#it is also perfectly normal for a kid... well anyone really but extra for kid.. to not always be able to control their emotions

[hellfirenacht]

Anomaly Chapter 8

Fic Summary: You can talk to anyone in school with no problem. At least, anyone who’s not named Eddie Munson.

Chapter Summary: Eddie tries to make a connection, but unfortunately he is Eddie Munson

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, one-sided enemies to lovers, one-sided pining, miscommunication trope, anxious-ish!Reader, fem!Reader, Reader is not described, no use of Rachel, Rise of Hellfire characters

Word Count: 4.5k words

Authors Notes: Okay, this chapter is all over the place and I'm sorry about that. I re-wrote this a few times and I'm still not happy with it but it gets us where we need to go, like a sketchy gas station. Also this is ANGST.

Master List

Eddie felt confident about three things about himself; he knew he was a good Dungeon Master, he knew that he was skilled on guitar, and finally he was able to get a fairly good read on people if they could talk to him like a normal person for three fucking minutes.

That third thing was very helpful with the first. By knowing his players and how they worked and what made them tick, he was able to craft amazing stories that were satisfying to his players and their characters. 

It was also helpful when Eddie was earning his extra money on the side. Knowing who was genuinely safe to sell to was important when it seemed like everyone and their mother had a target on his back for no good reason. Stacy had been safe to sell to with her no-bullshit approach. The art kids were a safe bet in most cases when they needed to be “inspired”. And Chrissy Cunningham... well, he gave that shot but she never showed up. 

You had talked to him as a person the day that the two of you had snuck off for a smoke break when you were supposed to be calling businesses. You made small talk with him about his club. In those moments you treated him like an actual person, and he thought that maybe he had been wrong about you. 

And then he walked into school and saw you talking to Stacy. You looked pissed and Eddie, being the virtuous man he was in a small town, decided to eavesdrop on the conversion. 

“What’s your problem this morning?” Stacy laughed as you rummaged through your locker as best you could with one hand. 

“Eddie. Eddie is my problem. He’s always my problem.” You groaned. “I’d be perfectly fine and dandy otherwise.” 

Right, of course. You were just humoring him these past few days. Eddie always thought that you wore your emotions on your sleeve like he did. You had shown your dislike, but he thought you would have calmed down after the time you had spent together. 

Eddie kept listening though, because he wasn’t about to be that dipshit that heard something out of context just to misinterpret it. Maybe you weren’t talking about him. Maybe there was another Eddie he didn’t know. Hell, maybe you had a personal grudge against Van Halen. He’d have to judge your taste, but at least it wouldn’t be about him.

Why did he care so much?

“I’m really just exhausted.” You sighed. “I’m feeling too much at once lately, and all I want is a normal boring day. Between the wrist, my grades, Benson, and the whole Eddie thing- I’m just about running on fumes.” 

The whole Eddie thing. So there was a thing with him. Was he why you were exhausted? No, you just said it was more than him. Eddie found himself hoping that he was closer to the bottom of the list. 

The two of you had, what he had thought, was a really pleasant conversation when the two of you hung out behind the school. You had listened to him talk about his hobby, you two had discussed the alignments of water fowl. Eddie thought that things were going to be more amicable between the two of you. 

Guess not. 

Eddie moved away before he was caught eavesdropping. 

He tried to shake it off. It’s not like this was unusual; Eddie was used to people (usually his customers) playing nice in private and then ignoring his existence once back in society. 

It just didn’t make any fucking sense to him, no matter how he turned it in his mind. Those people never listened to him ramble about his game, let alone remember enough details to bring up so naturally with him. 

The whole Eddie thing. The conversation between you and Stacy shifted to other things and Eddie walked away. He’d rather you just come out and tell him what was wrong rather than just seeth at him from a distance. Everyone else in this shithole had the decency to make it clear what about him they didn’t like. And what a list there was! His hair, his clothes, his music, his grades, his speeches, his outspokenness, the way he’d lean into being a Satan Spawn to piss everyone off even though it was a load of bull- there was a long list that you could pick from!

If anyone had to make a guess, it was probably because you were so quiet about your dislike that pissed him off. If you would have just given him any of the reasons you didn’t like him then he could shrug it off and move on. Eddie wasn’t as self-aware as he would assume he was in this situation, and so your continuous ire irritated him to no end like a scratchy tag on a new t-shirt. It was always just barely there, no matter how much he wanted to ignore it. 

All he needed was one reason to drop it and to just carry on. And so, at the end of Benson’s class he offered to carry your books for you again and escort you to the cafeteria. You had gaped at him for a moment, probably for continuous nerve he had to speak to you when others were around, but accepted his help. 

The small talk was nothing to write home about; the test, Spring Day, your “extra credit”, and of course the infamous Pep Rally Incident. 

“You looked like you would have been anywhere else during the pep rally.” you had said. 

“I tried to skip, but I got caught.” Eddie had been skipping pep rallies for so long, and no one had ever given a shit before. In his humble opinion, they should be begging him to stay a thousand feet away from the gym at all times, lest his lack of school spirit affect and disillusion his fellow classmates. 

“Try breaking your wrist next time. It got me out of it.” Eddie hated that you amused him. Why were moments like this so easy, but you always looked at him so intensely? What was The whole Eddie thing?  

“You broke your wrist trying to apologize, I wouldn’t apologize to anyone in this shithole.” Eddie said without thinking. He’d be willing to apologize if he was wrong, being no stranger to humble pie as one Ronnie Ecker would know. Other than that one summer of groveling so that he wouldn’t lose his best friend, there was no one at Hawkins Hell that was worthy of his forgiveness. 

“Not even your friends?” 

“If I had an issue with one of my friends we’d talk about it.” Eddie looked at you, hoping that you’d get the hint. He just needed one reason, a single reason why you didn’t like him so that he could file you away with all the other people in this town. 

He tried to pinpoint the expression on your face. Surprise, or maybe embarrassment for being called out? Whatever it was, Eddie had struck a nerve and he knew it. 

Stacy, the busybody, interjected before you could say anything and promptly shoo’d him away when he declined to join them. 

The rest of the school day went by as usual. He did get caught trying to skip last period but as he was already serving Benson after school, he was let off with a warning this time. Eddie was beginning to suspect that the teachers here were growing bored of targeting him, especially with graduation looming over the horizon.

Eddie pushed aside his pride as he pulled your desk towards his as the two of you worked on the test. He tried to ignore your presence, pretending he was a wizard deep in study as the two of you poured over the books. He tried to imagine you as a toad, but your hair looked (and smelled) too nice for that. A cat would have to do. Eddie wasn’t particularly fond of cats, but they always seemed to like him better than anyone. 

With the test turned in, and with his dismissal, Eddie booked it out of the classroom with you not too far behind. He made sure to give you the slip, not wanting to be more of a thing than necessary. 

Outside, it was pouring rain and he was parked on the far side of the parking lot and he really wasn’t in the mood to get drenched or struck by lightning. So he figured he could dick around school while teachers and clubs continued their more voluntary after school activities save for the detention room where Eddie passed by and waved with a wiggle of his fingers to the teacher. 

He supposed it would have been too much to ask that the rest of his day could go by without incident. 

“Forget about the freaks, I need your help!”

What the fuck had that been about? Everything had happened so fast, he barely had time to register it until him and Dustin had been out of Danny’s sight. The cause of the fight didn’t matter, Danny had probably said something stupid and Dustin had said something too smart for his own good and Eddie had shown up seconds after Dustin had been slammed into a locker. 

It had been a while since someone had picked on his friends. Eddie had made a point to be such a spectacle that the worst that they could expect most of the time was a snide remark or a look. No one wanted to fight someone who they thought was genuinely out of his mind. 

The incident would have been unremarkable if you hadn’t shown up, drenched to the bone and screaming about homework. You looked almost as insane as he had felt. Was that your way of trying to help, or were you that shook up about your school work that you demanded help from someone who had probably never even opened a book before? 

“That’s the girl that keeps staring at you.” Dustin said, once they were out of the way. “Guess she saved our asses.”

“Right. Saved.” Eddie said, not fully convinced. He had met a lot of people in this small town, but none of them were as confusing as you. 

Once Dustin was safely in his mom’s car, Eddie ran through the rain to get into his van where he cranked up the stereo as loud as it could, hoping to drown out his thoughts. If that didn’t work then a sample of his stash at home would. 

---

Eddie would know Kenny’s copy of The Shady Dragon Inn anywhere. The edges were singed from the time the original dungeon master decided it would look cool to set the front cover on fire a little to give it the feel of having been burned by a dragon. There were tears and creases and notes all over the pages from past campaigns, and it filled Eddie with nostalgia for his first party with Kenny and Ronnie and the others. 

This module was less of an adventure and more of a guide for DMs to create NPCs with a few pre-generated ones, as well as a layout for the titular Inn. Eddie would never admit it, but creating NPCs could feel monotonous and was his least favorite part of creating his campaigns. He’d rather be designing villains and crafting dungeons and puzzles and monsters. Besides, there were a few in here that Kenny had used before that he thought would work for the next adventure. 

The last time he had seen this book it had been sitting on the dining room table at Kenny’s place over winter break when they had met up to shoot the shit. So how was it now sitting on his desk in the middle of school? Eddie doubted that his kid brother knew his schedule well enough to plant the book and he had thought Kenny would be showing up this week for Hellfire just to say hi. 

Forgot to give this to you yesterday. 

The sticky note that was slapped onto the front cover wasn’t signed, but Eddie had seen enough of your handwriting the other day to know it was yours. How the hell had you got your hands on this?

Every time Eddie thought he was going to leave you alone, you pulled him back in. 

This time, when he offered to carry your books, you didn’t stare at him so dumbfoundedly. You just nodded, and kept your head down at the floor as you two walked. 

“Where’d you get this?” Eddie asked, holding up the module. 

“I met your friend while talking to Zack.” you said, looking like you had personal beef with the linoleum. “He wanted to drop it off to you and I said I could hand it over. Then you ran off before I could.”

It was as good a reason as any. 

“You didn’t read any of it, did you?” Eddie asked, his voice overly suspicious for dramatic effect. “It’s full of dark magic and satanic spells. Really intense stuff.” 

“I opened it out of curiosity and my wrist started hurting again.” your voice was deadpan. “I told my mother and she took me to a priest who immediately performed an exorcism. I am no longer allowed to have pea soup.” 

Eddie laughed, genuinely laughed harder than he meant to. He threw his head back like a little kid, and the sound of his mirth echoed through the hallways and forgot that he didn’t know what your deal was with him. In a moment like this he could pretend that you two could have been friends. 

For a second, he wished you two were, unknowing in that moment you were wishing for the same thing. 

“I didn’t read it.” you lied after his laughter had died down. You juggled your books as you swapped them out at your locker and grabbed your lunch box. Eddie would never know that you had rushed your math homework this morning at school before handing off a copy to Danny, as you had stayed up far too late reading the module and taking notes. 

“Good, I’d hate to be the one to corrupt your pure soul.” Eddie said, which made you snort loudly in turn. 

“Good, because I’m saving that for someone special.” you said, looking at him for a moment before realizing you were mad at the dirty floor and looking away. You were quiet for a few seconds, and Eddie was about to say something before you spoke up again. “Sorry about yesterday. I panicked.” 

Once again, you were apologizing but he wasn’t sure what exactly for. Was it for calling him and Dustin freaks? Probably not, that was just true. 

“Guess you really needed that homework, huh?” Eddie asked. 

You just shrugged, with a nonchalance reminiscent of how he’d responded a few days ago when you were asking about where he lived. He knew a touchy subject when he saw it.

“He’s not hurt is he?” you asked. “Your friend, I mean. The freshman.” 

“Henderson? He’s fine. He’s a fighter.” Well, technically he was a bard which didn’t exactly have the best hit points. But the kid was scrappy, and had faced worse bully encounters. 

