger. It only encourages him, but nowhere can you find in yourself to care.

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” Spencer whimpers, unable to hold himself up anymore and collapsing on the bed. His chest heaves up and down as he tries to collect himself. He comes all over your chest, staining your lavender bralette and looking very proud of himself. Spencer learned quickly as well that coming before you’ve even touched him earns him quite the praise.

“Such a good boy,” you praise, choosing to ignore him coming without permission, “such a messy boy though,” you chastise, squeezing his thigh and crawling your fingers up his chest.

“Mommy, please, I want to make you feel good too. I love you,” Spencer begs, his eyes droopy with exhaustion from the long day and glazed over with his orgasm. His words slur together as if he's drunk off something potent. His eyes meet yours, but flit down quickly. He scans your soiled chest, licking his lips unconsciously as his eyes rank over your breasts covered in the lavender lacy and stained with his cum.

“Do you know what good boys do?” You ask, expecting Spencer to answer the question without hesitation.

“They clean up their mess, Mommy,” he says. In a moment of bravery, he grabs your hand, guiding you to lay down on the bed. He twists his hands around your back, unlatching your bra from your body and tosses it on the ground.

Above you, Spencer lowers his face so his chin barely grazes your chest. His tongue darts out onto your skin, licking up the messy cum that fell on your chest. You place your hands in his hair, gripping firmly. It’s not hard enough to cause any pain, but it’s tight enough to remind him to stay put. Spencer hums contently, lapping up your chest, but keeping his eyes trained on yours. You pull him up by his hair, pieces fall over his blissed out eyes. He smiles up at you, his chin glistening with cum, but looking pleased with himself.

“That’s a good boy,” you praise, pulling him up to kiss him deeply. His tongue swirls around in yours and his large hands cup your face. You can feel him moving in your lap, more and more desperate for attention and friction as you continue to hold him off, “I love you, baby,” you say, hoping that he’ll hear enough times for it to stick and for him to start living his life like he wants to stay alive.

“Just for you, Mommy,” Spencer mumbles, already sucking and marking the valley between your breasts, “Can you? Please?” Spencer asks, still embarrassed, after all these months to put to words his desires.

“What, baby? You need to use your words,” you tell him, scooting up in the bed and smirking to yourself as Spencer practically chases you up the headboard, “You need to tell him what you want me to do, baby,” you say, talking slowly as you rub circles into his skin. He’s still hot to the touch and flushed all over.

“I want to make you feel good,” Spencer begs, licking his fiery red lips that are swollen and bitten from your earlier treatment, “I want you to feel good,” he says, attempting to buck his hips against your legs.

“Are you sure about that, Spence?” you ask, teasing him with your wandering hands. One stays latching in his hair, exposing his criminally bare neck and the other sneaks down to his cock, but hardly satisfies his burning need, “Because it seems like you’re an insolent little slut who only cares if he gets off. Do I need to remind you that I have needs as well,” you chide, increasing your grip on his hair as your lips nip the sensitive skin of his neck. He shudders in response, unable to fully articulate a sentence.

“But you’re lucky, you’re beautiful, Dr. Reid,” you say, dropping his hair and letting his head fall onto your chest. Knowing your expectations, Spencer doesn’t hesitate to kiss and nip along your skin. You feel your panties dampen at the sight of him: his hair wild and messy, his neck marked with evidence of your mouth, and his chest is bright red, somehow still flustered and embarrassed by your affections. You find it bizarre that he still doesn’t fully believe just how head over heels you are for him. He’s too good and pure for this world, and you’ll happily spend the rest of your life reminding him just how deserving of goodness and pureness he is.

“I love you,” Spencer whimpers against your skin, his breath is hot as he pants, “but please fuck me,” he begs, flipping around on his back so you can be on top.

“Don’t worry, sweet boy, Mommy will take care of you,” you remind him, balancing yourself so you can hover over him, “Now, I’d normally want you to be quiet, but I want to hear everything. So use that pretty mouth of yours and tell me how you feel, sweetie,” you instruct, maneuvering yourself so you’re lined up with him.

“Give me a second, please,” Spencer asks, pushing himself up so his back rests against the headboard, “You make me crazy, I just need a moment to think,” he says, quietly, staring off nothing in the bedroom. You take the opportunity to grab his hand, that’s gripping onto your floral patterned sheets, and kiss his scars on his knuckles. Some are new and fresh, while others are old, from longer ago than working at the BAU. You kiss them over, as if your lips are able to help the evidence of his physical pain.

“You make me crazy too, Spencer,” You say, growing more and more unhinged as he moves underneath you, “I love you so much, darling,” you tell him, kissing his eyes, lips, nose, anything you can reach.

Slowly, so slowly, you sink down onto Spencer. You watch his microexpressions, but you know how he’ll react. He squeezes his eyes shut, as if he’s willing himself to hold off. He breathes in and out, teetering on the edge. You wait for his nod, for his sign of approval that you can move. He whines and peeks open his eyes. Spencer’s hands dig into your waist, his strong, large hands searching for any skin to grab onto.

“Please move, Mommy,” Spencer begs, burying his head into the crook of your neck as he starts to plead with you to have mercy on him, “I need it, Mommy,” he moans.

“Don’t be greedy, darling. You’ll take what I give you, but don’t you want to make me feel good too, baby,” you ask, guiding his nimble fingers to your slick core. His thumb and pointer finger begin to rub quick circles around your clit. You bite your lip, trying to keep your composure as you feel the pressure build. Between the heightened tensions of work and Spencer's hot breath against your neck, you know that you’ll come soon. Spencer’s breathy moans get more and more desperate.

“Are you already going to come again, love?” You ask, increasing your pace. His other hand grips your thigh, drawing shapes into your soft skin. Following suit, you match his sweet movements on his cheek. His breath is his shaky as you stroke his cheek lovingly, “Make me come first and then, maybe if you’re good, I’ll let you come inside me,” you promise, already knowing that you’ll let him come inside you.

“Watch you disappear inside me, baby. Watch your pretty cock slip inside my pussy. It’s just like you were made for me, darling,” you cry, your voice getting slightly breathy yourself. You watch yourself as his cock goes in and out, red with overstimulation. Spencer’s eyes, littered with small tears, looks transfixed.

“Fuck,” Spencer says, “I’m so close, Mommy. I-I, you make me feel so good. You’re so beautiful, I-I-”

“So needy, you’re so fucking needy,” you say to him. You can tell he’s growing more and more impatient by the moment. His hands lurch towards your chest, pawing at your boobs. Spencer’s sloppy movements bring you closer and closer to the edge.

“So good, so good,” he repeats, his sweaty forehead rests on your collarbone. You pull him up again his hair, relishing in the pitiful moan that he lets out. It’s raw and pure sin, it should make you want to fuck him more, but it only makes you want to love him more.

You’re drunk on him. Drunk on his moans and whimpers of pleasure. You’re drunk on the way his skin sticks to yours and how his hands roam around your body, always finding a spot on your torso and legs that makes you approach the edge closer and closer. You wonder, for a second, if you’re being too hard on him. If you should just whisper that little sentence and let Spencer feel the wave of pleasure.

“I need it, Mommy,” Spencer pants, kissing lined up your chest and collarbone. His face is pressed up against your face and moves up and down as you continue your pace, “I-I, Mommy, I want you to-”

“What do you want, baby? Hmm? Tell Mommy?” You ask, your voice sounding sickly sweet. The noise of moans fills the room, Spencer’s moan akin to whimpers and whines and your’s more like praises and words of approval, “you’ve been such a good boy, baby I’ll give you want whatever you want, my love”

“Please, please let me make you come, Mommy. I need you to come, Mommy. I need it,” Spencer whines, looking up into your eyes and latching onto them in the darkness.

It’s sinful how the filthy words contrast with his sweet, shy tones. He looks so innocent, but enthralling with his face between your hands, but his own hands rubbing small circles on your clit. His moans grow more high pitched. You kiss by his ear, ready to whisper the words of approval that you’ve neared your release.

“Oh god, Spencer. God. You have no idea what you do to me. My sweet boy,” you murmur, pressing Spencer’s face further into your chest. You can feel him heave and his breathing grow more and more unsteady, but he still has enough sense to continue rubbing your clit.

You kiss him, wanting to feel him everywhere when you come undone. Kissing him is desperate and full of gasps of air. His skin is so soft as you slide across his mouth, up his cheeks, and over his jaw. His helpless moans spur you on, giving you the strength and energy to thrust down on him another time before you feel yourself come undone.

“It’s your turn, baby. Come on, sweetheart. Come inside me and maybe I’ll have to call you daddy? Hmm?” you chant, halting your movements to torture him a little longer.

“Please, Y/N. Please let me fill you up,” Spencer begs, his voice hoarse and scratchy from being so vocal, “I’m yours. I love you so much,” he calls out, wrapping his arms around you so your chests are pressed up together. He holds you sweetly and you kiss his shoulders and his neck, choosing to leave a large red welt as a reminder for him.

“You like that? Hmm you like if I call you Daddy and let you fill me up? Come on, Spencer. You can come. Don’t you want to be a good boy for Mommy?,” you say, giving him the permission that he’s been desiring all night.

He tightens his grip on your upper half as he meets his release. Spencer’s strangled moans turn into sweet whimpers as he looks down into your laps. Quietly, you ride him through the rest of his orgasm, letting him come down from his high peppered with light pecks along his freckled shoulders and sharp jawline. Spencer smiles into the kisses, his eyes are shut and his cheeks are dusted with a light pink flush. For the first time today, he looks relaxed and safe.

“Thank you, Mommy,” Spencer says quietly, mirroring your motions and kissing your shoulders and neck as you slow your pace, “Can we stay like this. Just for a moment,” Spencer asks, burning for the feeling of being inside you for even a couple more minutes.

“Of course, baby,” you tell him, squeezing him into a tight hug, “you did so wonderful for me. Such a good boy. I love my sweet boy,” you tell him, brushing the stray hairs from his face. His neck is marked by your mouth and his eyes are glazed with sleep and desire.

“I love you,” Spencer says again, his forehead falling against yours and his breath hitching as you move slightly with him inside you, “and I’m sorry. I’m sorry about today,”

“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart and then we’ll talk about it,” you suggest, taking the opportunity to kiss his lips as you pull yourself away from his lap.

Spencer doesn’t say much in response, but nods silently. He groans slightly as you separate your bodies and he tries to chase your lips with his as you climb out of the bed and into your bathroom.

“Please come back,” Spencer says, sounding like he wasn’t sure if you’d keep your promise.

“I’m right here, Spence,” you reassure him, returning from the bathroom dressed in an old tee shirt and carrying a warm, damp washcloth and a pair of clean underwear for Spencer.

“Can you please hold me? Please, Y/N. I need you,” Spencer says, reaching out to you in the dark. That’s one request you know you’d never deny.

“Of course, Spence. Just let me clean you up and I’ll hold you,” you tell him, gently dragging the warm towel over his skin. He’s quiet as you clean him up, but his soulful eyes look lost and sheepish, making him look smaller and more vulnerable than he actually is. You drop the towel to the floor, not caring that the water isn’t good for the floor.

You lay back down on the bed and Spencer, like a magnet to another magnet, crawls in close. He’s still undressed, except for the underwear that you gave him. His eyes are droopy and his breathing is still shaky, but steadies out as your hands draw circles on his back. You pull the covers up to his chin, making sure he’s covered before you start what you know all too well is a difficult conversation.

“Spencer,” you croak, “Why did you do that? Why do you think that’s okay?” you ask, still trying to make sense of why Spencer would risk his life like that so recklessly. You hold him tighter, squeezing his arm as he breathes out, ready to tell you what he’s never told anyone before.

“Bec-, because- I don’t matter,” he says, the words choking out between cries of years and years of pain, “because it doesn’t matter to anyone if I don’t come home. I don’t have anyone to come home to,”

“You’ve always had me,” you say quietly, “I’m your person to come home with, Spence,” you tell him, hoping with all the faith in your body that he’ll believe you. You hold his hand, weaving your fingers in his. Looking at your hands intertwined together, you’d think that your hand was made for it. It’s a little cliche, but Spencer is the kind of man that makes all those cliches seem like wonderful possibilities.