“That’s good.” you sighed. 

“He says you saved his ass.” Eddie said casually. “If you hadn’t shown up and freaked out things might have been ugly.” 

Your face scrunched up. “Well, glad I could help. Danny’s an idiot. It was a crap shoot if he even knew what the homework was.” 

Once again, Eddie delivered you to Stacy and declined her invitation to sit with them. For a moment, he considered taking up her offer just to see what you would do. He imagined the faces you’d make if he sat across from you and Stacy; if you had been that mad at the floor just from him walking next to you, then you’d probably end up burning a hole in your lunch by sitting with you. 

---

With the final bell of the day rung, Eddie found himself walking into Benson’s class with you as the last student staggered out. The two of you sat at the front desks, waiting for your marching orders. 

After a few minutes, Ms. Benson looked up at the two of you. “What are you two doing here?” she asked. 

Eddie looked at you, and then back to Ms. Benson. “We’re here to help with Spring Day?” It was more of a question than an answer. 

“Hm? Oh, no you’re not.” she said. “That’s what the Student Council is for.” 

This time you and Eddie looked at each other, and you spoke up. “But you said that if we helped you’d give us extra credit.” 

“No.” Ms. Benson said again. “That wouldn’t be allowed. I had you two come to do personal detention to make up work. That’s all. You two can go now.” 

“This was detention?” you asked. 

“Am I still banned from Spring Day?” Eddie added. “And what was all that work for anyway?” 

Ms. Benson sighed deeply and spoke slowly. “I would never have any of my students take over any part of planning a school event if they were not part of the student council. Even if I did I would never give them a task that I, myself, was given. You two are done. Go.”

Neither of you needed to be told twice. The two of you got up and left the room quickly, closing the door behind you. 

“....Did she just pawn her work onto us?” you asked, looking at him with so much confusion that your issues with him or the floor were ignored for the moment. 

“Yup.” Eddie said, shaking his head with a chuckle. 

You rubbed your face, looking out a deep sigh. “At least we did get some extra credit?” 

“Looks like I’m still banned from Spring Day.” 

“Is it really that fun anyway? None of the places we called seemed... fun.” you said. 

“It’s more fun than sitting in detention all day.” Eddie replied. “I was just gonna skip anyway.” 

“I guess we’re done then.” Did you sound disappointed? Must be his imagination. 

The two of you walked in silence to the parking lot. Eddie found himself unusually quiet, reflecting over the last few afternoons with you. He would be the first to deny it, but he was almost disappointed. When the two of you were alone, you were nice to be around. 

“Ah. Well, shit.” 

Eddie looked at you, and then followed your gaze to the parking lot where he saw Stacy riding off  with Chrissy Cunningham. 

“I take it that was your ride?” Eddie asked. 

“Not officially,” you sighed. “Thought I’d catch her before she left. I wouldn’t wanna be the third wheel anyway.” 

Third wheel? Chrissy’s sparkly signature on your cast didn’t give off ‘third wheel’ to him. 

Eddie considered leaving you here, you probably had a ride home with your parents later in the day. 

“Need a ride?” he asked, not knowing which answer he wanted from you. 

“I... really?” you looked up at him. “I’m in the opposite direction of Forest Hills.” 

It would be so easy to decline, rescind his offer. 

“I’m going that way anyway.” Eddie shrugged, lying through his teeth. “I need to swing by somewhere first anyway if you don’t mind.”

If he scrounged up some change, he could make a quick stop. 

“I’d honestly really appreciate it.” you said, sounding genuine. “I don’t mind if you need to stop somewhere. I’d rather be anywhere else right now.”

Taking to heart that you meant the school and not his presence, he led you to his van. He strode forwards faster, using the distance to shove some things into the back seat as quickly as possible so that there was room for you. His van was messier than usual, it usually was in the colder months and he’d been telling himself for weeks that he’d clean it soon. 

You didn’t say a word or make a face as you hopped into the passenger side seat. Eddie’s van made a startling noise before coming to life and you winced as his radio blasted music on max volume. 

Eddie quickly scrambled to turn it down to a level more reasonable for normal ears, and you relaxed a little. 

“What are we listening to?” you asked, glancing down at the small stack of tapes on his center console. 

“It’s a mix tape I’m working on for Dustin.” Eddie said. “Only the first side is done.” 

“The freshman from the other day?”

“Yeah, I’ve been giving him a good lesson in rock and metal.” 

“What about minerals or crystals?” 

It took a moment for your joke to register completely with Eddie, and he stared at you for a moment. “No.” he said bluntly. 

“I thought witches liked crystals!” 

“Witches aren’t a playable class. Wizard would be the closest, maybe a mage.” Eddie said. “There might be a specialist wizard that would use crystals as components. Some spells might need them.” 

“Your game is a lot of work, huh?” you asked. “There’s a lot to remember.” 

Once again, you were showing interest in his game. There had to be some common ground there and once again, Eddie was never the type to turn down earnest questions about the game that gave him a feeling of belonging. 

“Oh yeah.” he agreed, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it into the back seat. “It’s easier if you’re just a player, but when you’re running the game you have to remember everything else.”

“Are those real?” you asked suddenly. “Your tattoos, I mean.” 

Eddie looked down and held out his arm towards you. “They better be with what I had to pay for them.” he said. Tattooing was technically illegal in Indiana, and so he had to really search for someone who was willing and able to mark him up. He had to pay and barter his way through what he currently had. 

Your hand was hesitant and surprisingly gentle as you touched the ink Wyvern on his arm. There weren’t exactly a ton of people in Hawkins with any kind of tattoos, as they didn’t really reflect the wholesome image of an upstanding citizen. 

“Did they hurt?” You asked, looking closer at his arm, as if you were really taking in the details. 

“The one on my collarbone hurt like a bitch.” Eddie admitted, pulling his shirt down to show off the black widow. 

“I like the bats.” you said. “I think they look badass.”

“They were the easiest ones for me.” Eddie said, trying not to look too pleased with the compliments. 

“They look better than a bunch of random signatures.” you said, touching the cast on your arm. Eddie looked it over, and remembered the thick expo marker he had jacked from one of his classes. 

“How attached to Jason Carver’s name are you?” Eddie asked. 

“Not at all. I didn’t have a choice with that one. Chrissy wanted to sign it and he was there so...” 

“Perfect.” Eddie grabbed the marker and pulled off the cap with his teeth as he pulled your cast towards him. “Any requests? Should be easy enough to cover up.”

“I- anything. Dealer’s choice.” There was a challenge in your eyes that Eddie wasn’t about to turn down. 

Being careful not to cause any harm to your wrist, he made quick work of scribbling a couple of bats on your arm over Jasons’s name. It wasn’t his best work; the texture of the plaster of your cast wasn’t exactly the easiest to draw on, but he managed. The result was a colony of bats, with one turned into a dragon for good measure*. 

When he released your arm, you took a look down at it and smiled- one of those real smiles that you had given him a few days ago. You were attractive when your face was relaxed like that. 

“So, am I a badass spawn of Satan, now?” you asked with a look in your eyes that gave Eddie a weird but excited feeling in his chest. 

“Not exactly, but if you walk around with that you might end up a social pariah which is a good starting point.” He shrugged, finally starting to pull out of the parking lot. 

“I guess I’ll have to start somewhere.” 

The two of you were a few blocks away from the school when Eddie had an idea. If you were really interested in the game and being a Spawn of Satan and his game, he should take you to the next best thing to Hellfire Club.   

Eddie pulled into the parking lot of the shopping center, not noticing how quiet you had suddenly become. He didn’t always have the cash to get something from the game shop, but- “I need to pick up some dice anyway, I think one of the freshmen is eating mine. Let’s go.” 

“No.” 

Eddie looked over at you and you were looking guilty, like you’d rather be anywhere else. You had your head down again, now deciding that the old can of TAB near your foot was the real problem. 

“There’s not gonna be anyone in there. It’s usually just Chris working.” Eddie said. “He’s kind of an ass, but-”

“I can’t.” your voice sounded a bit choked. “You go ahead. I’ll guard the car.” 

“Are you-”

“Dude, just go. It’s fine.” You snapped. 

It was the most openly hostile you had been to his face, and Eddie felt a flare of anger in him and he got out of the van. He was pissed as he got the dice, and pissed as he drove you back home in silence. 

Fine, he tried. With you it was one step forward and a mile back. You could hang out in private but wouldn’t date to be seen with him anywhere else. 

You gave him directions to your home, and there were times where you looked like you wanted to say something but couldn’t. 

When he finally pulled up into your driveway, you hopped out fast but didn’t close the door yet. You didn’t look at him when you spoke. 

“Sorry. I just- I can’t go in there. It’s not you.” 

“Right.” Eddie said, not believing you. He was starting to get annoyed at your constant apologizing. You’d say something, then apologize, and then the cycle would repeat. 

“I mean it!” you looked up at him. “I- I just can’t go in there.”  

“Why not?” Eddie said. 

You looked guilty again, and your looked like you were going to panic at the question. 

“Don’t worry about it.” He finally said, running his fingers through his hair. “I’ll see you around, I guess.” 

You closed the door without protest, and you watched as he drove away. He saw you through his mirrors as he drove down the street and you looked... bad. For a moment he felt like he was making a mistake, but when you kept insulting him and turning around to apologize... what was he supposed to do? He’d seen this pattern before. 

---

“Stacy.... What the fuck is wrong with me?” 

---

Author Notes: No dividers right now, as I am at work and there's a lady in my ear complaining about pizza for the stupidest reasons. I'll come back later and make it more pretty but I need the boost from posting something.

Tag List: 

@eddiemunsonfuxks @kirsteng42 @strangereads @pedroschka @generoustrashpeach

@sheneedsrocknroll92 @cyanfairywren @crocworkships @tomtomslongdong @aphrogeneias

@ghcstpyre @totheforestandtheocean @stevekeeryswife @dreamyyy222222 @ajnerdess

@sp1dyb0y1008 @projectcampbell @emxxblog @thebadbatchfan

@transparentenemypenguin @ghoulsgraveyard @spread-the-hope @exploding-bonbon @paleidiot

@2spock @c14r3v1b3srs @yujyujj @saramelaniemoon @morganlolitta

@veemoon @mrsrdlw @eddieheart @bambibiest @mylovelycrazyworld

@sassidykassidy @cultish-corner @thedoubleexposurephotography @bambibiest @wheels-of-despair

@amieinghigh @hazydespair @princesssunderworld @thepinkpanther83 @justalotoffanfiction

@littlemissholy @rizzraa @vajjaa @ihaventgotaclue-really

[dyns33]

Without warning - bonus 1

I did some extra stories about Frank and his soulmate, because I love them.

I have a Matt story waiting and since Daredevil is back, I wanted to publish it but... I'll wait a bit more. I wanted Frank first.

Everyone had warned Frank, he couldn't deny it.

First Wilson, in the middle of his exhausting tirades that the Punisher half-listened to, to avoid getting a migraine. However, he had vaguely heard that he had to be wary of his adorable little Ghost when she was angry.

He had probably put this information in the back of his mind, because since the incident that should not be talked about, everything was going perfectly well between his soulmate and him.

No problems, no arguments. Only cuddle sessions, Y/N sticking to him like a purring cat whenever they were together.

Red and Spiderman had warned him too. The Kid laughing a little, and Murdock with a nervous look, but the fucker always had that constipated look when he spoke to him.

"For once, listen to Deadpool. You don't know what she's capable of."

He knew it very well, he often saw her fighting during patrols, and it was always a fascinating discovery for him to see her disappear in one place to reappear in another, the enemies falling without understanding what was happening to them.

Really, they were lucky that she was on their side, and Frank did not understand all these warnings.

Without it being so obvious, Y/N also told him about it in her own way.

"If one day you need me, I can go 'haunt' someone."

"… Haunt ?" he repeated, stopping cutting vegetables for his homemade lasagna.