“I-I, I never had someone before,” Spencer says, “I mean, I had my mom, but it’s gotten harder. But then, then, I met you. And I never thought you’d like me like that, Y/N. I never thought you could love me,”

“Spencer,” you say, twisting around so you can hold his face in your hands, “Spencer, I love you. You are so much more than your job. You’re worthy of being loved, Goose. And I’d spend the rest of my life making you realize this”

“You want to spend the rest of your life- the rest of your life with me?” Spencer asks, sounding like he can’t believe the words that you say.

“Spence, I’ve loved you since I’ve known you,” you say, dragging your hands through his curly hair that’s matted against his forehead, “You would have realized that if you weren’t too carried away with making me your future history,”

“I think I have a habit of doing that,” Spencer confesses, kissing your forehead sweetly, “You’re- I’m sorry that I worried you like that, but for so long, for so long this is all I’ve had. And before that it was school. I throw myself into academia or work because it’s all I had,”

“Had,” you repeat, “as in the past tense. You’ve had some much more than too, Spence. We all love you. Elle and Derek. JJ and Hotch. Penny and Gideon. We all love you, but I love you the most,”

“Good,” Spencer replies, turning his head down to kiss you, “because I love you the most,”

His lips glide across yours, moving slowly at first and faster as he grows more urgent. There’s no sense in rushing through. You could kiss him lazily in your bed all night and continue until it gives way to morning. There’s no time limit, no buzzer that’s going to go off and force Spencer to whole himself back up into his past. He smiles through the kiss, knowing well that there’s more to come tomorrow, or maybe even tonight. His lips were warm and soft, maybe still a little tender from before, but still eager to feel your lips against his. Breathing together, savoring that you both are breathing, you smile yourself, fully ready for whatever comes next.

***

Taglist (not my usual taglist because I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable bc this is smut. You can join the taglist here!)

@shemarmooresfedora @just-another-persona123 @folkreid @idonotexiste @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @fandomfriend33 @spencersrose @strawberryspence

[stripper-patrick]

Next Lifetime 💫Michael B. Jordan pt 1.

Warnings: smut, fluff, kids, sneaky link turned into family, angst, crying, 18+, NSFW gifs, series

Tags: @rebellious-desires @mrsbanreswillseeyou @eclecticblkgirl @designerwriterchic @bvssmob

Relationship: Michael B. Jordan x black plus sized reader (Azina/Z)

<4 years ago>

I’m throwing my ass back to the music just enjoying myself during this time. I’ve had at least 4 shots and I’m feeling all of them.

I feel someone press up behind me and it’s my best friend Michael whose clearly off the Henny just as much as I am. He grinds against me and as I’m working my hips I feel his dick stiffen. A boldness surged through me, or maybe that’s the liquor, and I stand up turning to him sealing a kiss. I’ve always wanted him no doubt I just never knew how to tell him. I guess being drunk is the best way. His hands grab at my waist then snake to my ass. His sweet Hennessy flavored lips are getting me even more drunk but with lust this time. The glisten of his plump lips being out the diamonds in his grill set plastered perfectly on his teeth.

“Let’s go to my house” I nod agreeing with his request and he grabs my hand leading me outside. He hails down a cab and opens the door letting me get on first. He smacks my butt on the way in and I giggle.

“322 Barron Street please” it’s about a 15 minute ride from here.

The driver begins his route and Michael starts kissing my neck and his hand slips down my shorts. My panties are beyond soaked and now he’s rubbing my clit making me whine.

His hand wraps around my throat whispering on my ear “stay quiet ma” he rubs again and as soon as the driver turns the corner into Michael’s loft I’m bussing all over his fingers biting the bottom of my lip trying to stay quiet.

He wraps his hand around my mouth flicking my clit faster making me shake harder. He pulls out his coated fingers placing them in my mouth. I suck off my own sweet juices and he grabs my by the throat kissing me tasting myself off my tongue. The driver clears his throat and we stop giggling and getting out. He tips the driver and walks past me opening the door. As soon as he gets the door open my pants are already unbuckled and halfway off.

“Damn hold on mamas” he slurs. We finally make it up to his nicely decorated bedroom and I’m pushed backwards flying back first on the bed. Michael comes on top of me and I flip us over grinding down on his already rock hard dick. He grabs a handful of behind moaning in my mouth. I move down to his neck where I kiss it sloppily. We stop kissing for a moment and I remove my shirt while he does the same. I move down pulling down his boxers and pants in one motion wasting no time swirling my tongue on the tip of his leaking dick. A low moan fills the room and I wrap my lips around the entire tip and push my head down letting it hit the back of my throat. I let it get wet then go back up to sucking on the tip while my right hand jerks the base and my left hand cups his balls. I come off with a string of saliva and I use my palm to rub on the top directly allowing the slick saliva to give him pleasure. His stomach caves and a loud moan erupts from Michael as he looks down holding vicious eye contact with me.

“Fuck Z” I continue going to town until he grabs me by the throat pulling me up to his mouth. Michael’s tongue roams my mouth fighting for dominance as he pulls me on top of him. I grab his throbbing dick pushing it inside of my aching pussy feeling him expand my walls gracefully. He leans back laying his head on the pillow as I gasp sinking down on him until our hips meet. I place my hands on his chest and sit on my feet rocking my hips along his shaft. His eyes flutter shut as I work my magic swirling my hips in a sloppy drunken circle. He bites his lip while one hand grabs the back of my head pulling my sweaty forehead to his. The other hand grabs a handful of my ass pulling me down. His dick fills my pussy completely making me gasp. Without missing a second Keith grabs both sides of my head keeping deadly eye contact with me and thrusts his hips beating my pussy from below. I let out a mewl holding his biceps while digging my acrylics into them. I bite my lip as he obliterates hot spots I didn’t even know were there.

My entire body feels like it’s on fire as after he thrusts he gives it aches and caves for more. “You like that? You like being daddy’s lil bitch” he moans pounding me out. Michael moves his hands wrapping his hand around my throat pulling me further and growling in my ear. I try to push away as the pleasure is starting to overwhelm me and he holds me by my hips keeping me right where he wants me. The only that can be heard in the room is the slushing sound of my wetness, the clapping of my ass and his balls slapping against my ass. My legs shake already as he continues. My pussy soaks everything underneath me as I let out a struggled moan cumming harder than I’ve ever came with any other man before. Michael pulls out pushing me up onto his face while jerking himself off in the process. He wraps his hands around my hips tasting the beautiful mess he made. My body jerks and my hand instinctively moves to his head as I roll my body on his tongue. He moans at my taste sucking and lapping on my clit. I smile getting off his face and back on his dick bucking my hips wildly. Michael guides my hips keeping himself as deep as possible. He begins thrusting up again at a fast pace making my eyes roll to the back of my head. He growls again giving me a fair warning that he’s about to cum. Without thinking I scream “cum inside this pussy daddy”

I’m aching from his blows. I sit up and keep bouncing at the same pace as he holds my hips tensing up. His seed spills inside of me and I watch his arch his back when I clench my pussy creating a suction. He moans pressing into my hips more.

Michael sits up kissing me and giving me a hard spank to my right ass cheek. His dick throbs inside of me as our mixtures leaks out dripping past his balls and onto the sheets. Drunkenly I lay on top of him giving him lazy kisses. Time and liquor consumes us and before I know it we’re both asleep in each other’s arms.

…

I wake up with a headache the size of the room. I feel like if I move too fast I’ll throw up. I feel someone warmth next to me and I pause. Who did I go home with last night? What happened? I’m aching between my legs but my conscience tells me not to be scared. I look behind me seeing Michael fast asleep. I sigh in comfort knowing I’m safe. He stirs in his sleep opening his eyes and he sees me. “Morning”

“Morning” I move my legs and notice they’re weak. I pull back the covers and we’re both completely naked. Oh shit. I jump up to the best of my ability and he sits up too

“Mike what did we do last night”

“Well using my context clues we had sex” he says rubbing his eyes

“Michael do you not see an issue with that? You have a girlfriend”

“I know but I mean if I’m being honest I’ve always had feelings for you Z and clearly you feel the same way” he states. I grab my underwear shaking my head.

“Mike that’s not the point you knew we shouldn’t have acted on it especially since you’re in a relationship. This could absolutely ruin our friendship. Lemme ask you this what if we go get together and break up then what you know I’m not friends with my exes. If you can be cool with your ex y’all were never in love or still are in love. There’s no in between” he looks at me with his head hanging low. He knows exactly where I’m coming from. “I’m not tryna lose you as a person in general” Mike goes in the bathroom brushing his teeth and peeing.

I collect my clothes putting them back on and Mike throws on some basketball shorts and a t-shirt he grabs some slides and his car keys . Luckily my car is already at home since Michael and his girl Lori picked me up.

“Z I’m sorry. I know things went too far but I’m glad we at least know how we feel about each other” he says “and I don’t regret what happened last night” I nod and get in his car. He gets in the drivers seat taking off and taking me home.

…..

Lori decided to have a pool party today to celebrate Mike for his birthday. Of course he invited me and being his best friend I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Plus it’s at his new house and I’ve never seen it before. Granite we haven’t talked much or seen each other at all since our ordeal a couple weeks ago. In fact this is the first time I’ve actually seen him since that day.

I walk through their beautiful house with a bottle of champagne in my hand. I see Lori in the kitchen. Honestly me and her have never really been that close. I never really cared for her but I was always cordial with her. “Hey Lori I brought this for y’all” she looks at me taking the champagne without even saying thank you. Bougie bitch. Don’t get me wrong I’m bougie too but best believe I’m as humble and as thankful as they come. I guess that’s why me and Mike are best friends. We’re the same.

I roll my eyes and my heels click outside where I see a bunch of people lounging in the pool and on the sides with drinks in their hand. My other best friend Lamia greets me with open arms. Her perfume makes me nauseous and dizzy “Hey girl” she smiles

“Hey” I say trying to hold my breakfast down.

“Mike is over there. Have you and him talked since then?” As soon as I got home that day I got ready for work and told Lamia what happened. I shrug my shoulders as an answer.

“Only small talk and I’ve low key been trying to avoid him just so the awkward tension doesn’t arise” I say

“Makes sense” Michael begins walking over and I stride a little further away until he catches me.

“Hey ladies” he hugs lamia and I’m next. I smell his cologne and melt. “you want a drink Z” I shake my head

“I don’t feel too hot right now so I’ll stick with water for the day” he nods eyes lingering on me for longer than a second. Lori comes out running his bare back and our contact is broken. While Lori begins talking to him I slip away downing the rest of my water. The nausea is finally gone and I sit on the lounge chair going on my phone. I put on my sunglasses shielding my eyes.

While I’m relaxing in the sun I notice Michael keeps staring at me. I see the small bulge in his shorts and I can’t help but bite my lip, mouth water at the taste of his dick down my throat.

A mid-height dark skin man starts walking my way and I see he has a pearly white smile similar to Michael’s. I get a better glimpse of his face. His name is Jayson. I’ve heard about him before. I heard he’s a player and he sleeps with anything that moves.

He sits next to my feet flashing his smile at me. I sit up with a small smile on my face. “Hey I’m Jayson Mikes friend”

“Yea I know. I’m Z”

“What’s that short for”

“Azina” he smiles scooting closer. I glance up seeing Mikes eyes never leaving me.

“That’s beautiful. Fitting for a beautiful woman” he bites his lip. I take a deep breath and take my sunglasses off. I stare directly into Michael’s eyes and he’s fuming. Dimples are prominent in his cheeks, nose flared, biceps flexed from how tense he is. Jayson moves even closer and that’s when Michael comes over.

“Hey Jay what y’all talking about?” He interjects with his nose held high. A small rage burns in my stomach at how he completely ruined my chance at something. Even if I was just playing Jaysons game right back at him.

“Her name. It’s pretty”

“Oh yea the two ‘A’s in her name stands for aggravated assault. She’s crazy man she beat niggas” he laughs. He’s not fully wrong “but she’s my kinda crazy. Speaking of Azina can I speak to you privately please? Jay you don’t mind right? Course not be right back” before I even have a chance to protest he grabs my wrist and my panties are soaked by the time we enter the glass double doors of his house that Lori happens to be staying in. Just hearing him call my name rather than my nickname has me wanting to be on my knees on this cold marble floor.

“What the hell is your issue?” I ask yanking my arm away. He grabs me again taking me upstairs through the neatly decorated white hallway. We get into his gold coated marble bathroom where he locks the door. I lean against the counter and he folds his arms “why have you been avoiding me”

“I-“

“And don’t lie to me” he asserts his dominance making my clit throb. Silence and heavy thick sexual tension fill the air and I look down at my long pink acrylic nails. He steps closer sealing any space between me and him. His large hand wraps around my throat making me bite my lip “you like seeing me get all jealous? Shit makes you wet mama?”

“Yes” I whimper. And just like that I’m putty in his hands. He pulls me up to his plump lips placing a wet kiss on them. Michael pulls off my duster of a swimsuit coverup. His large hands play with my breasts and my hand moved to his hard on. He’s rock solid now. His hand moves from my breast to my bikini bottoms rubbing my clit. My hips hunk and my hands move to his bicep as his plump lips kiss my neck. My body jerks as his thick fingers slide into my hole with ease. He begins pressing my g-spot like a button making me lose my breath. Michael moves up to my ear whispering “you’re mine”

He pulls his fingers out and sucks them dry turning me around some I’m facing the huge mirror above the sink. I grab the ledge bracing myself as he rolls my bottoms down spanking me in the process. I spread my cheeks feel his warm hard dick press inside of me. He fills me up and holds my hips bouncing me back to meet his thrusts. His breaths become heavy and ragged and my mouth drops open but nothing comes out.

Michael is pressing right on my g-spot making me lose my breath. “Daddy” I whimper.

“That’s my girl take all this shit. You wanna flirt with other niggas ima show you who you belong to” he wraps his hand around my throat quickening his pace. My eyes squeeze shut and my moans get louder. The sounds of our moans and my ass clapping fills the room but we have to keep it quiet so no one comes up here and finds us.

“You like when daddy fill you up bitch?”

“Yes I love it so much” my legs begin shaking as my orgasm approaches fast like a train. He gets close to my ear still pounding me out against the marble counter.

“Look at me when I make you cum” I bite my lip and his grip tightens on my neck. I open my eyes to the best of my ability as my entire body seizes in front of him. My body is on fire and he chuckles biting his lip “you look so fucking pretty taking all this dick like a good little whore”

I whimper jerking around and he pulls out watching my body tense up and convulse. He smacks my already shaking ass. Michael turns me around again putting me on the counter and he gets on one knee licking my pussy. He slurps you the mess he made moaning at the taste. I watch as he pulls my pussy lips back making sure to get as much of my clit as possible. My body writhes from still being sensitive and I grab the back of his head pushing him further in me. I pull off my bikini top rubbing my nipples while grinding on his face. My head falls back and he gives small licks making me even crazier than before. Michael comes up kissing my lips. I can taste myself on his tongue. He taps his dick on my clit before inserting himself again. I wrap my arms around his shoulders as he wastes no time taking me to Poundtown.

His short nails claw down my back and he buries his head in my neck. “That’s it daddy right there” my nails take through his short waves as his hips ripple through me. My moans uncontrollably get louder and he covers my mouth pounding me harder “can’t scream now can you baby?” I whimper eyes rolling to the back of my head as I squirt on his dick “that’s what I want fuck I’m bout to cum” his growls get louder and he kisses me moaning. His body shakes when he leaks inside of me. My nails scrape down his back and he empties his load inside of me.

He stays inside of me staring deep into my eyes. I can’t help this feeling anymore but I need to for the sake of our friendship. Michael’s catches me in a kiss and for a split second I ignore my feelings and kiss him back. As if he were really mine. That thought stops me from going any further “I’m sorry for avoiding you”

“I understand mamas” he kisses me again and pull out grabbing a towel he wipes off my pussy and leans down placing a kiss on my clit making me gasp. I chuckle getting off the counter with his help. My legs shake and I laugh. I grab my clothes putting them back on and making sure I look like I did before I came up here.

“Mike” I hear Lori call from downstairs. To the best of my ability I walk to the door but before I open it Michael grabs my arm kissing me again. This one was more passion than lust. I smile pulling away and open the door. To see Lori coming in. I turn around and turn him around quickly “so this is the master bathroom?” I look at him

“Yea it’s marble counters and the gold trim it’s my favorite and there’s the waterfall shower in there” we walk towards the shower acting like he was explaining me the layout of the bathroom the whole time. I hear loris heels click in the bathroom “baby the boys are looking for you at the pool” he turns around nodding

“Ard come on Z” We walk past Lori and her eyes linger on us.

Me and Mike walk outside and he can’t stop staring at me. He stands at the front of the bar with a microphone “I wanna thank every one for coming out. I wanna thank Lori for putting this together couldn’t have done this without you babe” that word ‘babe’ leaves a stinging mark on my heart as Lori steps up beside her man. She kisses him and then looks at me. I walk backwards dipping out from the crowd. I go inside and grab the champagne I brought. This bottle wasn’t cheap so if they won’t drink it I will. I pour myself a glass and start sipping it. Michael comes in and once again it’s just us alone.

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be sorry. Look Michael as much as we both want it us being together might never happen simply because you and Lori are a thing and y’all are basically destined for marriage”

“Now you know I’ve been about you and only you for a while”

“I can’t tell cause I’m still single and you’re in a relationship” I sigh “I’m leaving this house is beautiful but you need to figure out what you really want” I extend my arms and give him a hug. He plants a kiss on my neck Mumbling the words I’m sorry again.

I grab my champagne and leave the house with a heavy heart and a cloudy mind. That nauseous feeling is back.

[cloudywithachanceofanime]

Weird Ways The Brother Touch You Headcannons

Belphegor

It is a know fact that Belphie is a yandere, so he tends to get jealous real easily.

If he’s waiting on you to walk to class together or to go home and he sees MC chatting with another lower level demon and laughing, he loses it in a lazy way.

He will calmly walk over to MC and wrap his arms around them, but instead of putting his head on top of their head, he squats down and place his head right next to MC.

His eyes would be staring directly into the demons, unblinking. A single hand will lay across MC’s torso while his other hovers above the other, showing off his long sharp nail, ready for action.

He’s not about to allow some piece of trash ruin his dreams of MC, his brother, and himself living a happy life together.

He only ever use that style of hugging if he’s trying to discreetly threaten a demon to back up. Other than that, he’s cuddled up on Mc’s side or wrapping himself around their arm to use as a body pillow.

Another weird thing he does is grab the back of MC’s shirt if he wants their attention.

He has already verbally complain about how his brothers spent more time with MC, so if he wants MC for himself without his brothers, he will just latch on to the back of their shirt.

Levi’s gushing about some new anime to you, but it’s 5 o’clock which is the time you two usually take a nap, but his brother is still talking.

So he’ll calmly walk up behind MC, grab their shirt, and as each minute passes by, pulls on it a little harder.

MC better get the hint before they get pulled backwards into Belphie’s arm where he will then just physically drag them to his room. 

Beelzebub

It all started when MC got the brothers to watch Lion King and the scene of Simba being lifted came on. MC giggled a bit and explain how it was a meme to lift up your animals in the same way back on Earth.

It just started as a small thought about doing the same thing to MC. Just a small innocent thought.

But then he walked in on MC struggling to reach one of the higher shelves that were more in reach for demon’s height. (I still headcannon that the brothers are extremely tall, like unhumanley height).

He would walk over to you struggling and seeing you struggling and the thought of lifting you up comes again. 

MC ask if he could help them and he goes with his first thought. Put his hands up their arms and lift them up to the cabinet. They giggle at his actions before grabbing what they need, but Beel doesn’t let them down. 

“What are you doing?” MC asked, giving him a humorous smile. 

“Simba.” That all he response causing MC to laugh.

Ever since then, Beel would randomly pick MC up under their arms causing them to laugh. Then it turned into something more.

Beel would love holding them up in the air and just feeling their warmth in his arms. So, he started sitting them on his forearm with a bicep as a backrest.

 They just looked so small in his arms and he just liked how it felt. 

MC couldn’t complain. They got carried around everywhere and see that happy smile on Beel’s face up close.

Asmodeus

This demon is the embodiment of lust, he has touched you in every way possible. 

But the oddest way is sometimes instead of holding your hand, he will link pinkies together and walk around like that.

The pose is just so cute and MC just looks so cute when they glance down at their entwined thumbs and just smile at them. 

Two of the hottest beings in the Devildom is looking cute at the moment. What else could the world need?

He also loves to play footies with you if you’re sitting down doing anything. 

The teasing just gets to him and he loves it. Please just run your foot up this man’s calf and he will pounce on you.

Satan

You wouldn’t think that Satan would have any weird thing he does, which is true while he’s focus.

If MC were to be chilling next to Satan while he’s reading and he’s deep into the book, his foot will stretch out and just lay itself on top of whatever part of them is closest.

MC will be watching this video on their DDD while Satan is on this third volume of this series and he’s unaware of the world around him. 

MC will feel a small press on their thigh. Look down and there’s Satan’s foot.

It’s not even the whole foot. Just the toes and maybe the ball of his foot.  Never the entire foot.

If MC doesn’t say thing, he will just keep it there as he continued to read his book with his eyes scanning each line absorbing the information.

The only way he will realize it is if MC ask him why does he always put his foot on them.

He would turn slightly pink as he realized how indecent the act was. He will apologize for his action and promise not to do it again. 

Soon as that book gets risen up again and his attention is snatched away, his foot will drifted back over. 

Point it out and you will now have a flustered Satan. MC will say that it’s fine and kind of cute how he reaches out for them.

“I guess that’s my body way of telling you that you’re too far away.” He will then scoot over and beckon MC to lay right next to him.

He still accidentally does it if  MC sits too far from him. It just a sign that Satan wants them closer.

Leviathan

This poor kid is just the type to see cute anime couple poses and want to do them with MC, but is too shy.

He will see all his brothers cozying up to MC and be like “It’s not fair. I want to do that.”

One day he will gain up the courage to wrap his arms around Mc’s waist while their cooking... It doesn’t go according to plan.

He went to wrap his arms around them and panic.

MC turns around to question why he grabbing the sleeves of their sweater, but sees his dark red face and his shivering, and decided against it.

Please be nice to the poor guy. Just start up a conversation to get his mind off his failed attempt at contact.

He realizes through the conversation about anime that you need to stir the pot and he panics thinking this is the part where they will shake him off.

Then MC just moves their arms normally with Levi still attach and continue on with the conversation.

This weird move became Levi and MC’s thing. If he wants to be close to them, he just grabs their sleeves and stand close behind him.

You want to really fluster him? Wrap your arms around yourself and his brain will crash as he realized that he kind of accomplished it.

Or slide your hand in the sleeves and hold his through the fabric. Make it better by swinging your arms, so the two of you rock together.

It’s weird to outsiders, but Levi’s just happy to be close to them in any way or shape. 

Mammon

He’s a tsundere, so he will be trying to be smooth with it. But for some reason, he saw a guy with his girlfriend’s legs ontop of him and his arms resting on it, and he was like ‘I wanna do that with MC’.

He can’t just straight out ask you to rest your legs on him. He will wait for the perfect moment to strike.

And it came in the form of movie night. He bullied managed to get a spot next to MC on the couch as the movie started playing. 

MC kept shifting around trying to get comfortable and saw this as his chance.

“Oi, stop moving around so much. If you need to stretch ya legs, ya could’ve just said it.” Proceeds to grab MC’s leg and throw it on top of his. 