"Yes. Wade loves it when I do that, super convenient to empty a place without causing any casualties."

"I have my method, but thanks baby."

It had been several months now, still without him doing anything to make her angry, so Frank didn't think about it at all.

Wade had accepted a mission from his buddy Weasel, promising the red team that he wasn't going to unlive anyone. It was a simple mission, against bad guys. He had asked Y/N to come with him, and she had accepted, delighted to spend a week with her beloved big brother.

Even though he was used to being alone and she sent him several messages, he missed her as soon as she left. Two more days and they would be together again.

There was no noise. No change in the air.

Normally, thanks to his military training, Frank could sense when something was wrong. It wasn't as effective as the Spidey Sense or Red's super abilities, but his body froze, alert, ready to retaliate when the opponent struck.

Max was also perfectly calm, sitting next to him on the couch, watching him drink his beer.

The air that passed by his ear startled him. Immediately, Punisher mode activated, making him jump from his spot, his hand on the gun he still had in his jeans, ready.

But there was no one, and the strange draft had stopped. Quickly looking around the apartment, he saw that there were no open doors or windows, no sign of intrusion.

It must have been his imagination.

"Shit… I need to sleep."

Still remaining on his guard, he returned to the couch, under the lost gaze of Max who did not understand what was happening. If the dog was not afraid, there was no reason to be afraid, right ?

However, the creaking of the bathroom door seemed to prove the opposite.

"You've got to be kidding me." Frank muttered as he pressed himself against the wall, watching the hallway and repeating in his head what he had learned in the field.

Maybe it was nothing, just the wood working. Or maybe a thief, a young guy, an idiot, who had chosen the wrong apartment. He could make him shit his pants to teach him a lesson before letting him go. Murdock would be happy.

But there was still nothing in the bathroom, or in any of the other rooms he searched thoroughly.

Frank rubbed his head with his gun. It took him a while to realize that the sensation continued even though he had stopped for several seconds, as if someone was touching his head.

"Fuck !" he yelled, turning around quickly, finding no one. "Fuck, what the hell is this ?"

"Frank…"

The voice didn't sound human. A terrifying, slow whisper that seemed to come from nowhere, making him tremble.

By reflex, he returned to the living room to grab Max, before taking refuge behind the table he had knocked over, observing every corner of the room.

"Fraaaank." the voice repeated in his ear. "Are you scareeeed ?"

Yes, he was scared. It wasn't usual for the Punisher, it was something he had only experienced when he was in the marines, then when he lost his family, and when he saw his soulmate cry because of him.

Y/N's smile calmed him down almost immediately, even if he frowned, lost.

Standing in front of him, letting Max stick to her leg with his tongue out, she looked at him mischievously.

"You ate my cookies." she declared then, as if he could understand what she was talking about. He didn't see what she was talking about. "My cookies, Frank. The ones I bought before I left, you promised not to touch them."

"… I didn't eat your cookies, baby."

"Oh ? Really ?"

Y/N didn't seem to believe him for a moment, staring at him with a small pout, before taking out her phone to send a message. After getting several answers, she sighed.

"Wade. You're going to pay for this… Oh, Frank, I'msorry ! I scared you, sorry !"

So that's what she meant by "haunt". He never would have thought it would be so effective.

The mission had ended early, so he couldn't guess it was her. Y/N had wanted to surprise him, innocent at first, and then she had noticed the disappearance of her precious cookies. So she had opted for revenge.

He understood better what the others meant, especially Red. That was what he experienced every time she spoke next to him without announcing herself.

"I sometimes forget that Matt is sensitive, I try to at least let him hear my breathing or my heart before I get near him."

"You're not doing it on purpose, I'm sure he doesn't hold it against you. He can't anyway, that altar boy."

"Hmm. And you, aren't you mad ?"

"Nah. It was funny in a way."

"That's what Wade says every time. But I think he really means it, it doesn't work with him anymore, I've done it too often. I'm going to have to find a better way to punish him for my cookies."

"Maybe I can help with that."

It was a real pleasure to torture Deadpool by placing a small ultrasound device in his unicorn plush, making him completely lose his mind. But the mercenary didn't take long to catch on, noting that blind Al had left after receiving a call.

It was only him and Y/N who called Al, and Frank didn't want to bother a blind old lady who already had Wilson in her life.

"I knew it !"

"If you knew, why did you destroy the whole place ?"

"Wanted to redecorate. Al got the wrong IKEA furniture. Oh, Frankie, hi ! My sexy grumpy brother-in-law. So, haunting for the first time ? That's cool, huh ? She can grab your heart and rip it out of your chest without being stained. She could also tickle your prostate if…"

"Don't finish that sentence."

Wade hesitated, curious to know what would happen if he finished his sentence. But he loved Y/N, who also wanted him to shut up, so he stayed silent, for once.

[slowcatsisland]

Some sleeping headcanons for Law and Sanji please ❤️🙏

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

North Blue Boys; Sleeping Headcanons

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A/N: I had to add some characters for the sake of organization so u get some more ppl other than Sanji and Law now lol

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Trafalgar Law -

Normally he sleeps pretty well, and Law is one of those people that understand the importance of getting a healthy amount of rest and sleep however he doesn’t always abide by those guidelines himself (he’s a terrible hypocrite about calling others out on it though)

Law was a deep sleeper turned light sleeper after the eradication of his country and his years with the Doflamingo family. Only during those three years he spent with Wolf, Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo did he begin sleeping deeper. With his current crew the deepness of his sleep depends on his mental state and how consistent his plan for revenge has been on his mind.

He doesn’t get nightmares randomly, at least not after a while has passed since the triggering incident. If they get brought up and he thinks about them during the day then he gets a nightmare.

Has vivid nightmares but only mellow, indistinct dreams

Wakes up really easily, especially when he’s sleeping in places that are foreign to him (The Thousand Sunny, Zou, the Doflamingo Family)

Sleeps on the more quiet side. Lightly snores if he’s extra tired or comfortable (when he was a kid Lami would always bring up the fact he snores).

Either sleeps like vampire in a coffin or sleeps like in a fetal position. He sleeps with about two blankets regularly but is also the type to like it cold when he sleeps (or, if he had a lover, be reliant on their body heat during the night)

Also sleeps in more guarded/unorthodox sleeping positions in foreign places (remember that one episode when he was sleeping with one leg over the other sitting down on a bench holding his sword on the Thousand Sunny before they fought the pet master guy? Cuz I do)

Has taken naps before on Bepo, they never talk about it. It just happens (Bepo loves it more than Law does)

He hasn’t admitted it to himself but Law is one of those people that sleep better with someone else. Also the reason why Law snores in his sleep every time he sleeps on Bepo (yk how sometimes ppl can never sleep in a room as another when spending the night? Laws like the opposite if that makes sense)

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

X ‘Diez’ Drake -

The most sleep he’s ever gotten consistently is probably 7 hours. When he was first taken in by the Marines, his body had a full adjusting and healing period and he was sleeping for at least 11 hours. During his time with his father’s crew he would struggle to get maybe even 6 hours of sleep.

He used to not really get dreams as a kid and late teenager, only nightmares but in his adult years he has lots of dreams. His dreams are usually comical and confusing to him when he tries to remember bits and pieces of it in the morning.

Still occasionally gets a nightmare but has developed a more quick and healthy way of calming down and going back to sleep. Used to panic terribly during his first few years with the Navy after getting a nightmare

It’s taken him a while, but now he sleeps like a passed out drunk ykwim? Like sometimes he’ll just be leg sprawled apart, mouth open with drool seeping out of the corner, hair covering his eyes.

He gets terrible bed head. Honestly sometimes his hair wakes up perfectly in his little slicked Mohawk or whatever he has going on and he never tells anyone he woke up like this instead of carefully prepping his hair

He went through a period where he was paranoid he was a sleep talker (he didn’t want to disclose anything when under cover)

Spoiler alert he actually is a sleep talker!! But instead of actually talking he makes little grunts and whistle sounds almost like an animal Lmaoo. Other than the noises he’s a quiet sleeper though

He gets his best sleep when he’s alone in a quiet setting with almost no stimulation happening. He likes it warm, with thick blankets atop of him securing him to the bed, with the blinds closed with no one else. He hated sleeping in the barracks as a new soldier, it wasn’t too different from how he used to be living and sleeping and that was sort of why he hated it

He used to hate the eerie sound of the waves against the ship but now they’re comforting

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Black Leg Sanji -

Sanji on average gets 5 hours of sleep. He honestly can go off of less (germa genes) but he’s built an internal alarm clock from his time at the Baratie. He also has lots of duties that take him away from sleeping such as prepping the food too

He almost always goes to sleep after the ladies of the crew do, it makes him feel more assured of himself that they’re actively resting (firm believer that women need beauty sleep)

He sleeps terribly if we’re being totally honest here. He gets nightmares weekly about Germa and his starving on a rock experience with Zeff. He goes through cycles where it’ll get better for a couple weeks, something triggers him, and it’s terrible for a couple weeks if not months

When he gets nightmares he twitches alot, shifts on his sides, and starts crying. Sometimes he doesn’t wake up from his nightmares though (these nights whoever was on night watch duty always makes sure to check on Sanji the day after).

Chopper and Usopp are generally the only guys that wake Sanji if they notice this is happening while Brook, Zoro, and Franky hover over him for a minute to make sure he’s safe and watches over him the next day or so (Franky calls it a bro thing)

(Luffy never notices/is always asleep but somehow picks up on if Sanji is having a sensitive day or not)

With my whole heart and soul I think that if Sanji had someone to sleep with his nightmares would dramatically decrease and he would develop more healthier sleeping habits. Sanji responds to physical touch so if he had someone there to shush him and stroke his hair and cradle him when he gets like this I think he would benefit from it because not only would it help him feel safe it also makes him feel loved and Sanji’s a guy that needs love in his life

When he wakes himself up with a nightmare he almost always goes to the kitchen. He doesn’t like smoking in there normally but he will and start to prepare breakfast for the crew.

Sanji sleep talks a fair bit imo. I couldn’t tell you what he says though

Other than feeling another person with him, Sanji sleeps best in the warmth where he could still smell the salt of the sea

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Basil Hawkins -

(Gotta be honest idrk know the guy too well)

I feel like he either sleeps like 10 hours a night or almost never sleeps. Or at least, his crew has never caught him sleeping

Doesn’t make noise when he sleeps. He’s probably capable of sleeping just about anywhere if he tries hard enough but he doesn’t

Hawkins loves staying up late into the night so I could see his prime sleeping time being from 4am - 9am ish.

I imagine that he either gets very vivid dreams because of his fate telling cards, practice of mystic arts or whatever, and devil fruit ability OR it’s just black fuzz the entire time

I feel like Hawkins would prefer to sleep in colder environments with his limbs more exposed to the cold air

Hmm what else. I could see him doing something with his hair to keep it up at night but not in an overly classy way, just something a step up from what a normal pirate would do yk

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Mwah 😽

[kheprriverse]

Hello, me again! I just wanted to tell you how much I adore your stuff for Volga and dragons! It's making me want to get back into my own stuff for him and the dragons in my stuff.

Also, I was wondering: what's Volga's relationship with his parents? And if he had kids of his own one day, what would his relationship be like with them?

Loving, until they're old enough to be on their own? Do kids visit their parents or siblings on occasion?

You don't have to answer if you don't want to, I just love seeing people's ideas :)

My brain is alive right now lol

aaaaa hello!!! I'm so glad you like my Volga lore he's so fun to draw and mess with. You should definitely update me if you ever get back into your volga and dragons stuff 👀

-> previous post for context

This also gets long for the second question because brainrot so it will all be below the read more button👍

What's Volga's relationship with his parents?