He will try to play it off, but his bright red face and shaking hands alert everyone of what was going on.

If MC doesn’t say anything and just snuggle down into him. He will relax a little. Maybe enough to put his hands onto of their leg as the movie continue on.

He had a moment of panic when MC went with Beel to get some more snacks during the movie change and he didn’t know how he was going get them back into that position without looking suspicious.

But worry not, when the movie started, MC swung their legs on top and continued watching the movie.

If you want to give him a real shock, halfway through the movie, just scoot over and snuggled into him. He will be red the rest of the movie and stuttering every time his brother tease him about “why his face so red?”

Lucifer

Many would believe that this demon is not affectionate, but he likes it to be more subtle.

A hand on the lower back while you two walk around the halls of school. This way he feels that he can control what MC does.

His reasoning is because MC seems to like to seek out trouble, so if he keeps that hand there, it will kill that temptation to get themselves in trouble.

The truth is that it just feeds into his Pride. Seeing how big his hand is compared into your human frame.It makes him feel powerful.

Plus when a lower level demon tries to come up to MC, it’s more effective than telling them to fuck off. It’s the class version of it.

Demon tries to flirt with MC. Lucifer slides in and put a hand on their lower back, making them indirectly lean into him. Just one look at a demon and that’s all that is need to say, “They’re mines.”

A hidden one he won’t admit to is the bottom of the skull.

If it’s just MC and him relaxing on his bed, he will pretend to play with the hair in that area, but MC will pick up on it. He doesn’t rub their head or rub his hands through their hair, if their hair allows. It’s always at the back of the bottom.

It’s because that’s were human’s fragile skull is and the beginning of their spine. Not to include so many nerves and blood vessels there.

It shows that MC trust him if they allow him to touch them there and once again, it just feeds into his pride. 

[can-youimagine]

Work In Progress Chapter Seven

Summary: After leaving the BAU, you promised you would never go back. But then, you meet your replacement. Your genius, caring, loving replacement, and you can't stop yourself from being pulled back into that world.

Chapter TW: mild self harm (spencer doesn't want to eat) See Series Masterlist for series TW.

Word Count: 769

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Gif credit: @babymetaldoll

He lays against you, eventually falling asleep, giving you the chance to look around the apartment. There are only a few pictures, mainly of a woman who you assume is his mom. His degrees are framed but not hung up yet, and there are books piled everywhere. Most of them look secondhand, but there are a few newer editions, presumably his favorites. His go-bag is set by the door, next to his converse. You can’t help but smile. You noticed them when you met him yesterday but had assumed that he had changed into them. You can’t imagine the look on Aaron No-Nonsense Hotchner’s face when this kid walked in in a pair of tennis shoes.

He starts to stir awake.

“So, tell me, what did Hotch’s face look like the first time you wore those converse?”

He blushes. “What time is it?”

You glance at his watch, which he threw on the table when he got home last night. “Ten ish. Want some breakfast?” Your fingers are still carding through his hair.

“No.” He pushes himself off you. “I’m fine.

You frown. “Fine. Do you mind if I make something?”

“Go ahead.” He stands up. “I really am sorry for calling you here so early.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You dig through his cupboards. You almost forgot that Spencer was a twenty-something, single man. Luckily, he has a few eggs, half a pint of milk, and a loaf of bread. “Looks like you’ll need to join me at the grocery store.”

He shrugs. “I’ll be gone again in a few days.”

You pause in the middle of cracking an egg. “Spencer, when was the last time you ate a homecooked meal?” When he doesn’t answer, you sigh. “You are coming with me to the grocery store, and when we get back, we’re cooking.”

“We?”

“If you don’t want to spend time with me, that’s fine, but I am making sure you eat something good.”

“No, no, I want to spend time with you. I just thought that-I’m sorry.”

The eggs finish, and you bring them over the Spencer. “You have nothing to apologize for. If I didn’t want to spend time with you, I wouldn’t.”

He nods, picking at the eggs. He completely forgets that he told you he wasn’t hungry.

“I’m gonna head home and get dressed,” you laugh, gesturing to your pajamas. “I’ll pick you up in about an hour. Sound good?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Of course.” You kiss the top of his head. “I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon,” he confirms, and you’re out the door.

This is not at all how you expected your relationship with Spencer to go. You aren’t complaining, but after meeting him in the museum, you weren’t sure you were ever going to see him again. When you did, you were ecstatic. The time you have spent with Spencer feels like so much more than just a day. You feel like you’ve known him all your life.

It terrifies you, but you lean into it. You haven’t felt this happy in a long time. You weren’t going to let it go.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you get back into your car to see him again. God, you hope he feels the same way.

He seems to. He’s waiting outside his building before you get there. He looks a lot better than he did this morning.

“So, before we get there, is there anything you want?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t really cook.”

“Alright, what’re your favorite foods?”

He quickly gives you a list, complete with ingredients.

You laugh. “Sounds doable, though I’m not sure how much of this will reheat.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Mind if I make some of my favorites?”

“Please.”

As you pull into the parking lot. “I used to make meals at the beginning of every month. Quickly learned what reheats and what doesn’t. Though, my memory isn’t quite as good as yours. I may have forgotten.”

“Just have to eat yours first.”

The two of you walk through the store, throwing a little bit of everything in your cart. You completely forget about your need for food, only grabbing things for him. Throughout the trip, you ask about different foods, wanting to see his face light up again as he explains it.

Who knew there was so much to know about corn?

It isn’t until you get to the check-out line that you realize you never got anything for yourself. But, Spencer is telling you about whatever is on the cover of Time Magazine, and you can’t bring yourself to leave.

[yesimwriting]

Searing Starlight (chapter one)

SERIES SUMMARY: the most powerful inferni alive, raised to see herself as a god-in-the-making, the bastard of the barrel and his team, and a shadow summoner with a common goal. What could go wrong? The giant mass of darkness known as the shadow fold and y/n’s sense of humor. 

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Y/n is sent to hustle the Crow Club. Technically it’s not cheating, but Kaz Brekker isn’t the type to let people off on technicalities alone. Especially when the one that committed the offense could help him earn 1 million kruge. 

a/n just a little something based on the show bc IM OBSESSED :)) --I’m planning on making this a series so if you want to be tagged let me know :)

The candles flicker as Kenya's palm makes contact with my face. I used to cry after he hit me; I used to run to Anya’s room for comfort and my energy would became so irritated I snuffed out all the candles in the church. Now, I just stand there. You get punished worse for showing fear. Gods fear nothing, and that’s what he wants from us--to turn into Gods so that the heavens will owe him. 

“You risk us again and again!” 

The yelling is worse than the stinging of the slap. I make a point of keeping my palms flat; the candles of the room flicker as if feeling my restraint. “Watch yourself or the tidemaker you’re so fond of will feel my wrath instead of you. At least when I bruise his face it doesn’t cost me a night of revenue.” 

I want to point out that the men I trick in the pleasure district don’t care about bruises, but the reminder of Jace has me frozen in place. Jace is good. He doesn’t deserve this treatment. “It won’t happen again, Father Kenya.” 

He nods once, unsatisfied but growing bored. “Disappear from my sight before my flesh wins and I forget to show you mercy.” Kenya turns sharply, watching Anya’s stoic expression. “Anya--we’re in need of funding, take these coins and triple it by morning.” 

Anya’s lips part; I shake my head once, a subtle plea for her silence. “Father Kenya, y/n’s the most talented card player we have--if she comes with us we can bring five times what you’re going to give us.” 

The promise Anya makes is that of a fool, but I know I’m capable of it. People are easy to read when they’re drunk, they’re easy to trick and lie to. And drunk people exude the clearest energy, something about their bluffing is as tangible as fog to me. 

Kenya squeezes the drawstring bag between his violent fingers. He loathes me more than the others. He expects more from me. He’d lock me in the cellar if he could afford to. But he can’t--he knows what I’m capable of. 

“Go somewhere in the Barrel--somewhere that doesn’t ask questions if the money is good.” Kenya looks at me, the bruises on my arms and cheeks. “Clean yourself up beforehand.” 

I nod once, stomach rolling at the thought of going out and knotting at the thought of staying here. I keep my steps even as I approach Anya, grateful for the excuse to disappear behind the chapel’s doors. 

----

This club is louder than most, boisterous men drinking constantly, slurring their words and leaning over bars. I only smile when someone’s looking, tugging on the dress Anya picked for me subconsciously. 

“Relax, y/n,” Anya hums, “Men don’t understand they’re being hustled when someone pretty is the one swindling them, and you look hot.” 

A particularly drunk man walks by slowly, eyes reflecting no shame as he blatantly rakes his gaze down my form. I shift uneasily. “That might be the problem.” 

She tilts her head back, gaze focusing on the crow marking etched into the back wall of the club. A very strange and consistent crow theme in here. “Maybe you should keep the dress on until you run into Jace.” 

The mention of Jace in that context leaves my face warm. “Wha--what?” Great. I’m sputtering. “Shut up!” 

She laughs easily, “I’m only teasing--he’d probably ta--” 

“Anya!” 

Again, her laugh is loud and bright. “Kidding!” Before I can scorch her, she nods her head towards a gambling table. “An open seat--go, you know Kenya’ll have our heads if we don’t multiply this,” she tosses me the drawstring bag, I catch it awkwardly, “By five.” 

There are a lot of things I’ve ruined--but I never mess up when it comes to gambling. We’re all entitled to our talents and mine are destruction and trickery. “I’ll have six times this amount before midnight.” 

A little cocky, but it’s well deserved. I stroll up to the table easily, comforted by the fact that Anya’s only a few feet away. 

“You’re playing this round?” 

I smile politely, used to this kind of hesitance. “I think I’d like to try it.” The mock-hesitance in my voice burns coming up, but the dumber I seem the faster I make up my money. The rest of the participants snicker. Expected. I’m going to enjoy taking their money. “I can pay if that’s the issue.”

The sound of me fishing through the small bag of golden coins silences the men at a table. The man closest to me, the one with smooth brown skin and a smile I imagine has convinced many people to play into sins for him, leans forward slightly. I let him peek at the coins, the more they want my money the more they’ll believe my lies. 

“How much to enter?” 

A tall man snorts. I fight back the urge to glare. 

“Three of those coins should do.” The boy next to me is decent enough to answer. I’ll steal from him least. “I’m Jesper.” 

I’ve been to enough clubs to know when a man is attempting to find company for the night. I hope the playful niceness I see in him is real. “Kamil.” My sister’s name is salt water on my tongue. 

The first game is easy enough to throw. The second, I have to work at a little more--their smugness is killing me. I pretend to be ready to step away from the table.

“Where are you going?” 

I shrug at the stranger. “I shouldn’t lose any more money, my father won’t be happy with me as it is.” 

The stranger leans forward, glancing at his chips. “We don’t want a girl like you in trouble at home--why don’t we up the stakes? You win this next hand, and you’ll win double what I did.” He pauses, eyeing my drawstring bag, “Of course--you’ll have to be willing to risk a matching sum.” 

Awful odds. “Deep odds,” Jesper mumbles, “Consider cutting your losses.”

Jesper is a better person than the other men here. I almost feel bad he’s going to be losing any money. “One more game won’t kill me,” I smile as politely as I can manage, “Besides--my luck could be about to change and I’d never know.” 

I hand the coins over to the dealer. I watch as the money is shuffled onto the center of the table, suppressing the grin of someone about to release her killshot. Ten minutes later, I’ve doubled what I’ve lost. The man who upped the bet is gaping, Jesper’s expression has shifted entirely, and everyone’s staring at me like I’ve shifted into another person entirely. 

“Wow--luck really does change quickly here.” I’ve hooked them. They’ll want to play again, to prove that my victory was a fluke. “Do you guys want to play again? It only seems fair I give you a chance to win back everything you just lost since you did the same for me.” 

Everyone’s quick to agree, but I’m quicker to win the second round. Some men look murderous, some look ready to play again, their egos incapable of handling defeat at my hands. 