His relationship with his parents, and the rest of his siblings, is actually not too bad. He and Ares do get to see them again and at first he seems wary when encountering Gargoyle, but that's actually more likely because he's afraid he won't be remembered. They were afraid him migrating when he was so small (being the runt of his clutch) would be too dangerous and were rather protective of him. But they taught him well and he talks and thinks about his parents with pride.

Also dragons rarely ever see family members after migrating. They live at the nest and are taught what they need to learn for a year before instinct drives them to leave. Sometimes it doesn't happen and they stay, and other times they may return, it's just not very common. Smolder and Gargoyle though have been around long enough and are strong enough where if dragons do visit it's never a problem like it'd normally be. They're kind of in a weird spot where they've never been challenged and aren't likely to ever be challenged. I wouldn't be surprised if anyone in the family did visit them often, I know the twins Blitz and Blaze do.

If he had kids of his own one day, what would his relationship be like with them?

I think about this too much tbh. I know for a fact he never actually planned to have any ever, primarily because he's perfectly fine being a loner-type and he already has enough to deal with with the gorons and lizardfolk, and then the hylian kingdom practically at his doorstep.

But then the idea of having any does get kinda complicated when you add the hylians into the mix. Because his territory is shared with Hyrule (him and Zelda are both so so stubborn) he's had to make a deal with Zelda that prevents other dragons from making their home in Hryule. He was perfectly fine with this originally (it was a spoken promise which dragons rarely break) because he not very social to begin with, let alone with other dragons. So he just figured he'd probably never have a mate, nor was he really into the idea anyways.

Until post-War of Eras. Scorn shows up suddenly, driven from her own territory across The Great Sea in need of a temporary nest after having been attacked by a hoard of wyverns. He is able to convince Zelda to let Scorn stay long enough to nest only because he knows her well enough to know she's not really interested in fighting anyone, let alone hylians.

When Scorn's eggs do hatch Volga makes sure to help her raise them, teaching them everything his own mentor taught him, along with everything their parents passed onto the siblings. He actually builds a rather healthy relationship with them as their uncle and is admittedly a little surprised when he realizes maybe having a family wouldn't be such a bad idea??? His niece, Harpy, probably ends up being his favorite lollll

But again sadly everything gets too complicated when his agreement with Zelda re-enters his brain. No extra dragons means no kids :( unless Ares convinces Zelda to change her mind.

I do like to think he'd be a lot like his parents though. Protective, but not overbearing. While Volga is aware of what causes dragon parents got abandon their hatchlings, he sees value and potential in them all a lot like his mother did for him. He'd give them all a chance.

I also think Ares made him rethink his perspective on relationships a lot more than he realized, especially after Scorn shows up as well.

Really hope this answered at least something. I tend to just ramble on until eventually something coherent comes out.

But a lot of the Scorn stuff I plan on actually showcasing eventually. Which also eventually leads into meeting Smolder and Gargoyle.

^ wip storyboard of Scorn after being attacked by Hylian soldiers.

[land-of-holly]

Rings of Power Season 2 Episode 5 Liveblog

Ooh nice landscape shot over the Misty Mountains

The Seven!

Is all of King Durin's bling also gonna fall victim to the Ring's jealousy?

Narviiiiiiii

The King's just going mad with power, nothing to see here

He may have brought the light back, but it's still an OSHA violation

THE DOORS OF DURIN!

If this is all we get of the Celebrimbor/Narvi teamup I will be disappointed but LOOK ANNATAR!

Tyelpe is on to him!

Love the conflict over the rings for Men. This is the kind of development upon previous work I look for in an adaptation. It fits well into the previous themes.

Annatar had NO SENSE OF PERSONAL SPACE

Well obviously Annatar isn't just going to take no for an answer.

NO he's just going to make them himself?? Just disregard Celebrimbor entirely?

Ooh, here comes Pharazon's Elf envy

Damn this guy is hardcore, who says that to their own son?

I do see why people ship Miriel/Elendil, damn

Oh girl, you don't really believe not fighting back is the answer. I can see it. You wanna fight back so bad.

Mass resignation?

Oooh, nope

I love the father-daughter conflict! It's a role women don't get to play very often in this exact way

Political unrest in Numenor!

Just because Pharazon is anti-elf doesn't mean he's anti-power lol

Dead...fish?

Normally I'm against disparaging the wielding of a perfectly useful tool to attain valid goals as "cheating", but one, I can't contradict my wife Disa, and two, that ring is obviously super sus

New taxes??

An extended scene of ball chasing is a little silly but I am not immune to DISA LEGS

She has echolocation??

More dwarf extras!

Okay now King D's just getting nasty

I've made peace with Early Balrog. It's not like they have a 3rd age timeline to fuck up, after all

I guess not even a ring can separate a dwarf from his bling, it's still there

Forge is haunted.

Aw damn he nerdsniped Celebrimbor

Wonderful convo between Celebrimbor and Durin

So Mirdania did see Annatar's true form, and he admits it, but he convinced her not to tell an adult like a FUCKING CREEP

Oh THAT'S why everyone was talking about Annatar rizzing Mirdania up, JESUS

DON'T TOUCH HER

Damn, Kemen, you shouldn't have cultivated such a punchable face

And Valandil, unfortunately, shouldn't have let himself been named after a canon character's future canon kid

The dropping of 'Faithful' and 'King's Men' felt clunky to ME but it's possible I'm biased

Annatar once again proves to be made ENTIRELY out of red flags. Protip, kids: if someone is all "Well now we've been bad together, we have no choice but to never talk to anyone else about this or we'll be in trouble"--RUN

(Seriously)

Elf extras!

Oh no now he's just sinking more cost, trying to make things right. Poor Tyelpe.

Oh, right! What's Adar up to?

Oh the elf armies need help? Whoever could come to their aid?

Everyone wants Galadriel on their team!

Wow there was a bunch about this episode that I liked a lot. Annatar continued to be the absolute star of this show, the fucking creeper

[nomsfaultau]

Daily ask №22

Sickness edition!

1. Can each one of them even get sick in the first place? I mean, Phil is a god, the Blade is a.. furry?? And Wilbur is a.. void person. And Tubbo is bees.

2. Assuming they do get sick, how do they handle it?

3. How do they handle other people getting sick and having to care for them?

4. There's this myth in my culture that, I kid you not, breathing above boiled potatoes helps with a cold. Rank how likely it is that I would be able to convince them to breathe above boiled potatoes.

5. How is Phil theoretically very knowledgeable in science and stuff but also still believes in blood-letting??

1.All of them can get sick, which is an overhanging threat in part 2 given the survivalist genre. Like literally Tommy gets a power up that’s just hand sanitizer and it’s a game changer. That said, they’re a little…odd about it.

Phil is trying to be a person, warts and all, and that includes getting ill. Now, does it work like a normal person? Not in the slightest. He gets sick when he thinks he’s supposed to, which included inaccurate theories people have had over the years such as displeasing the gods or being cold and wet. In the little more than a century since germ theory has been proposed he mostly gets sick in a normal way now. Phil is absolutely ecstatic about vaccines, though in all fairness home remedies with no scientific basis also work on him. He is observed using fire to burn out void sepsis in Tommy and Wilbur, though unclear if that worked because void or bacteria. And if we dig into that we’re back to germ theory with Tommy and questioning what an individual even is. 

The Blade gets animal diseases, and pigs and humans share a decent chunk of illnesses. 

Tubbo deals with bee illnesses, mites, fungal problems, all manner of things. Dysentery according to Wiki? They do have the advantage of having the awareness to guaranteed symptomatic bees to limit contagions tho. 

Wilbur can’t get food borne illnesses since it devours All, and also I speculate that it doesn’t have normal organs ? Fault never says either way. External diseases from mouth, nose, dermis, etc work perfectly fine tho even if Wilbur can get away with eating rotten food.

Tommy might be the least likely to get sick of any of them thanks to Red acting as a germ killer. 

2.Tommy complains and demands pampering. Philza takes a self care day but it isn’t very relaxing bc mentally he’s like I can’t take care of my kids oh gods- Wilbur ignores it if he can. If not is like welp guess I’m dying since if it’s bad enough he can’t get food or medicine or fight and so it was a near death sentence as a kid. Tubbo depends on where they are in their arc. Normally they’d be very normal drink tea maybe try some home remedies. During their spiral they’d just ignore or dissociate through it like they did with their injuries. And The Blade is NOT sick. Nope. Nah ah. Perfectly fine. Buuut every time he sneezes it triggers The Blood God since he thinks it’s an attack. 

3.Phil grins and offers to balance their humors if it’s not serious. Other than that is very accommodating and spoiling and totally not thinking about his countless loved ones lost to illness. He can gauge what is/isn’t fatal very well, but though the spark of terror is buried deep it’s still there. Rhodes fully comes out of Tubbo, do you have enough pillows here have another cookie that’s quite the fever kiddo.  Lots of home remedies, often involving honey cause well good for sore throats and antibacterial/good for infections. Tommy dithers since he really wants to be useful but Red contamination and so he mostly sits beside them and tells a bunch of stupid jokes to lift the mood. Wilbur is also going to take massive care of anyone who’s sick since that’s something it never got. More distant though, more like going on supply runs for lots of extra food and medicine, but is cautious so it doesn’t get sick too. Only The Blade is fully like like nah. I’m not catching a cold thanks. Good luck bro. He also dealt with the no medicine or support thing Wilbur went through, though wasn’t worried about losing fights and can eat pretty much whatever and actually get nutrition from it unlike Wilbur. Plus he isn’t keen on the chance of it giving The Blood God better access to control. 

4. Philza: has heard it before, has tried it, and it probably works for him. Stupid metaphorical man. If asked how he thinks it works he’d probably shrug and reply something about vitamins. 

Tubbo: they don’t believe it. But they also don’t not believe it. This is less that they aren’t a little superstitious about home remedies, and more that they haven’t heard about it and they know ALL the home remedies so it clearly can’t work or else they’d’ve already used it. But they would still use it. Again this is pure Rhodes, because he wants to take care of his kiddos and Tubbo heavily associates sick days with him staying home to look after them. I can too write a healthy paternal figure! (We’re ignoring chapter 13 it can’t hurt us if we don’t acknowledge it).

Tommy: I mean he’s a lil dumb, maybe. He’d definitely poke fun while trying it just in case he’s getting pranked. 

Wilbur: doesn’t believe it for a second. It’s more a mixture of trust issues than the fact it understands how medicine works. Actually wait. How does Wilbur think that works. Because a lot of it is eaten/swallowed. Like Wil tends to be the unofficial healer of the group alongside Phil, but his experience is purely ‘birthed from the crucible of need that forces experience whether one is read for it or not’ or however that one line goes. Cause it’s gotta be a mix of reading the back of pill bottles and Foundation stuff and void trivia so I gotta imagine that man has no idea why what it’s doing works. 

The Blade: has already eaten the potatoes before you even get around to explaining.

5.Phil’s knowledge of science is filled with a LOT of misinformation and it’s hard for him to keep track. Plus if utterly convinced something would heal him it genuinely will, and confirmation bias is a hell of a drug. I also believe he suggests blood-letting 100% to mess with people. There’s a deleted scene where he almost convinces Tubbo he can’t write in English because he ‘didn’t think it would be important’ and ‘clay tablets are going to come back any day now’. I think (aside from the murder) Phil often gets pigeon holed as the well adjusted mentor figure. Sort of a Kermit the Frog thing where the crazy cast of colorful characters kinda drowns out the fact that he’s the crazy nut job who decided to hire them all, and subtly thrives on chaos. 

[kesaluliloveyou]

Still using the KHR OC asks by the lovely social-muffin, this time for my problem child Lara. She’s trickier for me to write, but also so much fun. I hope she’ll also be fun for others to read about!

What's your OCs name, pronouns and gender?