“You came in with a surprising amount of coins,” Jesper muses, reaching over to pick up a piece of gold that rolled towards him, “I hate to accuse you of counterfeiting, but one has to wonder.” 

Typical. “I swear my money’s real.” 

“Real money can take a bullet…” Is he going to shoot it...in doors? Jesper tosses the coin easily, letting it flip in the air before taking out a pistol and shooting it dead center in a movement so casually fluid and deadly I’m taken back. 

The coin clatters onto the table, the bullet embedded into the precious metal. I eye it cautiously, beyond relieved that Kenya at least doesn’t lie. “T-told you.” 

His eyebrows narrow as he reholsters his pistol. “About that, I guess you did.” 

Jesper’s skepticism is a red flag. I need to get out of here before my winnings are taken from me and Kenya kills me or Jace for my failure. “I didn’t take you for such a sore loser.” 

Before Jesper can respond, something black raps against the table once. “What did I tell you about loud noises at the table?” 

Jesper’s gaze leaves mine immediately. “Sorry boss, just checking a swindler.” 

He--he knows. I blink twice, forcing surprise to color my features. “Swindler?” I look between him and the man he called his boss. “N--no, it was just--luck. I played a hand, I lost some money, I played again and I won some money. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?” 

“You only started winning after the stakes were raised--I’ve seen that tactic before and it’s not appreciated here.” 

I swallow once, a pinch of dread making its way through my stomach. He had shot that coin with no hesitation--I didn’t even see him click off the safety. How dangerous is the man at my table? How dangerous is his boss? Everyone seemed to straighten at the sight of the stranger with the cane. 

“There was no tactic--it was a game.” 

The man I don’t know tears his gaze away from Jesper. “Someone like you shouldn’t even be here.” 

He has a point--my demeanor doesn’t exactly scream someone who frequents establishments at the Barrel during the night. “I’m only here to keep my friend out of trouble.” A fair enough response. “And I played a game and someone can’t handle a loss.”

“You should have seen her bluff, I’ve met professional thieves that lie less fluently than her.” 

At Jesper’s words, the stranger’s grip around his cane tightens. I imagine that beneath his gloves, the color of marred souls, his knuckles are white. “Who do you work for? Who sent a girl to invade my business?” 

Who do I work for? No one that has any business with him. “What?” How self absorbed can one man be? 

“If playing the fool didn’t get you through a card game--don’t think it will get you through this.” 

What? Before I can question him, Anya grabs my shoulder, pulling me so that there’s a safer distance between me and the man. 

“You’re an idiot,” her whisper is pointed, directed solely at me. “Of course you’d find trouble with Dirtyhands.” Did I hear that correctly? Dirtyhands--as in the Dirtyhands? I stare at her, eyes wide. How had I been so stupid? I should have recognized him from his gloves alone. Anya turns her head towards them. “We don’t want any trouble--forgive my friend, she’s not a spy she’s just an oblivious idiot.” 

“Rude.” 

She throws me a glare. “But she did win.” The money isn’t worth the trouble we’ll find trying to keep it but Kenya’s words follow us wherever we go. “We’ll take what we earned and never come back.” 

“I don’t concede often.” 

I reach for Anya’s arm, brushing her forearm in hopes of telling her things will be okay. Kaz Brekker may be feared, but we’re gods in the making. “Neither do we.”

He seems to want to play at an odd, power-filled standstill, but Anya and I are more desperate than him. Anya leans forward, ready to take the money from the table, but the unidentified man who upped the stakes earlier is quick to grab her forearm. 

“I don’t take losses, little girl.”

Anya. I can only imagine the horror she feels when a strange man touches her. Screw precaution. “Is that money worth burning for?” 

“Y/n.” Anya’s warning comes out low; Jesper raises an eyebrow. I guess being Kamil was short lived. 

“Excuse me?” 

The man will not intimidate me. Fear is a crutch men use to keep women in check. “You heard my question.” I hold up my hand, releasing enough energy to develop a flame in my palm. “And if your answer is ‘no’, I suggest you release my friend before your body is nothing more than a pile of ash your own mother wouldn’t even be able to identify.” 

The stranger blinks, touches the gun on his hip, and then releases Anya’s arm. 

“You can’t come into my club, hustle money away from my men, and walk away unscathed because you’re a grisha.” 

Words cannot express how badly I do not want to speak to Kaz Brekker at any point in my life. His grip on his cane is a silent warning--a threat. But what is a man’s threat to a girl that’s meant to be a god? “You can kill me but I’ll use my dying breath to burn this entire building.” I’ve publicly backed him into a corner--I’m insane. 

Dirtyhands opens his mouth to reply, anyone within earshot holding on for his next words. Anya yanks me back as the sound of something explosive interrupts the room. A bullet flies past directly where I was standing and strikes the wall behind me. Anya just saved my life. Someone just shot at me. 

“Y/n, do you think it’s--” 

“No.” It can’t be. There’s no way a soldier found me again. “It can’t be--we were--we’ve been careful--and Kenya said they wouldn’t look for me--that he purchased me fully.” 

A man is moving through the crowd. A blue kefta. No. No. 

Not here. Not now.

And why are they shooting at me? “Anya,” I breathe out as cautiously as possible, “Run and no matter what don’t turn around.” 

“I’m not leaving you.” 

Anya. Always the older sister. “They don’t want you--they want me.” 

“You’re not a real Sun Summoner--it’s suicide for you.” 

I don’t have the heart to tell Anya I don’t particularly care about my life. It’s never truly been mine anyway. “I’ll make it out.” 

“You’re an inferni, not a miracle worker.” 

My lips pull into an odd sort of grimace. The gentle kind one hopes is mistaken for a smile. “I thought we were meant to be gods.” 

“A god can’t do what they want from you.” She mumbles. “So you’re capable of producing more fire than most--it’s not the same as creating light. It doesn’t matter how many drugs they pump into you it’s--” 

I shake my head once, “Anya--go.” 

“They want you to play Sun Summoner.” Dirtyhand’s tone is too smooth to trust. I know when someone’s trying to sell dreams that don’t exist. “The way they’ll have you do it will cost you, but the way I’ll have you do it will be practically painless.”

Is he always this confusing? “What?” 

The question is an irritation, that’s apparent in the cold tint that takes over his practically blank expression. “I need a Sun Summoner for a business deal--and lucky for you I’m out of time.” 

“You don’t want to work with me.” 

“No,” his voice is dismissive, he didn’t understand I meant that as a warning, “But I need to have some form of mass light before sunrise.” 

“The man I’m indentured to will never go for it.” Proposing such an idea would leave me with a broken rib again. 

Dirtyhands nods once, a vague acknowledgement. “That’s not your problem.” I keep my jaw set, scanning at the crowd for a flash of that blue kefta. “After all, it wasn’t his problem when he hurt you.” 

I had been careful to hide the bruises. The reminders of my humanity. My weaknesses, my failures, written onto my skin in purple and blue ink. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I didn’t until I got that reaction.” I’ve never so quickly felt the need to loathe someone. “It was easy enough to assume--young girl, desperate for money, a grisha powerful enough to be hunted down.” 

Is that supposed to be some sort of consolation? “My freedom would never come so easily.” 

“It wouldn’t be freedom--you’d owe me more than you already do for the kruge scam.” 

I swallow before I can make the mistake of telling him I’d consider any escape from Kenya freedom. “Close enough.” 

The grisha’s closer now, the light blue kefta so easy to spot amongst a sea of darkness. “You’re running out of time.” 

“Can you get my friend out?” 

“Y/n.” She can be mad for the rest of her life if she wants. 

He nods his head once. “She’ll be out the back before anyone knows she was even here.” 

“And she can take the money I won.” Maybe the income will be enough to spare her from Kenya’s wrath. “That’s a dealbreaker.” 

Kaz Brekker hesitates. It’s such a normal pause I almost think it’s a trap. “If she takes it there will be no way out for you--you will do what I ask even if it endangers your life.” 

“Y/n, it’s not worth it.” 

I don’t look at Anya. “You have my word.” 

“Y/n, I’m not taking anything and I’m not leaving you.” 

I finally turn. “Don’t be a self-sacrificing idiot--it’s not in your nature and frankly it doesn’t suit you.” Acts of goodness towards me have always left me feeling raw. Too raw. Like I’m bleeding out. “Sorry, I just…” Anya’s eyes are soft. She knows. She always knows. “I’ll get through whatever it is he’s planning and I’ll come back.” I swallow once, nerve draining from my body slowly. “Take the money--Kenya will be angry enough as is.” 

Anya drops her gaze as she collects from the table. It takes me a moment longer than it should to recognize this is shameful for her. I consider telling her that she’s doing the right thing, but that would burn her heart more. 

“You’re my sister,” Anya’s voice is lower than it’s ever been, “I should have stopped him.” 

Her guilt hurts more than the bruises. “You were as hurt as me--you have nothing to feel guilty about.” 

This is already more emotion than we’re used to expressing when alone let alone around others. Anya stretches out an arm, squeezes my shoulder once, and then takes a step back. “I’ll see you again.” 

“Yes,” I nod once.

“Jesper, take the girl out the back.” Turning forward blankly, Kaz begins to speak to me, “Hide behind the bar--my wraith will find you and take you somewhere else.” 

“Y--you have a wraith?” And I thought Kenya was weird. He lets out a sigh. “Sorry. Not the time.” 

“Desperation leads to bad decisions.” 

Dramatic. “I agree.” 

His gaze falls on me, taking in my narrow-eyed glare. There’s a moment in which I think the left corner of his mouth twitches upwards, but then he turns his head again. A trick of the light. “Go before you’re found and I’m out the money I let your friend take.” 

Yes. I’m not exactly safe right now, but Kaz Brekker needs me for something. That means I will not be leaving this building. By force or willingly. 

Silently, I turn, melting into those in the crowd that are either oblivious or don’t care enough to react to the cat and mouse game I’m currently in. When I reach the bar, I’m quick to duck behind it, pressing my back against shelves of alcohol. 

[nerdzzone]

Gaze on the Shore

Summary: As the world starts to reopen, tentatively hoping the worst of the pandemic is behind them, Chris and Whitney face a new set of challenges. With busy work schedules and the pressures of normal life looming on the horizon, will the foundation they’ve built through lockdown be strong enough to keep their relationship steady or will they crack under the strain?

Chris Evans x OFC

18+

Part of the Once Bitten/More Hearts series

Part Nine

Note: This is the last chapter of this part of the series, but there will be more! I’ve already started working on it so hopefully it won’t be too long until I can start posting it. Thank you so much to everyone who has liked or commented on the series so far, it really means a lot to me. I love hearing all your thoughts so feel free to comment or send in your predictions for their future!

_____

Part Ten

A few weeks after we returned home to Massachusetts, Chris and I were both disappointed by the arrival of my period. We were prepared for the possibility that I wouldn’t get pregnant the first month we started trying - especially since our ability to try was limited for most of the first week that Chris was home - but we had hoped that we’d beat the odds and were a little disheartened that it hadn’t happened. There were a few days of moping on my part which I blamed on the hormones that came with that time of the month, but with Chris’ gentle nudging I managed to shake off the melancholy feelings and replace them with determination. As he pointed out - with a cheeky grin - we’d just been given an excuse to spend another month enjoying the process of trying any chance we got.

And we absolutely took advantage of that opportunity. We could barely keep our hands off of each other and spent every available moment working towards our goal, but when we weren’t focusing our energy on trying to have another baby, we were giving it to the child that we already had who was going through a transition of his own.

Because Grayson was starting preschool.

Considering that the pandemic was still not as close to being a thing of the past as we had hoped it would be, we’d agonized over the decision just as we had the year before, but in the end, we figured the benefits outweighed the risk. Knowing that he’d be starting kindergarten the following year, we wanted him to have some experience away from home and in a classroom environment before then and we managed to find a great little place - under the recommendation of Chris’ mom - that only had fifteen other children so his level of exposure wouldn’t be too overwhelming. They also had a policy that all adults wore masks when entering the classroom during drop off or pick up just to add another layer of protection for the kids.

However, all their wonderful protocol didn’t mean that we didn’t still have our fair share of anxiety - for non-pandemic reasons - about the thought of him starting school and we were grateful that his new teachers agreed to meet with us a week before the program started.

“Hi!” Grayson greeted the two women as they opened the door of the classroom and welcomed us cheerily. “My name’s Gray!”

“Hi, Gray, I’m Trish,” One of them introduced herself. “And this is my friend, Sandra.”

Chris and I introduced ourselves as well as Grayson gasped at the sight of the many toys around the room and bolted off towards them.

“Do you mind if he plays?” I asked. “Or would you prefer if he didn’t mess everything up before school actually starts?”

“No, no, he can play,” Sandra chuckled. “It’ll give us time to chat without him getting bored.”

“He’s so excited about coming here,” I smiled. “He’s been talking about it every day.”

“We’re excited to have him! We were thrilled when Lisa called to ask if we had any spots available,” Trish assured us. “But do you two have any questions or concerns?”

“Nothing major,” Chris shrugged. “He’s super confident and social, he’ll probably take it all in stride. We just wanted him to see the space and meet you before the first day so he’d have a bit of familiarity.”

“And we were wondering what we should send with him on the first day,” I added. “Does he need a full lunch or just more of a snack?”

“Well, we give them a snack around ten o’clock - usually just some fruit and crackers - and then they have their lunch around noon just before we go to play outside,” Sandra told us. “So, how much you send is up to you. You can send just a little extra snack or a full lunch if he’s a big eater.”

“Oh, he’s a big eater,” Chris chuckled. “He loves food, he’d probably snack all morning if you let him.”

“There’s a lot of them that are like that,” Sandra smiled as Trish nodded in agreement before continuing the explanation.

“As for what else you should send, we recommend sending a few spare clothes to leave in his cubby. Even if he’s good at using the bathroom at home, there’s often a few accidents when they first start. There’s a lot of distractions and it’s an unfamiliar place so it’s good just to be prepared.”

“That makes sense,” I agreed. “He is great at using the bathroom though and he’s not shy about letting us know when he needs to go so he should be okay.”

“Great,” Trish smiled. “Is there anything that you’d like us to know?”

“Nothing that we’re super concerned about. I think we’re more anxious about him starting than he is,” I explained with a nervous laugh. “But he has been pretty isolated throughout the pandemic, as I’m sure a lot of kids have been. He plays really well with all his cousins, but he hasn’t spent much time around kids that he doesn’t know so we are a little concerned about how well he’ll do with the whole sharing and taking turns thing.”

“Yes, we’re anticipating that we’ll have to work on that with a lot of the kids this year,” Trish assured us. “It’s a hard thing for them to do at this age anyway, but I don’t think he’ll be alone in finding it extra difficult after the last year.”

Chris let out a sigh of relief and I smiled, but it wasn’t something I had been particularly worried about. Grayson definitely had his selfish moments as most children did, but he had a big heart and loved to play with other kids so I didn’t think he’d kick up too much fuss about sharing the toys.

Our conversation continued as they went over the morning routine and asked about allergies and other important things they should know about him. We’d covered almost everything, but it wasn’t until Grayson called Chris over to see the large collection of toy dinosaurs they had that I broached the last important subject.

“There’s one other thing I’d like to talk about,” I hesitantly started. “Chris hates bringing it up, but we would really appreciate it if there was a certain amount of discretion about who Grayson’s dad is. He really is just a normal dad with a weird job so when he’s not working he’ll probably do pick up and drop off just as much as me and I know some people might recognize him, but if we could just not make a big deal about it, we’d really appreciate that.”

I cringed a little at my awkward explanation, but I knew it was something we should discuss. Both of the women immediately put me at ease as they gave me very sympathetic looks and were quick to reassure me.

“Of course,” Sandra nodded. “We don’t care at all who any of the children’s parents are and all of our families this year are really nice, I can’t imagine that any of them would do anything that could put the safety of any of the children in jeopardy.”

“That’s good to know,” I smiled. “It can be hard with him being so well known. We don’t have a big problem with photographers around here luckily and most of his fans are respectful enough not to cause any trouble, but it’s always a risk, you know? We just want Grayson to have a normal school experience, but I know Chris has been worried that his career could make things tough for Gray.”

“We understand completely,” Trish smiled. “If anyone asks, we’ll be as discreet as possible and I can assure you that we’d never let Grayson leave with anyone who hasn’t been approved by you.”

“Thank you. I’m sure it’ll be totally fine, but I just felt like it was something I should mention. We’re so excited for Grayson to come here and we want it to be a positive experience for everyone.”

“Absolutely, that’s what we want too,” Trish agreed and I felt a wave of relief.

I had no doubts that they would be understanding of the situation. They had both been teaching for many years so they were very professional and since they knew Lisa - even if it was just through their work connections - I never imagined them being too bothered about who Chris was, but it seemed like the responsible thing to do to have that conversation.

By the time we left that afternoon, we were all feeling very excited about Grayson starting at preschool the following week. He was thrilled with all the fun toys that he’d get to go back and play with and Chris and I were excited for this next big milestone in his life. It was hard to accept how fast he was growing up, but he was so ready to get out there and start learning and making friends that it left us feeling very confident in our decision to start his education.

-

A week later, on the first morning of preschool, there was a definite nervous energy in our house. Grayson was buzzing with excitement and could barely sit still long enough to eat his breakfast while Chris spent most of the morning watching him like we were sending him away to boarding school and wouldn’t get to see him for months.

“It’s just hard,” he’d insisted when I teasingly called him out on it. “It seems like just yesterday that he was learning to walk and now he’s starting school.”

His words were true, but as much as it was a bittersweet day for us, we had to be brave for Grayson. He did seem fairly oblivious to any inner turmoil that we were feeling though as he dragged us out the door as soon as I’d taken a few pictures of him with his little backpack on and his brand new outfit for his big first day.

It wasn’t until we walked into the classroom that I started to think we might run into some trouble as Grayson froze at the sight of the other children running around. Suddenly looking very shy, he hid behind Chris’ leg and refused to walk any further.

“Hi Grayson,” Sandra greeted him. “It’s great to see you again!”

Grayson had no interest in responding as he buried his face against Chris’ thigh.

“C’mon, bud,” Chris chuckled. “You’ve been so excited all morning.”

Sandra shot us a sympathetic look as Chris’ words did nothing to help.

“Sometimes it’s a little intimidating when they realize there’s going to be other kids here too.”

“He’s usually the life of the party,” I informed her, surprised by his sudden trepidation. “I’m sure he’ll come around soon. Shall we go find your cubby, Gray? You can show us where you get to keep all your stuff!”

Grayson peeked out and nodded his head before moving back just enough to take Chris’ hand. Relieved that he was looking a bit braver, Chris led him into the little room where each child had a spot for their things and looked around.

“Can you see your name?” Chris asked him. “Can you remember what letter it starts with?”

“It starts with ‘G’!” Grayson cheered. “It’s right there!”

He pointed to a spot in the corner that he correctly guessed to be his.

“Good job,” Chris smiled, following as Grayson pulled him towards it. “Can you put your inside shoes on by yourself or would you like some help?”

“I can do it,” Gray told us confidently as he slid off his backpack and unzipped it to pull out his shoes.

Once he was settled on the little bench, I picked up his bag to pull out his spare clothes and put them in the basket with his name on it before putting his lunch kit on the shelf. Chris squatted down, ready to help if needed, and once he was all changed and ready to play, we headed back out into the classroom. He dragged us over to a train set that was on a table in the corner and got Chris helping him build more of the track while he showed me all of the trains. 

“The blue one is my favourite,” a little voice informed us after we’d been playing for a few minutes. All of our heads turned, almost in unison, to see a little boy standing on the other side of the table. “His name is Thomas.”

“It is!” Grayson agreed. “And my name is Grayson.”

“My name’s Jake,” the little boy introduced himself. “Can I play too?”

Grayson nodded enthusiastically and held out the train he’d just been showing me.

“You can be Thomas!”

I smiled proudly at his willingness to include his new friend and we watched them play for a few minutes before I nudged Chris and pointed to the door. He nodded in agreement and turned to Grayson.

“Okay, Gray. Your Ma and I are gonna head home now,” he told him. “But we’ll be back later to pick you up, okay?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Grayson’s face fell and he frantically shook his head.

“No, Daddy, you have to stay!”

“We can’t stay, Gray,” I reminded him. “We’re too big for school, but you get to play with Jake and all your new friends.”

“I don’t want to,” he decided, putting down the train in his hand. “I want to go home too.”

“You have to stay, buddy,” Chris insisted as he stood up. “But we’ll be back really soon and you can tell us all about your day.”

Within an instant, Grayson burst into tears and threw his arms around me before I could stand up too.

“No, Mama, don’t leave me here!”

I sighed and held him tightly so I could lift him with me as I stood up, resting him on my hip. 

“What’s going on, Gray?” I asked. “You were so excited about starting school and you’ve already made a new friend.”

Poor Jake was watching us as he sat at the train table, looking slightly puzzled by Grayson’s behaviour.

“Do you wanna play with me?” He asked, but Grayson simply let out another wail and buried his head in my neck.

“Wow, I wasn’t expecting this at all,” Chris murmured to me over the sound of Grayson’s tears. “Should we take him home?”

“No, he’ll be totally fine once he settles in,” I insisted to him quietly before talking to Grayson as well. “I know it’s scary doing something new, but you’re going to have so much fun today and we’ll be back so soon.”

“No,” he cried. “Don’t go!”

“Why don’t we stay for a few more minutes?” Chris suggested, looking close to tears himself. 

I somewhat reluctantly nodded my head - as I knew that really, a few minutes probably wouldn’t make much difference - and we all settled back on the floor. Jake seemed relieved that his new friend wasn’t going to leave as he passed Grayson back the train he’d been playing with moments before and the pair of them went right back to what they’d been doing as Grayson fought to control his sniffles. 

We played with them for almost ten more minutes - by which point Grayson had completely calmed down - before we made another attempt to leave, but again, Grayson instantly burst into tears and clung to my legs like he would never see me again if he let go.

“Grayson, you’re going to be totally fine,” I insisted. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“No, Mama, don’t leave,” he sobbed. “Daddy, I wanna go home.”

I could practically hear Chris’ heart crack in his chest at the sound of Grayson’s desperate plea, but I knew that the best thing would be for him to stay so I held firm despite my own growing heartache about leaving.

“You’re going to have so much fun, I promise.”

He protested again, but to my relief, one of the teachers came over to see what all the fuss was about.

“He’s been so excited all day,” Chris fretted. “I don’t know why he’s suddenly so scared.”

“It’s totally normal,” she assured us. “It’s hard to say goodbye on the first day, but we’ve got lots of really great things planned for today. I was even going to read a dinosaur story later.”

That got Grayson’s attention and I was grateful that she’d remembered that we’d mentioned his love of dinosaurs when we visited.

“You are?”

His little voice was timid and hesitant, but the tears seemed to have momentarily stopped and I was relieved.

“I am,” Sandra nodded. “Would you and Jake like to come and see which one?”

Grayson nodded his head and reluctantly stepped away from me.

“That’s pretty cool,” I told him as I squatted down to his level. “You can go with Sandra and check out the book and then when Daddy and I come back, you can tell us all about it, okay?”

His lip quivered, but he nodded his head and I felt a wave of pride at how brave he was being despite how nervous he clearly was.

“Great, I can’t wait to hear all about it,” I smiled. “Can I have a hug?”

He nodded again and threw his arms around me before pulling away and racing over to hug Chris as well. Once we’d said our goodbyes, he took Sandra’s hand and let her lead him over to their library area as we scurried out the door.

It wasn’t until we got out to the parking lot that I heard a sniffle coming from Chris. I stopped walking and grabbed his hand, tugging enough to get him to turn and face me.