Lara’s full name is Lara Rimondi. She just goes by Lara, though her mother calls her gonju as a pet name. Once the others learned what it meant, they sometimes call her Princess as an affectionate nickname or to make fun of her. The making fun of her part? Doesn’t translate to Lara, who is a motherfucking princess and you can bet your ass she’ll make sure you know it. She goes by either she or they pronouns because she genuinely doesn’t care what pronouns are used to address her, as long as they’re not markedly masculine in nature. Her gender is sort of fluid, but leans more towards the feminine. She knows for sure she’s not a man, but other than that, she’s cool with whatever she feels like on that particular day – a girl? Sure. More gender neutral on that day? That’s cool. A warrior? There are definitely days where she identifies as that. A rockstar? You bet your ass there are days that’s how she identifies. A big, glowing ball of awesomeness and too cool for you-ness? Yeah, that’s her perpetual state, at least in her mind.

What's their current age and what age do/did they get involved with the khr Canon?

During the course of the story, when Lara comes in to the KHR canon, she’s 15. She’ll sometimes slip and either call herself 14 or 16 as well though, just because she doesn’t really keep track of things like how old she is, when her birthday is, her blood type, anything like that. Those are all miscellaneous figures that really mean nothing to her. She’d be 25 in the Future Arc and I have her story all the way up to the age of 84, when she dies in a tragic skydiving accident.

What do they look like? Height, weight, unique physical features? (Drawings, Picrews, descriptions, all are welcome! Except AI art lmao)

The face claim I use for Lara is Suji Kang from Bloody Sweet. However, like all the other face claims used, it doesn’t fit her one hundred percent perfectly and is just the best I could find.

So, first off, people will notice that Lara is Italian-Korean, with a Korean mother. Her hair is naturally black and she’s rather pale skinned, taking after her mother in that regard. She dyes her hair a lot though – it changes every 6-8 weeks. She’s had every colour of the rainbow and follows a lot of hair trends. She’s had rainbow hair, mermaid hair, split-dye jobs. She was silver, blond, red, green, pink. She normally wears her hair down but if she’s got a lot of extra energy, she’ll spend a good hour doing up some crazy hairdo, curling it, straightening it, making it wavy, tucking it up, doing mini-braids. She tends to love vintage hairstyles too and researches how best to pull them off. There’s no cooler look, after all, then some cherry pink victory curls. She also has a lot of fun with makeup. She researches, practices, and enjoys trying out new things with it. She’s not afraid of colour or different makeup styles, changing things up a lot and can often look a little over-the-top, not that looking that way bothers her in the slightest.

She takes after her father in her height and build though. Her father, the former Accardi Boss’s Storm Guardian, was a BIG man, not just in height (standing at 6’3) but also looking kind of fat, despite the dense muscles he had underneath that big belly of his. He was always the choice to play Santa for the kids when they were younger, let’s just put it at that. Lara, herself, is rather tall for a girl, standing at 5’9 and she’s fat. She won’t downplay it. She won’t deny the term. She embraces it. She has chubby cheeks, a double chin. Her body has distinct curves and a softness to it. She loves her body – she’s still active, she’s still healthy, and anyone who tries to shame her for what she looks like can go and eat her entire ass.

In terms of posture, she carries herself with confidence and doesn’t noticeably slouch or slump. Her head is always held high and she moves with surprising quickness. She’s really light on her feet and she’s rather more flexible than someone would guess from her size.

Like all the other Guardians, Lara has her ears pierced. Several times over, in fact. Her entire right ear is completely pierced all the way up her earlobe, while she only has two lower earlobe piercings on her left ear, plus a dual cartiledge piercing in her upper lobe on that side. She embraces piercings – she also has her nose done, to accentuate her cute button nose, and desperately loves the idea of getting her nips pierced as well. She wants tattoos, but hasn’t found a place to do them for her yet, so she frequently gets henna tattoos, especially on her hands.

What's your OCs relation to KHR? Are they someone's guardian, friend, subordinate, love interest? Or are they a family member of a canon character? If so, how are they related to that character?

Like all the rest of the Accardi Family, Lara comes into the KHR ‘verse as a next generation Accardi Guardian. Her father was vehemently opposed to the coup on Luca’s father and died fighting alongside him. Her mother, however, to try to ensure both her safety and that of her daughter’s, was quick to act like she joined and believed full-heartedly in the Guardian’s need for the coup. She acts as a spy on the inside and a double-agent, helping the teens escape and trying to get them information through reliable sources, as well as funneling that information to those working against the Guardians who have tried to gain control of the Accardi Famiglia.

Unlike Bria and Luca, who really think there’s a possibility that Tsuna’s family can help them, Lara is quick to judge the next-gen Vongola and, at the first, is loudly vocal about how she feels about them – that they’re babies, that they’re weak, that this whole thing is pointless. While she grows to respect and like them, that doesn’t happen without some conflict, especially with members of Tsuna’s family like Gokudera and Hibari. It’s really Hibari who changed Lara’s views, honestly. While she gave him a really admirable run for his money, to the point where Hibari doesn’t view her as a waste of time or a weak herbivore, he definitely kicked her ass in the end and doing that will always gain Lara’s respect.

What's your OCs flame/flames? If they have multiple, which flame is their strongest?

Lara has Storm Flames and only Storm Flames. No matter how much she wishes, how much she concentrates, how hard she tries, she can’t awaken any other Flame type and she’s very salty about that fact. She thinks people who can use multiple flame types look really cool and is kind of jealous of them for that. It might be part of why she’s so vocally disdainful towards Gokudera and gets in so many arguments with him – a part of her is jealous of his techniques and skills. However, her Storm Flame is high purity and she definitely using it for violence’s sake.

How does your OC use their flame? Strictly for combat, or more recreationally? Is flame use something instinctive to them, or do they have to direct their flame consciously?

Lara’s approach to most things that are tough or that she doesn’t like is that violence solves the matter quickly and for good. She revels in fighting. Her flame comes instinctively to her, she wields it almost without thinking about it. It comes naturally to her. She’s someone who loves using weapons and has trained from the time she was young to learn to engulf her weapons in the Storm Flame as well, which is one of her primary forms of fighting. She’s actively trying to extend that to coating her hands, feet, or other body parts with her flame so that she can bare knuckle brawl while still using her Flame. I do think she eventually reaches that state, but when exactly that happens, I do not know.

Does your OC have a mafia family they are a part of? If so, what's their position in that Familia?

As mentioned in question 4, Lara is the next-gen Storm Guardian of the Accardi Famiglia and by the end of the story, it’s official Storm Guardian.

If your OC was a civillain what would their job be? Would they be happy with that job? Would they be good at it?

I could easily see Lara being attracted to a very public-facing but glamourous style job. She’d try to be an influencer or maybe join a band as a bass guitarist. Something, anything, that gets her attention and gains her devoted fans. She loves the idea of it all. If she couldn’t go that route, she might dabble in something related to the world of fashion, working as a clothing designer or a personal stylist.

Do you have a voice actor picked out for your OC? If yes, why did you pick this voice actor? (If someone talked with your oc, what would they notice about their voice?)

It’s definitely Colleen Clickenbeard, mostly in her role as the English dubbed voice of Erza Scarlet. That exact tone and vibe to the voice acting is how I imagine Lara sounding and has been from the very beginning of Lara’s character. People talking to Lara quickly realize that she peppers her speech with not only a lot of slang words, but profanity. She swears like a sailor and doesn’t give two fucks if it’s not considered ‘proper’ or ‘ladylike’. This is actually something she learned from Fonz’s mother, who she considered the coolest woman around, thinking her own mother super boring by comparison – she tended to swear a lot too. Lara is often very loud too, with a voice that carries easily. She doesn’t hold back the sounds she wants to make – her laughter is gregarious and uninhibited. She’s one of those people you could hear laughing in the next room.

Last question! What's your OCs current fashion style? And what's their dream style? Are they close?

Lara is really, REALLY into fashion. It’s such a huge passion of hers and she takes the time to learn not only the history of fashion, but to stay abreast on any and all new trends coming. She watches runway shows in her spare time, follows fashion blogs and influencers. Her own personal sense of style is as loud as she is. Animal prints, bold patterns, sequins, a variety of different fabrics. She doesn’t let her size keep her from expressing her tastes in fashion – while she is always careful about picking things that flatter her body, she doesn’t shy away from showing skin. Crop tops, low-cut tops, sheer bodysuits. Nothing is off limits, in her opinion, just because of her curves. She’s smart about things like which colours work best with each other, what her best colours are, how to spot the best knock-offs, how to coordinate outfits and mix and match vintage or thrifted pieces with more expensive pieces.

She loves playing around with accessories of all kinds and loves shoes, though she tends to stick to flat shoes or combat style boots, where the heel isn’t so high. It’s her one admitted insecurity – she dislikes being so close in height to or taller than so many of the people she develops crushes on.

[vaguelyno]

Wanna add my two bonus thoughts

1. Thoughts on Ra’s

Tim is definitely just Ra’s heir now. Like sure, Ra’s would prefer if Tim was killing but the priority was always supposed to be making a difference in the world. Tim with Oracle watchkeeping and significantly more (if slightly less competent, but still ridiculously good) manpower than the birds of prey courtesy of Ra’s former men is absolutely shaping the world to be a better place. And Ra’s is perfectly fine with Tim’s lack of killing given the results of such an effective heir

I’d guess he’s doing this without the JL noticing cause they would probably try to stop his subtle interference with the state of the world (not being a fan of the extra privacy violations or the amount of power Tim’s holding) and Tim just does not want to deal with them anymore.

But yeah, Tim’s sense of justice (and/or building a better world for the clone kid) has inspired him to secretly become controller of the world. He’s influencing political and economic events to bring world peace as best he can and advancing technology to help combat the climate crisis and other major societal issues. Don’t worry about it (he’s totally fine and not struggling to let go of the desire to fix every problem for everyone he’s ever loved thanks)

I’m not sure if he ever could let himself truly relax. If he ever is able to it takes him a long time to learn, and he’s already done a world of good as the newest totally not the Demon’s Head by the time he decides to actually rest

And onto

2. Future sidekicks

There’s a major crisis that the Justice League is struggling with. All hands on deck. Major figure heads are all gathered together to try to make a plan. The newest batch of young side kicks is watching on, full of trust and confidence in their mentors that only sidekicks could ever have, but also fear, cause this is stressing out even those impressive mentors

And then somebody, who they really really respect, maybe it’s Nightwing or another bat, maybe an OG JL member who investigated Tim’s results after BruceQuest, or maybe one of YJ who have continued to hero and have earned their place among the big leagues, asks the all important question: “Has anyone asked Tim?”

The young sidekicks are so confused as this average looking guy Zeta’s up to the watchtower (maybe with a kid in tow) and just gets respectfully greeted by so many heroes this kid looks up to. And they have no clue who this guy is as he just gets instantly briefed on the crisis, checks over what solutions they’ve already thought of, tells Batman to shut up, and then develops a solution that no one else could have thought of.

And as everyone’s prepping to go face the crisis, this Tim guy walks up to each of the sidekick and gives them a quick summary of how to improve their fighting style or power usage and a number to call if they ever feel like their mentor is mistreating them or one of their friends before watching as he quickly gives the same check to the other sidekicks present as they’re all rushing out to the field.

The sidekicks don’t see him at the after party, maybe they ask around and hear that he always leaves as soon as the crisis is solved and the JL have a good enough plan to handle the aftermath.

A whole generation of heroes won’t know that Tim was once a Robin or that he saved Batman as Red Robin. They won’t know why he cares about the well being of all the side kicks, but they’ll love the safety he promises and the respect he gives them nonetheless. The next generation is just going to know him as the random, extremely normal guy that the Justice League calls when things have truly hit the fan.

It feels tragic in a way but I can’t explain why…

Tim AU: (I'm fucking with the timeline)

Tim gathered evidence of Bruce being stuck in the time stream, sent it to the JL, and then fucked off to some remote place. He didn't help bring Bruce back and he never returned to Gotham.