“Are you crying?” I asked as I took my mask off. He shrugged as he did the same, but I could see how glassy his eyes were. “Awe, Chris! He’s going to be totally fine. It’s only four hours.”

“I know, I know,” he nodded. “It’s just fuckin’ heart breakin’ when he’s crying and begging us not to go.”

I smiled and pulled him into a hug, feeling him instantly squeeze me tightly against him.

“I know, but it’s not surprising considering the stories your mom always tells about you crying hysterically every time you started school.”

“That’s true,” Chris chuckled. “I think I owe her an apology for putting her through that because man, this is fuckin’ rough.”

I stayed in his arms for a moment longer before I remembered that there was something we needed to do while Grayson was at preschool. I’d made the decision earlier that morning, but had been too distracted by all the excitement and forgot to loop Chris in.

“Well, I have something to distract you,” I told him, feeling butterflies of anticipation in my stomach as I pulled back enough to look up at his face. “My period is late. Only a couple of days, but I think we should probably go buy a pregnancy test.”

The smile that appeared on Chris’ face was heartwarming. He was instantly grinning from ear to ear as if any guilt he felt about leaving Gray was apparently pushed from his mind.

“Really? Do you think you’re pregnant?”

“I think I might be,” I nodded with a smile. “My period is usually pretty reliable, but I have been kinda stressed about Gray starting school so that could be why it’s late. I don’t feel any different other than my boobs being kinda sore, but I didn’t really have any pregnancy symptoms with Gray straight away either so it’s hard to tell for sure.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Chris asked, reaching to take my hand before tugging me towards the car. “Let’s go!”

I laughed and hurried to follow him, feeling the same bubbling excitement myself.

-

Peeing on a stick was always an uncomfortable thing. Even more so when there was a grown man, a few steps away, staring at me and willing that stick to provide a certain result. 

“Chris, I can’t pee with you watching me like that.”

“Why not?” He asked. “You’ve peed in front of me before.”

“I know that, but you’re putting a lot of pressure on me and it’s making it hard to relax.”

“Okay,” he shrugged. “What if I turn around?”

He turned to face the wall and I laughed.

“Chris, no! Just wait in the bedroom. It takes three minutes for the results anyway, I promise you won’t miss anything.”

He sighed dramatically, but did as I asked and slipped out the door. Once he was gone, I was able to relax and do what I needed to do before sorting myself out, grabbing the test off the counter and going out to meet Chris. He was pacing around the room when I walked in and I smiled at the sight.

“Are you nervous?”

My question alerted him to my presence, but he shook his head.

“I’m excited,” he insisted. “I have a good feeling about this.”

“Me too,” I smiled, but after a moment of thought I made another confession. “But I’m scared too. I’m scared that it won’t be positive, but I’m also kinda scared that it will be.”

That got Chris’ attention and he paced over to the bed where he sat down and patted the spot next to him. I took the hint and sat beside him.

“Why does it scare you?”

“Because it’s a big thing,” I admitted. “I’m excited to have another baby, but it’ll be a big change for Grayson and I’m worried that we won’t be able to juggle him and a newborn and they’ll both end up disappointed in us.”

“I know what you mean, but I have no doubt that we can do this,” he told me, his confident tone putting me at ease as he took my hand in his. “I’m sure there’ll be an adjustment period, but Grayson will be an amazing big brother and we’ll make it work.”

“I know,” I nodded before leaning my head on his shoulder. “It’s just that it’s been just the three of us for so long, it’s hard to imagine another little person joining the group.”

“It is kinda hard to imagine,” Chris agreed. “But once we get used to it, it’ll be amazing.”

I took a moment to mull over his words before a smile slid onto my face.

“I think you’re right,” I decided, stretching up to place a kiss on his cheek before sending my gaze down to the test in my hand. “And I seriously hope you are.”

Chris looked down, his eyes widening with a hopeful light in them.

“What?”

I held out the test, a grin sliding onto my face.

“It’s positive, Chris,” I told him. “I’m pregnant.”

Chris glanced at the test in my hand before springing up from the bed with a cheer of joy and excitement. I barely had time to put the test down before he pulled me to my feet and wrapped his arms around me and I couldn’t help, but laugh as he showered me with kisses and gratitude as if I had any more to do with our latest accomplishment than he did.

It was a nerve wracking thing despite the fact that we had planned it, but Chris’ overwhelming glee and enthusiasm was quickly pushing all doubts from my mind. We wanted this - I wanted this - and as Chris leaned back to place his hands on my still flat stomach, I knew that we had more than enough love in our little family to share with the new little baby we’d soon be welcoming and any other babies we chose to have in the future.

-

Tags:  @maggotzombie​ @moonlacebeam​ @mizzzpink​ @zaylaugh @flowery-mess​ @flowerjewels​ @njrronaldo7​ @hockeychick10​ @partypoison00​ @theladybiers​ @sidepieces​ @firoozehmoon @patzammit​ @sparkledfirecracker​ @mytbel0st​ @chvntelle-99 @mjey12​ @denisemarieangelina​ @elrw24​ @findthebeautyinbreakdowns​ @trottae17​

[supercorpkid]

Rescue Mission – Suicide Mission.

Part 4 - Not a fair fight.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader, Alex Danvers x Niece!Reader, Brainy x Reader, Eliza Danvers x Granddaughter!Reader.

Word count: 2480.

Warnings: Injuries. Pain. Angst. Some graphic fight scenes I guess.

Previously on the series - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Whatever it cost.

Your life has been put at stake before. You almost died three or four times. Honestly, too much for a 16-year-old-girl. But this. This is different. There’s no aunt Alex to call for help, no Supergirl coming in to help you pick up the pieces. No Lena waiting for you at home with comfort hugs and donuts.

You land on the DEO, shaking. You thought about not coming the entire way here. What if you just wait until Supergirl wakes up so she can help? Would it be that bad?

“Brainy!” You call him, and he turns around to you. Tablet in hands, still monitoring the shapeshifters. “Can we wait until my momma wakes up? Then we can go for them. I mean, I didn’t see much damage around the city so-”

“We can’t.” He stops you.

“Why? Honestly, we both know I’m no match for a shapeshifter.” You say, and Brainy looks up from his tablet.

“Oh.” He smiles a little. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

“I’m sorry?” But it doesn’t take long until you tie all the knots. Of course. Of course you couldn’t trust anybody!

Brainy turns into Supergirl right in front of your eyes, and hits you with a blow of freeze breath that throws you back down. You fall, all fours, and look up to the shapeshifter in front of you.

“You are definitely not a match for us.” It presses something in the tablet and soon you hear a woosh of air coming from containment and landing a punch on your face.

Shit! Fuck! Damn it!

It played you just right! Made you believe that you could trust ‘Brainy’ because he found your family, and imprisoned one of the shapeshifters, but it was obviously just a plan. Now both are here in front of you, and if one was already hard enough, two looks impossible to beat.

You get up and fly out of the DEO. First superhero rule: if possible, take the fight to where no civilians can get hurt, so you will have less casualties. In this case, maybe just yours is enough.

The other two Supergirls fly right behind you. You feel one of them grabbing your feet and tossing you back to the ground. You fly up less than a palm before your body hits the concrete. You keep flying farther away from the city, but it’s forced to stop sooner than you would like.

One of the Supergirls punches you down, and you feel your body smashing against a boulder in the desert, making a hole on the hard rock. Dust rises up and around you. You cough, getting up from the hole and you look at both aliens in front of you, using your momma’s pretty face. You can’t win. You wouldn’t be able to win even if you were up against just one Supergirl, let alone two. You breathe deep. You were right. Two Kryptonians are better than one. You just wish this advantage were to your side.

“So, it was you all along.” You yell from a distance.

“I told you not to trust anyone.” You hear Kara’s voice and your heart beats faster. “But I suppose you are just a kid.”

“I am.” You agree with your head, taking a deep breath. “But I am her kid!”

You fly towards them, punching one in the face, making it fall in the hard rock, like you did, breaking it off in the process. But you won’t give it a chance of recovery. You fly down, settling on top of its body. Kara’s body.

“You don’t deserve this face!” You say, giving it another punch. “You don’t deserve these powers!” Another one. “You don’t deserve to wear this crest on your chest!” It’s where you punch after and you watch the alien losing its breath, looking as beat up as you found your momma. You raise your fist again, ready to end it, and feel the other alien grabbing your hand.

“What makes you think you do?” It says, flying high with you, while you try to untangle yourself from its firm grip. When you look up again, it has changed its form. You’re face to face with yourself.

“I’m not a phony!” You twist around, and it drops your hand, kicking you in the chest instead. You fly far away, trying to regain your breath. “But now it’s a fair fight.”

“Is it?” It asks, tilting its head at you. You look at your face staring at yourself on the other side and smile. Yes. Now it’s a fair fight. You know your strengths, and you know your weaknesses. And you have so many of them.

It flies closed fist at you, but you saw it coming, it’s always your first move. You fly out of the way, hitting its back with your heat vision, making it fall on the ground, raising up dirt all around it.

“You can’t win.” Supergirl gets up from the hole it was in. Oh, come on, it was almost gone. You use your heat vision again, but it’s met in the middle with its own heat vision. Shit, this is useless. Fighting Kryptonians it’s a fucking hell.

The other alien rises from the ground, and you see yourself between both of them. You don’t have a lot of options, it’s clear to you. You can run, but where to? You can buy yourself time, but for what? Help isn’t coming, you know that.

“We shouldn’t both waste our time with this kid.” Fake Supergirl says, almost ignoring your presence right there between them. “You know where she took them. Go get them.”

Breath stops midway. Heart stops mid beat. Time slows at its own accord.

No. Not them. Not your family.

“Oh yes, we should thank you, by the way.” The other Superkid flies to Supergirl’ side, and your eyes are filled with tears with the sight of that. You wanted that. You wanted a Superkid and Supergirl team-up. Instead, two monsters are using your faces, bodies and powers. They don’t seem to acknowledge your discomfort with the scene, as they go on.

“Getting the whole family together in one place. You just made our job a lot easier. Now we can kill Supergirl and everyone she loves in just one blow. And you? You’ll be alive to see it all going down with your help.”

You swallow hard knowing they are right. You helped. You thought you were the one doing the saving, but they were letting you. They were playing you, so you can do the job for them and that’s why it felt so easy. That’s why you encountered almost no resistance; it was all for this moment right here.

It’s your fault Lena has no memories. It’s your fault Jamie was taken. It’s your fault Supergirl is not here defending the city and the family. And now it will be your fault they’ll kill all your family in one blow.

You feel something burning inside of you. It’s not anger, it’s not sadness. It’s a mix of all the feelings you once had. It’s the slow burn of love, and the heavy taste of hate on your mouth. It’s the bittersweetness of having such a strong and rotten last name, and the wonderfulness of being a part of this family. It’s the cautiousness of hiding your powers, and the relentless yearn of letting go and bursting into flames, destroying everything and everyone on your way. But most of all, it’s that moment where ‘you should do better’ kicks the ‘you’re doing great’ to the side of the curbs and takes a hold on you.

You could even try to hold this feeling inside you, but you know better. This is the time to stop thinking, stop using your powers, and let them use you instead.

“Don’t thank me just yet.” You say with a little smile playing on your lips.

Fighting two of them was never going to be a fair fight and you know it. Even with you letting your powers take over you, even after beating them, even with this faintest feeling that you might -just might- pull this off because you’re fighting for the right reasons.

It doesn’t take long until you find yourself trapped under both getting punches after punches. The taste of blood is strong on your mouth. You know you’re going to lose. You’re minutes away from blacking out.

You have been beaten down before. By red kryptonite Kara, by villains using green kryptonite against you, by aliens from another dimension, by your own fears and your anxiety. You were once beaten down to the point of suffocation. You were once covered in your own blood and vomit. For time and time again, you thought you were going to die. Once you even prayed that you would.