He was done. Bruce, in this AU, was an absolute bastard to Tim (think 16th birthday but more). It was only after he got distance while chasing Bruce's ghost did he come to the realization that he didn't want to give up his newfound freedom and independence.

Sure, he was independent before, but it wasn't quite like this where he wasn't constrained by the Bats in some way. He was lonely, but he could make his own decisions without manipulation or consideration of the Bats.

Tim liked his new status quo and he'll be damned if anyone takes it from him.

So, he sent the JL the evidence and didn't look back. What they chose to do with it wasn't Tim's problem. He was right and he proved it.

[Side note: he's more successful at dodging Ra's recruiting tactics in this AU. Ra's tries, but Tim instead lures LoA agents to his side. After losing a good portion of his members, Ra's becomes more intrigued with what Tim plans to do. It's almost like Tim is an heir in training by utilizing LoA resources for his own goals. As long as Tim maintains a delicate balance of audacity and not pissing Ra's off, then Ra's leaves him alone.]

The JL, at first, ignored Tim's evidence. It wasn't until that whole zombie black lantern corpse thing, where they realized that the corpse wasn't actually Bruce or whatever, that they opened Tim's evidence.

They then realize that nobody has heard about Tim in a long fucking time. They don't even know where to find them.

Cue half the JL working to bring back Bruce while the other is trying to hunt down Tim (partly to apologize but mostly for Tim's abilities and information). This ends with them knocking on Tim's door in the middle of nowhere as he glares at them.

The JL assumes Tim has retired, but really he maintains an Oracle like presence around the world and travels on occasion to missions he needs to. Usually, he sends his agents out to do field work. He does regularly spar with them, though, to keep in shape.

Tim also assists WE virtually with Lucius until Bruce returns. He, on the side, revitalizes Drake Industries for when he inevitably has to step down from WE.

This morphs into him becoming a grumpy JL "civilian" consultant who JL members turn to when they need help with a problem or case deemed impossible (particularly when they don't or can't rely on Batman).

[no-droids]

Home

gif credit: @javier-pena

Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

Warnings: SMUT, religion kink (maybe?), squirting, consensual stalking/pursuing, canon-typical violence, mention of underage drinking, uhh I believe that’s it but as always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything please!

A/N: Hey yall!!!  So I know this chapter has been a long time coming and though I’m not completely satisfied with it, I hope it brings a little happiness to you for an hour or two while you read!  School has been kicking my ass and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump recently, but I pulled a few all-nighters to post this on time and it’s finally finished!  Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and sent me encouraging words over the past month or so, I hope you enjoy the end of the Sanctuary arc💕

Also like last time, part 2 of my collaboration with @followwhereshegoes will be posted after the chapter!!  As a reminder, sweet girl is a reader insert and every imagining of her will be different—this is Lisa’s interpretation of her and her artwork is absolutely gorgeous, so please go give her a follow!

Day 5–11:13am:

You zone out again in the early morning, but that happens a lot.  Din always keeps you up so late, all the time, and without any caf here, the rising sun just makes your eyes droop instead of flutter brighter and wider.  You helped a bunch of younglings find their way into their robes when it was still dark out, tying sashes and fitting masks while holding back your yawns.  The walk into Nariss is close to three hours, probably more with all these tiny little legs, and you almost forget to change into your new digs before everyone grabs breakfast.

Even though your ragtag entourage leaves for Nariss just as soon as everyone finishes eating, you don’t reach the city until nearly lunchtime.  Mostly because the kids walk about as fast as the elderly holy women chaperoning the trip.  You and Naydee lag behind the group, forcing yourself to meander slow as fuck when you nearly sprinted this same exact path just a few days ago.  On the way there, you listen to children of all sorts sing happily as they walk, chatter about their excitement for the parade, complain about wearing the fabric mask they made themselves, and more than once, somebody takes a tumble onto the ground and is left in teary sniffles and dirt stained clothes.  Likely for this reason, the robes are designed to be two pieces—a long tunic with a hood and a separate pants portion to prevent tripping instead of a draping skirt, but the smallest ones are clumsy and find a way to fall anyways.

It’s a colorful bunch—a chaotic rainbow of babies running around, and you share easy conversation with your new friend about the plans for the day until she asks something that makes you nearly trip and join the dirty robe club.

“Sister Drya said your family is meeting you in the city,” she tells you, ignoring your immediate subtle toe stub and the awkward shuffle you have to do to make up for it.  “There’s going to be lots of people downtown, I’m worried it might be hard for them to find you.”

Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel a bit short of breath at being abruptly confronted with the need to lie, but at the same time, you kind of love it.  Having a secret, hiding the truth from others, and just the reminder that you’re almost guaranteed to see Din and the baby before midnight pours warmth and tingles through your tummy.  Everything together is a hit of spice, filling you with a kind of excitement that used to be foreign to you.  Having fun, experiencing new things isn’t quite over yet, but home is calling and you miss it with every fiber of your being.

“I don’t think so,” you eventually respond, hoping she can see your kind smile and the sentiment it carries even as light, shimmery fabric wraps right around your mouth.  “If I disappear, you’ll know why.”

Naydee’s eyes crinkle in the corners to match yours.  “Hopefully you’ll be able to see the fireworks first,” she nudges you, her skin glowing against the pale cream fabric she has wrapped around her own mouth and the hood laying delicately over her braids.  “They start at eight.”

The fireworks, you almost forgot.  You know what?  Today is a good day.  You hear yourself think the full sentence multiple times, and the words put a spring in your step after every single one.  The road gradually becomes wider and filled with more travelers, and you feel safe in the back.  Like some kind of sheepdog bringing up the rear of this migrating cluster of children, making sure none of them drift off by themselves and start eating grass or something.

Surprisingly, the kids manage to be relatively patient and well-behaved once they’re in line at the gates.  The Sisters shuffle them along one by one as everyone moves up slowly, taking even longer to get into the city than it did a few days ago.  The entrance is packed already—so many people visiting for the festival, and they’re all dressed in costumes or robes of sorts, or at least a mask.  Most are beautifully crafted, but some manage to look slightly scary even with the soft springtime color schemes.  It’s a completely different world, a different life for each person as you pass them by.  Your stomach is starting to growl by the time you finally make it to the front, and luckily the guards just let the kids through without any ceremony.  Just you and the rest of the caretakers in light robes need to hold still for the retinal scan, matching each other perfectly except for differing shades of fabric, skin, and eye color.  Once the gates open for you and you step through, though… it’s… Maker.

Extravagant, magnificent are both words.  Floral is another.

It’s like they hung up bouquets wherever they could think to fit them, and this is just the edge of the city.  As the group moves through the streets and closer to downtown, it becomes more and more overwhelming.  The air itself is a warm fragrance wafting all around you, sunshiney and breezy and perfect, flowers of all kinds lining the modern buildings and archways like they were planted there from the very beginning and it just took this long to bloom between the cracks in the concrete.  You wish you had names for all of them so you could list them—the only thing you can offer is the color and vague descriptions of the ones that stick out to you.  Tiny yellow ones that are so small, they need to be bunched all together in massive quantities to even resemble normal flowers.  Up overhead, elaborate arrangements of enormous blue and purple and pink ones, wrapping around each other and hanging down from rooftops.  Some don’t even have petals, it’s like they’re big green cups that are big enough to hold things inside them.  You’re fascinated by every single one, wanting to stop and smell them all individually but needing to keep up with the large group and not allow any stragglers to be left behind, including yourself.

About an hour later, when you’re almost in the middle of the city and there are people everywhere, it’s time to eat lunch.  There isn’t much to it because of how expensive it is, and you’d normally feel bad for accepting the small meal each one of the children gets, but you donated all of your credits to the Keja and left absolutely zero for yourself.  Good intentions, terrible idea.  Still, you pull your mask down and snack on some deliciously fried food, trying not to eye anyone else’s platter after you finish yours.  It’s so good and it’s gone in an instant; you couldn’t even say what exactly it was besides which stall you got it at.  Whether it’s just the brilliant atmosphere or if the food on this moon is really just that good, you’re not really sure, but you’re still slightly hungry afterwards with no extra money to sneak a snack.

Soon after, the kids all line up to get their faces painted, or whatever portion of their face is visible behind the cloth masks and hoods they’ve got on, and music blares from at least four different directions and none of the songs are even in the same language.  Depending on the part of town, it seems like the celebrations are all different.  It makes sense, considering most if not all of these individuals were victims of the Empire’s wrath, spread far and wide across the galaxy.  Here, they’re free, and they want everyone to know it.  Spring festivals of some sort are likely common for most cultures, at least those from planets with seasons, not like Arvala-7 where it was arid and hot year-round, and you’re assuming there are multiple things being celebrated today depending on which street you live on.  There’s chanting in different tongues, dancing and drums, outfits and masks from different cultures every single time you look.

At some point, the children spot a crowded street with flowery rails set up all along them, and you stand behind the tiny heads while everyone waits for the parade to begin.  You think your heart has just been beating slightly faster than normal all day today, but when you finally hear the sound of sirens blaring in the distance and cheers begin to pour out from the gathered crowd, it kicks up and you feel like you’re just as wide eyed at the spectacle as the waist-high babies all huddled together up against the railing.

A flurry of people and things pass in slow succession.  First, New Republic officers with their blaring holobikes, bright orange as always.  Then come large groups of people walking behind banners in languages you can’t read, some of them waving, some of them making different sounds and songs.  Bands marching in formation, dancers in dresses and masks and gorgeous flowers in their hair like crowns, and then brilliant hovering vehicles decorated in bright colors and festive depictions.  The craftsmanship and cultural significance is stunning to witness, it’s so insanely loud, there’s so much going on, and yet…

Through it all, you think of Din.  No matter the faces, the sights you see.  There’s someone juggling.  There’s either a very tall man and woman walking together or they’re both on stilts.  There are enormous balloons being led through the air, people are riding atop an assortment of animals you’ve never seen before, there are traditional costumes and spectacular stunts being performed.  Stalls with games and prizes line the stretches of concrete on the cross streets, people are laughing and celebrating and drinking in equal parts, everything is so lively and festive and fun, and yet, though it all, you think of Din.  Him and the baby, they’re always in the forefront of your mind, occupying your thoughts and making your tummy stir more and more as the time passes like the parade in front of you.  You don’t think this environment would ever be his favorite, and in some far away galaxy, perhaps if you lived other lives together and called a beautiful moon exactly like this home, then you might have to drag him out to see all the with you and the kid every year.  You’d have to bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek and snuggle up to him all nice and pretty like, and he’d probably grumble and complain about it while wrapping his arms around you—all the people and the noise, sweet girl—but he’d go.  For you, he’d go.

Your thoughts suddenly stop short and you blink for a second.  Why… Why was that scene so vivid?  So wistful?  You used to preoccupy yourself with fantasies about Din all the time, back before you even knew him as Din.  But in every single one, it was sexual and likely came from a place of boredom, a lack of external stimulation.  Here you are amidst bustling surroundings, and you’re daydreaming about domesticity with him.  Why?  You want to travel the galaxy, right?  You want to see things you’ve never seen before, right?

For some reason, you think of the floor, and you miss it.

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

It’s late afternoon at this point and nobody can find the teens.

More people have made their way into the city and it’s starting to get extremely fucking crowded, especially where you are downtown, and the handful of them must’ve slipped away with all the excitement happening and how difficult it is to keep the young ones together now that the parade is over.  You don’t know how long they’ve been gone—one second they were walking around just slightly detached from the rest of you, you assumed because the boisterous younglings fucked with their cool vibe, and then the next Naydee is gasping out to you that they’re gone.

“Sister Drya is going to kill me,” she hisses, her dark eyebrows furrowed in self-admonishment and stress.  So many fucking people here, you know her pain.  “I was supposed to be chaperoning them, they were just here—”

She shakes her head under the loose, cream-colored hood, groaning and then speeding up her gait to catch up with the woman in charge, but you decide to grab her wrist before she can relay the bad news.  

“I can go find them,” you offer, speaking as low as you can with the blaring noise surrounding you.  “Before anyone knows they’re missing.  Is there a way to convince everybody to stay in one spot for a little while?  You won’t get in trouble, but I need to know how to find you again.”

Naydee’s eyes widen in surprise, and even though it’s likely a bit out of character for you, you have a feeling it’ll be a deceptively easy task.  Even with the masses right now and how atrociously big this city is, you already have a general idea of where they’re likely to be.  Besides, you’re not even sure your absence will be noticed if Naydee is the only one who figured out the teens were gone—the other Sisters can thrive without you while missing anyone else would be noticeable, and you owe your new friend a thousand favors for helping you out these past few days.  The least you can do is save her from the scolding of one of the scariest old ladies you've ever met.

“Be as quick as you can,” she finally agrees.  It’s a lot of trust to put into you, but you’ve had experience in reading the most unreadable man in the entire galaxy, some teenagers shouldn’t pose too much of a problem.  “If you’re not back in thirty minutes or somebody notices, I’ll have to say something.”

You nod, silently breaking away from the group without another word.  You think you can hear her announce to everyone that it might be best to eat dinner now to skip any long lines later—smart—but you’re out of their hearing range and line of sight almost immediately.

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

“Really?”  You raise an eyebrow since they won’t be able to see the way your mouth is twisted up underneath your mask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the ground to further illustrate just how not fucking impressed you are.

Seven teenagers freeze, and slowly—depending on how much bravery they can individually muster—they turn around on their stools to face you.  The atmosphere in the tavern is bustling and cheery, booze being passed around a large crowd that laughs and mingles, but your vibe is stone cold and quiet.  The contrast doesn’t feel wrong on you like it normally would; the negative and disapproving energy you’re emitting makes you feel powerful, untouchable, armored and strong.

“How did you find us so fast?”  One of the twin boys squeaks out behind a light blue robe, sounding worried.

“Had a hunch,” you grumble, glaring sternly at each of them in turn.  Your tone is dry, your voice sits lower in your throat when you’re pissed off.  All you had to do was look for the closest bar that doesn’t have any orange jumpsuits poking around waiting to card underage younglings, it wasn’t that difficult.  “You’re not exactly unpredictable.”

“Are you gonna rat us out?”  The other twin asks you, in a voice that’s oddly deep compared to his brother.

“I should,” you snap, quickly reaching out to push their drinks away.  “I should let Sister Drya rain down her holy fury on your asses, got good people all twisted up over you for nothing and I’m missing dinn—”

You don’t know why, but you suddenly cut yourself off and jerk upright, spinning around.

The sounds of glasses clinking and boisterous voices fill the bar, but they seem to fade out for a second.  Your eyes fly around the crowded space, your heart lodged in your throat and looking for anything reflective.  Every flash you see is a false alarm—belt buckle, wristwatch, cocktail shaker—

He’s here… isn’t he?

Only, there’s nothing.  Nothing is out of place, nothing jumps out at you the way you’re assuming it will.  You’re braced taut and ready to bolt at the first sign of a chase, but it never comes.

It’s so… unexpected, this feeling.  It’s not like you’re being hunted anymore, but instead, you’re the hunter.  You’re feeling the weight of him from this far away and it’s like he’s calling for you to come find him, teasing the wild adrenaline rush you get from just feeling his presence, as if he absolutely knows it happens.  Whispering soft in your ear and then vanishing the second you’re able to turn around, like he’s here but he’s not.  Playing with you from so far away.

This… this is a taunt.  

The whole thing at the inn was leagues below this, that was rudimentary.  Teasing, getting even, having fun with each other, whatever you want to call that, that’s what it was.  This is scarily sophisticated.  Fluid and practiced and the best kind of frightening, stark and dangerous compared to the carefree and upbeat setting surrounding you.  You’re not making it up, it’s not just you being paranoid.  You know him with your eyes closed.  You know he’s here somewhere watching you, just like you know the starlight that streaks across the pitch black horizon of hyperspace.  Not because you can see it, not really, not directly.  But because by it, even in the vastest and darkest and emptiest of voids, you’re suddenly able to see everything else.

“You okay, Nerida?”

The volume gradually comes back up and you blink, suddenly remembering where you are, who else is with you.  The chatter becomes slightly louder than it seemed before.

“Yeah,” you eventually say, slightly airy while continuing to stare emptily at the crowded room.  He’s not here, you don’t think, not anymore at least.  But you’re not stupid, you know what this means.  You’re already caught, there’s nothing you can conceivably do that will delay the reunion for the next—you look down and pull the loose sleeve up to check your communicator—seven fucking hours, there’s no way.  He’ll pull back and follow you, keep up with you from a distance and then snatch you away right when you let your guard down.  You at least need to get the kids back to their guardians before that can happen, though.

“Let’s go,” you quietly tell the group of foundlings, grabbing elbows and hauling them out of their stools.  “Naydee was the only one who knew that you were gone when I left.  Here’s to hoping she managed to keep it that way.”

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

Against all odds, you’re able to rally the wayward teens and successfully lead them through shoulders that are beginning to move closer together as the crowd grows and grows.  You stay towards the back and don’t look behind you once—not only do you not want to give the younglings an unnecessary reason to become paranoid or to question your actions, but you can still feel Din lingering.  Moving like a shadow, probably fitting in perfectly with the masked festival-goers, nothing drawing any attention to him with all the spectacular sights and noise occurring.

Soon you return to the same spot from before, and you and the teenagers seamlessly integrate yourselves back into the rest of the group without anyone noticing a thing is out of place.  When you move to stand beside her, Naydee’s bone-deep sigh of relief is palpable even behind the concealing fabric; she squeezes your hand incredibly tight in a silent gesture of thanks, and then pulls something from the deep pockets of her robe and passes it to you sneakily.  A purple fruit.  She must’ve saved it for you.

Maker, fuck yes.  It’s not much but it’s more dinner than any of the seven troublemakers get, but Naydee quietly assures you they’ll be able to eat something once they return to the Keja around midnight, just not the tasty expensive treats they’re selling at the vendors.  As the sun goes down, you try not to stain your pretty fabric a deep maroon as you chomp and feel your lips start to curl upwards.  It sounds so fucking stupid when you put it like this, but you keep going back to Din and revelling in knowing that he’s so close, like you’re just mentally checking in on him.  You don’t get the sensation by thinking, though—more like you just focus really hard on your heart and feel him there just a second afterwards.

Is that how pure, stupid, shameless love feels when you’re completely entrenched in it?  It’s not like it’s surrounding you, it’s not suffocating you or making you float.  It’s just a thing.  Like… a thing inside your chest, a physical thing you can search for and find, something you can point to on your body and say it’s right here, this is where my love for him lives.  Right at the bottom of your heart, right where it curves and beats strong when other hearts meet flat at sharp angles.  You do it over and over again, reconfirming its existence every single time.  You don’t know what else you’d call it.  Love is the only word.  To love, to know.  To hold in the heart.

Soon, you start to notice that people are slowly moving around your stationary group.  You look up and watch the crowd begin to walk, some of them giving soft smiles to the cute children as they pass by, but all of them following the same unspoken direction.

“Where is everyone going?”  You ask Naydee, standing on your tiptoes to watch the crowd migrate like a giant system, an organism or mechanism of thousands (or tens of thousands?) of smaller moving parts all traveling in tandem.  It’s fascinating—you’ve been to crowded places, you know what it looks like when a lot of people are packed into one area, but you’ve never seen what it looks like when they all move together.  They would normally be bumping into each other, slipping in between, fighting and never really getting anywhere, interacting individually and thinking separately.  Now they’re progressing in one single direction, so many with the same mindset and understanding of what comes next.  A second parade, almost, with New Republic officers directing the flow of pedestrians as they pass.

“The eastern part of the city!”  Naydee yells over the noise and points, and beyond her extended finger, you can barely see the light of a dusky body of water in the distance beyond the buildings.  “The fireworks are going to go off over the bay, but it takes awhile to get there!”

“Is…”  You blink for a second, suddenly caught off guard, trying to think back to the holomap the concierge pulled up at the front desk of the inn.  Surely you would’ve noticed it, but your sudden childlike hope makes you ask anyway.  “Is it part of an ocean?”

Naydee shakes her head.  “A really big lake!”

Your shoulders drop just the slightest bit in disappointment but still, you ache to see it.  You can’t even imagine—the fireworks are likely going to reflect across the water, giving everyone double the view.  And luckily, after all the children and caretakers are individually accounted for, you start to behind the slow-moving crowd towards the docks you know lie beyond.  

Naydee scurries ahead to keep the kids together, ushering them forward and preventing any drunk passer-bys from accidentally stepping on them, and you quietly bring up the very rear of the entourage.  You take the time to observe more than anything, walk in the back and experience instead of trailblaze.  So many people, so many stories to be told, so many differences and diversity around you.  Your face is partially concealed and you don’t move your head too much, just your eyes.  They flick around to take in everything, the crowd thinning little by little as you make it out of the confined space downtown.  You’re able to make out full bodies and outfits again instead of just heads and shoulders, allowing you to breathe just a bit easier under your mask.

And then at one point—and it’s almost a little startling because it happens all at once—the organizers must decide that the sun has officially gone down, because the lights come on.  All of a sudden, paper lanterns and bulbs flicker into existence all around you and the world decides it wants to glow, glint and twinkle from the inside out.  They’re everywhere, draping across rooftops and tangled around street signs and stuffed into the flower bouquets overhead, raining soft colors down on everything.  You’re in complete awe, trying to keep walking but also needing to look at as much as fucking possible in the suddenly luminescent city.  It’s so colorful, so vernal and warm and you feel like you’re… Like when you took a shower on the Crest for the first time and spent a few happy moments just playing with the water and soap for your own enjoyment, it’s as if all the brilliant rainbow of colors the bubbles would make under the fluorescent light decided to surround you at the same time.  You’re inside stained glass, blinking at the flowers and wondering if Din can even smell the air or if it’s filtered, processed and reduced to nothing under the helmet.

And that’s when you see him.

But with the way your chest rapidly constricts and you can count your heart beats as they pound, blaring white noise through your ears and adrenaline through your veins, it’s like he's just allowing it to happen.  You immediately understand that you don’t have fucking anything the second your eyes land on him; this isn’t a heads up that you caught wind of early, it’s not a gift or an advantage you’ve incidentally gained over him that you should be thankful for.  Being able to see him directly like this, being able to make out all these fucking details from this far away…  This just feels like you’re being informed of the endgame right before it comes.  If you were anyone else, if you were a real bounty and this was a real hunt, his armor glinting and reflecting the lanterns overhead would feel like a knife you're about to be on the wrong side of.

You have a decision to make, very quickly.  Either keep in this same direction, head straight towards him and just pretend like you are who you’re dressed as, a random caretaker for a bunch of rowdy foundlings during a spring festival on Nariss, or disappear.  Drop back, move through the crowd and use the distance you have between you right now as your only hope of getting away in time.  Neither one gives you a particular advantage—your chances of being caught have already skyrocketed exponentially just being able to see the reflection in his armor, the hovering shield at his side with big black eyes… staring directly at you.

You almost trip over your pantlegs, gasping.  Baby.  He beams at you and you think he calls out through the passing crowd, his tiny arms extending out, and your chest feels like you’re pulling organs as if they were muscles, cramping up and seizing with emotion.  You want to run to them even though you’re meant to be running from them, call out over the noise and wave even though you’re not supposed to.  You want to hold the kid again, squish his little forehead with kisses, walk around with Din’s hand pressed against your lower back and see the fireworks with him.

Your hands clutch at the draping fabric covering your chest, pulling and twisting it uncertainly.  What do you do, what do you do?