This moment right here, feels like another one of those. You can feel it. When they’re beating you down so hard your blood is the one splashing on their faces, when you slowly feel yourself losing consciousness. When the last thing you see before your mind goes totally blank is Lena’s eyes and Kara’ smile. Maybe this is the last time you feel you are going to die. Maybe this time you’re actually dying.

And you know what comes next. They’ll go to the Fortress. March in there using your face. It’s your face your family is going to see blowing up the entire place. And when they realize it’s not you, it will be too late, they will be doomed. Your whole family will be destroyed like they promised in the message.

You won’t accept it. You may die, but your family won’t.

You untangle yourself from them. Grab Supergirl’s cape -capes are lame, you still remember that- and fly up. Up. Up. Up. The other shapeshifter follows you, trying to catch you before you do what they understand now it’s going to happen.

“If you do this, you will die!” You hear Kara’s voice. But it’s not her, and you know your Kara would do anything to protect her family. Anything.

“I don’t care if it kills me. All I care about is taking you down with me!” You say and you reach the exact point. You know if you keep going, you’ll be too far gone. You almost died in outer space once. You don’t know exactly how you survived, but you know this time you can’t pull it off again.

You hold Supergirl’s cape stronger and spin it around. You see the shapeshifter trying to change its form, but it’s too late. You toss it into space and look down to the other one.

“Two Superkids dying in outer space together is almost… Poetic.” You fly towards the other shapeshifter, the one with your face.

“You don’t want to do this.” It says, staring at you, like it's looking at your soul.

“You’re right, I don’t.” You grab its throat and look up. “But it’s whatever it costs!”

Up. Up. Up.

No air left in your lungs, no other thought except that this is the right thing. Dying was never going to feel right but dying for your family, it’s the closest you could ever feel to death being right.

The other you are now transformed back into its ugly alien form, turning blue. They’re gone. It’s over.

You close your eyes feeling light-headed and you feel like crying. It doesn’t matter if it’s the right thing or if it’s for your family, you still don’t want to die, and you’ll still miss them.

You know this won’t matter. But maybe, just maybe, the watch will send them a signal and Kara will come for your body when she wakes up. That way they can mourn you properly. All of them, but Lena since she doesn’t even remember you anymore. At least she won’t suffer, you think. You press the emergency watch. And you’re out.

“Will you please stop going to outer space?” You hear softly in your ear, and you open your eyes trying to focus them on what is before you. Blonde locks flying in the wind, a perfect baby blue sky over you, and that warm smile only one person in this universe has. “I’ve got you, little one. You’ve got me before; I’ve got you now.”

You smile. And before passing out again you think that you have to stop almost dying. It’s starting to get truly exhausting.

You open your eyes, looking around to make sure you actually didn’t die. It’s stupid, you know, but still you find it’s hard to believe you pulled it off. Somehow you pulled it off.

Alex is in the bed next to you, awake, finally. Brainy is also in a bed, the real one that was probably hurt by the shapeshifters so one of them could take his place. Kara is pacing around nervously, and the rest of the family are also in the infirmary, creeping around the sick ones.

“You fucking dipshit!” Jamie slaps your arm, and you almost feel the sting. “I told you to come back. You promised you would come back whatever it costs!”

“Well… I’m here.” You give her a little smile and she rolls her eyes, full of tears. Next thing you know, she is hugging you tight, and sobbing on your suit.

“I hate you.” She whispers in your ear, and you smile, while the whole family looks at both of you. “I hate you and your hero complex.”

“I love you too.” You smile and she lets go of you with a smile. Kara is the next one to throw her arms around you and kiss your temple.

“You’re the best superhero in this town.” She says, and you almost believe her. Almost.

“Mom.” You let go of Kara and look around in the room. “Where is she?”

They all stare at you blankly. No one says a thing.

“Where is Lena?” You demand, and Kara drops her head low and lets out a sigh.

“We’re gonna get her back, kid.” Her hand cups your face, and she strokes your cheek. You see the pain in her eyes, and you feel tears forming on yours. “One thing at a time.”

Your heart squeezes on your chest, and you forget about the fact that you were probably actually dead for at least a minute, not long ago. This doesn’t seem remotely important, as Lena not having her memories and not knowing who you are right now. You almost died, and your mom is not here to hold you gently and say, ‘you’re ok babygirl’.

Kara seems to be able to read your mind, like Lena usually does, when she puts her hand on your knee and gives it a gentle and assuring squeeze. “One thing at a time, baby.”

[stuckwith-harry]

A/N: Listen, babes, I was straight up not planning on putting out fic this year, but a series of well-timed little accidents and a very sweet groupchat resulted in this flirty little guy. While I’m sorting out my organisational crisis over on Ao3, I’ll put it here, and now I will go and agonise over the 23 other writing projects on my desk, cool? Cool. I’ve no real content warnings, it’s only banter, although the banter is not what the kids might call family-friendly.

look at what a heart can do / i’m starting to get to you

Silence has begun to come easily.

They’ve opened the window over Ginny’s bed, and cool late-summer air comes spilling in like handfuls of water, moving through the loose shirt she’s slipped into. She’s sitting cross-legged on her mattress, her back to the window, her knees bumping into Harry’s legs, her fingers drumming on his knee in a slow, tipsy rhythm, lilting and lazy like the pitter-patter on her windowpane. Afterwards, she can’t say whether a few minutes or an hour passed this way, only that it was time spent simply sitting and breathing and shifting beside each other, exchanging glances like secret handshakes, knowing grins.

Harry is flipping through the Quidditch magazine that usually resides on Ginny’s nightstand, his thumb absent-mindedly scratching at his bottom lip, his bare back leaning against her headboard. His face is softer without his glasses – like she’s catching him asleep – and still covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Every once in a while, he turns the journal over to point something out to her, like –

“Look at this one.”

So Ginny leans over the open page and peers at the model he’s indicating. “D’you think it’s weird that they’ve got it listed as a Chaser broom?”, she asks quietly, meeting his eye. “Sure, it’s speedy, but look at the inertia, that’s a better fit for a –”

“Beater”, they say in unison, grinning, and settle back into silence. Outside, the night is complete and starlit, the rain showers are warm and brief, and time is passing at a languid pace, not in any hurry to end.

Ginny finally gives up on her novel after she makes it to the bottom of the page for the third time in a row without any of it sticking, resigning herself to the fact that her thoughts are elsewhere. More precisely, they’re stretched out next to her in a pair of boxershorts, squinting at a line-up of the most anticipated broomstick releases of September 1998.

She rests her chin on her hand, her elbow on her knee, quietly looking over at him. His hair, she thinks. His hair is impossible.

He notices.

“What?”, he says softly, gazing back.

Ginny hums. “I have a question.”

Harry raises an eyebrow.

“Was tonight the first time you did … that?”, she asks.

He suddenly takes great interest in the pattern of Ginny’s quilt, picking at a piece of lint she’s pretty sure is imaginary. She thinks she can see a flush creeping up his neck, too.

“Which part?”, he asks, then, making a face: “Pretend I didn’t say that. The answer’s yes either way – yeah. Yes. I figured it was fairly obvious.”

“It wasn’t, actually”, Ginny says, “that’s why I was curious.”

This does nothing to lessen the way his face is heating up, but with the way he’s grinning to himself, she decides she needn’t feel too sorry for him. “I’m gonna … take that as a compliment, then.”

Ginny grins back. “Oh, you should. It is.”

He clears his throat, not quite meeting her eye. “Have … you?”

She shakes her head, shrugging.

“Huh.”

She squints, smile intact. “Surprised, are you?”

His face hovers in a place between trepidation and something that looks a little like bashfulness, but isn’t. It’s funny, she thinks, he should look bashful. Not very long ago, he would have, but now … she turns her head, searching his features. There’s newness in every slight movement of his mouth. In the intensity with which he looks at her.

“No – and it wouldn’t matter”, he starts, with that bout of sincerity he gets on occasion that makes Ginny weak in the knees. “You just, uhm …”

Ah, she thinks, there is it. Bashfulness in heaps.

“You were good at it”, he says, sounding breathless.,

“Well, thanks”, she says, feeling inexplicably warm. “So were you.”

He squints at her, then looks back at Broomsticks Monthly. “Alright, try not to sound too surprised.”

“I’m not surprised you’re good at it!”, she laughs. “I just wasn’t expecting to, ah – score a goal – the first time we did that.”

Harry peers up at her, the colour of his face roughly resembling their old Gryffindor Quidditch uniforms. Ginny wiggles an eyebrow.

“When would I ever have – who would I have done anything with?”

“You’re telling me you and Cho never reconnected in an abandoned broom closet after things went downhill?”

He seems simply stunned at the idea. “No. Definitely not.”

“It’s not a ridiculous assumption”, Ginny says, amused.

“Her and I only – come to think of it, I’m pretty sure we only kissed the one time. And she was – well, sad all the time, wasn’t she, and I was –”

“Seething all the time”, she says cheerfully. “Fair enough.”

He gazes back at her, visibly mulling something over.

“You and Dean never did anything?”

Ginny throws a pillow at him.

Harry catches.

“You needled me too!”

Which Ginny, unfortunately, cannot argue with.

“No, we really didn’t.” She watches his face for a reaction, for a hint of relief, or smugness maybe, but to his credit, there is none. “I think he wanted to, though.”

Harry makes a face.

“Alright, relax”, she grins. “I’d spare you the details, but there quite literally aren’t any.”

He slouches back, propped up on one elbow buried deep in her pillow, the deep orange glow from the lamp on her nightstand casting his face in soft shadows, in warm hues. Ginny continues to watch him. He’s squinting into Broomsticks Monthly again, but his eyes are not moving along the page, so she knows he noticed.

After a moment, he sighs.

“You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

Ginny merely hums in response, and it dissolves into ripples of soft laughter at his expression. There it is again. That newness in his face.

“You … made it pretty easy.”

“Hm?”

“Your face”, he says finally, with a quiet rasp in his voice that tugs pleasantly at Ginny’s insides, “is … extremely readable. It wasn’t that hard to figure out what was … working for you.”

Ginny stares at him, stunned, and he at least has the good sense to look a little abashed.

“Your face is extremely readable”, she mutters.

Harry grins. “It’s not a bad thing, it’s a good thing.”

“No, I mean it”, she says, throwing her head back, peering down at him with a grin. “You were pretty readable too. Very transparent.”

“I’m just saying, it wasn’t all me.”

In the moment’s silence that follows, while they effortlessly reassemble their limbs, Ginny’s eyes come to linger on the long-abandoned camp bed on the floor beside her bed, whose only function now is to keep up the ruse for her parents’ sake. She grins: he’s been sleeping in her bed since he came to stay in her room instead of Ron’s.

They’ve been sleeping with each other for almost a week.

“You make that easy”, she tells him lightly. She makes a purposeless dog-ear in her book, shuffling around on her mattress, her body bumping into his with such ease she might as well have never known anything else.  “Maybe it’s not … entirely accidental. It’s easy with you.”

She hears his slow exhale, watches the way his grin softens into a smile. Even under the loose-fitting shirt, she feels herself growing warm, even though it falls off her shoulders like a circus tent, the shoulder seams comically misplaced on her upper arms.

It’s as good a moment as any to remember that the t-shirt is Harry’s, technically. It makes her feel naked in a wholly new way; only she realises she doesn’t mind. 

She lets out a fluttering breath. “Interesting. I’m usually the one making you blush.”

“Well”, he says softly, “it looks good on you.”

It’s unclear if he’s talking about his t-shirt or the colour of her face, and it doesn’t matter much, it makes warmth pool in Ginny’s belly all the same. For a moment there, she’s the girl with her elbow in the butter dish all over again – if nothing else, she can imagine their faces glowing in identical shades of pink, bright like the carnations growing in the flower boxes on the Burrow’s windowsills.

What never presents itself – what doesn’t come back – is the urge to hastily pull back into her shell, like a little snail prodded by an overzealous finger. So he continues to look, and she continues to let him, the fluttering in her belly light and pleasant like the first sip of a fizzy drink.

That much is new.