No matter what, you know it’s over.  Keep your head down and try to move past him, or break away from your group and try to escape—both are different paths that lead to the same result.  What’s the point of running when he’s the one chasing you?  The heart-pounding thrill is the only reason you’re even considering it, but his body stands so tall amongst the crowd, not moving while people ebb and flow like a river passing around him.

Except then you can hear his voice repeat the last thing he said to you in person as if he says it directly into the comm in your ear.  When you do see me… try to outrun.

You should run—run, it’s better than just hoping he doesn’t see you when you already know he does.

Unless…

Out of a trillion different possibilities, you soon realize that there is exactly one situation in which this could turn out in your favor.  You can immediately picture the scenario in your mind, but there’s just too many variables to conceivably rely on getting them all right.  This maybe has a… two percent chance of working?  Maybe?  Everything would have to go perfectly, just fucking flawlessly, but what other choice do you have?  Two percent is better than whatever odds you’re dealing with now.

You walk silently behind the group of foundlings as you approach closer and closer, keeping your head purposefully down as they skip and giggle and dance ahead.  He knows you’re here—he has to know, you’re counting on him knowing.  Walk right in front of him, pretend like you don’t see, make sure you keep left.  Keep left, keep left, keep your head down, keep your head down—

A leather glove suddenly catches hold of your wrist hard enough to tug you backwards.

Your gasp is audible over the sound of the crowd and you spin around, jerking your head up to look at him in fear.  Your heart slams as the beskar reflects your mask and hood back at you—you’re terrified and it shows, you can see it in your eyes.

You quickly try to yank your hand away, even as your index finger stretches up towards the communicator around his wrist.

“Miss Nerida?”  A child’s voice cries, and then small hands grab at you from behind as you bury the urge to actually fight him.  Your instincts are demanding you attack when his grip is this strong, but you just whine and struggle, slapping weakly at him with your free hand and feeling more of the younglings begin to pull at you, their high pitched voices calling more and more attention to the scene.

Your gaze flicks to the side, suddenly landing on a pair of New Republic officers helping direct the thousands of moving bodies from the closest street corner.  They’re looking at you, pointing and beginning to speak into their own comm units.  Din’s helmet snaps sideways to follow your gaze, and then he’s immediately dropping your wrist and stepping back, retreating as quickly as he caught you.  Though you don’t want to—though you don’t want to give yourself away even more, you want to pretend fully that he was a complete stranger and the children were right to try to help you get away—your eyes fall to your son in the hovering crib by his side and you feel yourself crumble just a bit.

Just a few more hours, kid.  A few more hours.

Children pull you away while your pursuers both disappear into the crowd, and you quickly turn to soothe the tiny babies instead of chasing after the one you miss so terribly.

“I’m alright,” you tell them, scooting them up and encouraging them to continue walking.  Blend in, blend in, don’t let anybody think anything is wrong.  “Come on, we’re fine, come on, we have to catch up.”

They take your lead as soon as one of the caretakers turns around and sees the small group crowding around you.  You think she asks what happened, but you just tell her a man mistook you for someone else and nothing more comes of it.  She’s able to settle the chaos better than you are, and by the time you’re continuing to travel forwards once more like nothing happened, the communicator suddenly flicks on in your ear.

“What did you do?”  He breathes out, his footsteps moving fast through his voice.  He’s traveling much quicker than you expected—is he still being followed?  The officers are gone from your sight, they might be going after him right now, weaving between bodies and calling out to the perpetually vanishing glint of armor as he navigates his way out of danger.

You look down at the comm on your wrist and your heart nearly soars with victory.  It worked.  It worked.  You just have to outlast a bit longer, don’t draw any extra attention to it—he’s preoccupied and he certainly doesn’t sound happy, but you hope that’ll be enough to make him slip.  Use his frustration to your advantage, let him think the only thing you were successful at was momentarily escaping him.

“The cops weren’t part of the plan,” you admit quietly, keeping your head down as your loose hood billows in the twilight breeze.  “Don’t get caught.”

There’s a few moments of just his breathing, his footsteps, and the noise floor humming through the comm, before he finally responds.  “You look beautiful.”

You stare unseeingly down at the concrete under your feet, still feeling your hand tingle from where he caught you.  The line abruptly mutes on his end and you just keep moving forward, onward, wanting to look back but knowing he’s already long gone.

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

He had you.  You were right there, right in front of him, and even if he hadn’t been subtly trailing you all day, seeing the red footsteps get covered and flicker out of existence just a few moments after you make them, he would’ve recognized you anywhere.  In black and white, in the fading light, with your face covered, children calling you by a different name and attaching themselves to you like they’ve known you forever—doesn’t matter, he would’ve known you.  Your eyes have always given you away, always so expressive and starry and soft, but able to see right through solid steel whenever you look at him.

But then you slipped from his grasp, and then more guards pushed him further and further away from you.  They must all be in constant communication, because every single jumpsuit he sees immediately spots him and starts following.  It’s fucking exhausting, and he thinks of you the whole time.

He waits in a dark alley with the kid and taps the side of the helmet a few times to bring up the time on his comm, but then relaxes just slightly when he sees the hour.  It’s earlier than he thought it was, he’ll be able to find you again.

Though, something tugs at him while he’s looking at the clock ticking away in front of his eyes, counting down each second that passes.  There was… a moment.  Back in the square, when he was holding onto you again, when you were looking directly into his once more—everything in his helmet— 

No, he shakes his head while the kid looks up at him curiously, it can’t be.  It was just a split second, it was gone so fast.

But he can’t get rid of it.  Though there’s no explanation, he thinks the display screen flickered.  The sky behind you looked different for a single frame, your footsteps weren’t bright red and visible anymore, your eyes weren’t grey and he stopped wondering what shade of fabric you and your friend decided to choose for you to wear.  It was silvery, he’s almost certain.  Like his armor, it only reflected the color of everything around it.

Color.  Everywhere.  Bursting for a blink of an eye, and then gone just as quick, before he could actually figure out what it really meant.

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

It doesn’t ever really get truly dark thanks to the enormous hanging moon and ringed gas giant dancing with Sanctuary II, constantly reflecting light back onto the surface and reacting with some of the trace chemicals up above the atmosphere, and you think the sky just might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen it.  Must have something to do with the equinox, the glimmering angles of light being played with by celestial bodies in this stunning system, but it’s a dream.  The Maker apparently couldn’t decide which colors he wanted tonight so he just splashed all of them together all at once, let them run and blend like ink in the gentle water below, like the various people who call this moon home.

That view in front of you, coupled with all the flowers and lanterns lining the streets behind you, and you’ve lost track of time the exact same way you hoped Din would.  You think you’ve stood for about an hour or so in this one spot, half-listening to excited chatter from the babies, mostly just gazing across the stretch of water and being able to just barely spot the docks in the distance, but it feels like it’s only been minutes.

You check your watch—the fireworks should be starting any second now.  You don’t know what to expect, just that in your experience, explosions tend to be loud.  You've decided you’re not going to plug your ears, though.  Tummy twisting with nerves and another inexplicable feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, you resolve to experience the unknown exactly the way it’s meant to be.  Fully, without worry or fear.

Then, lacking any warning or ceremony whatsoever, a single flare launches silent and high from one of the small boats skimming the bay, and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath as the dim light disappears into thin air for a split second, before—

It’s… quite possibly the most dazzling thing you think you’ve ever seen.  So shamelessly decorative just for the sake of it, not serving any other practical purpose besides celebration and visual spectacle, and you’ll probably never know another extravagance like it.  You grew up with dust pelting against tired eyes, you never thought they’d get to reflect such gorgeous bursts of color back up at the sky, glassy and childlike amongst a group of equally wide-eyed children.

As expected, a deafening boom follows closely behind the singular display, but just witnessing it is incredible enough to make you forget to brace yourself for the sound and you jump almost violently in response.  There comes a loud cheer from the people standing around you, a few delighted gasps and children who decide now is the best time to start crying, but then more flares begin to launch from the boats and the subsequent show will sear itself into your memory to replay over and over again.

Still, you think the endless sky and dark water below would have to light on fire to stop him from coming to mind.

Din.

You click the comm on, continuing to stare in stunned awe but wanting nothing more than to hear his voice right now, feel his hand rest on your lower back and the kid’s three fingers squeezing one of yours while the stars rain down from above.  You’re only continuing to run from him because it’s expected of you, that’s the reason you’re here, but it’s becoming harder and harder to argue with yourself.  “Do you always see in black and white?”

It takes him just a few seconds to respond, but he always does.  “Only when I’m tracking someone.”

The loud booms can be heard over the earpiece, happening maybe a second after they crack and sparkle above you.  You can’t tell if the latency is due to the electronics or if he’s just that far away from the source of the sound itself, but… you don’t think he is.  He feels close again, like he could just walk up right next to you any second, or maybe that’s just how he always feels now.

“Does that mean you haven’t seen the sky here?”  You ask after a moment.  This whole time, everything has been grey for him?

“I saw it,” Din murmurs, and even though it’s quiet and explosions are thundering loud enough to deafen more sensitive ears, his quiet voice somehow breaks through it all.  “When you left the Crest, I saw it behind you.”

For some reason, you suddenly feel like crying.  Whether it’s the way he phrases it or the sentiment in the words, you’re close to tears without even knowing why, looking up at the sky illuminating spectacularly.  He says it like he wasn’t the one who parked on this moon and told you to go on without him.  “Can you… turn it off for just a second?”

He takes a second, before clarifying for you.  “I turn it off and I lose your footprints.”

So that was the ultimatum.  He doesn’t want to turn it off until you’re back with him again.  Does he not understand?  Does he not know what you know?  Maybe you just happened to feel it first, this overwhelming physical sensation inside you whenever you think about him.  It’s like the exact opposite of a hole in your chest.  And it’s so odd, so counterintuitive.  Being comforted in his absence, feeling him with you when he isn’t.  Falling in love in the dark, knowing him without ever seeing him.

“You never needed them,” you say, reaching up to pull your mask down under your jaw and chin for a moment, wanting to freely breathe the freshwater and flowers while stars explode and fracture across the sky.  It’s a truth you’re acknowledging, something you’ll carry with you, something you fundamentally own at this point.  “You’d find me without the helmet.  And I’d find you.”

The fireworks continue to bleed into the water beneath them, multicolor splashes rippling into existence and disappearing just as quick.  You could’ve never imagined a more colorful, magnificent landscape—besides your waterfall on Naboo, of course.  That was a pure product of nature though, a place hidden away and untouched by people, completely sacred.  Light refracting against mist, natural glass that would shatter under your weight.  This is a celebration of life and family.  Loud in a different way, affecting you in a different way, but just as wonderful and touching.  A cultivated paradise, designed to be beautiful and safe only because they wanted it to be.

“Think so?”  He asks softly.  He sounds so deep and warm, but… a little distant.  You’re able to hear it in his words.  You don’t know why, though.  Doesn’t he believe you?  Perhaps… perhaps this isn’t The Way.  Perhaps this is part of a completely different oath, one where knowing and loving somebody isn’t the same thing as looking at their face, not at all.  Where you can have them exist entirely separate from each other, because this is love.  This is real, enduring, bone-deep love, and you haven’t ever seen his face, so how would he explain that?  How would the Mandalorians reconcile that?  You bear the mark of the mudhorn, you’ve moved through time and space with him, you’re a mother to his son, and you’ve never seen his face.  It defies both the Mandalorian oath and traditional understandings of love, or it meets them right in the middle, depending on how you look at it.

“I know so.”  For the first time, you think you might sound more confident and certain than he does.  Maybe he doesn’t fully get it yet, but then you suppose he’ll just have to trust you.  “Will you look at the sky?”

“I see it,” Din tells you, but you know he doesn’t.  Not the way you want him to.  And stars, you just want so many things for him, don’t you?  The sky, fresh air, water, light, food, rest.  You want him to see the galaxy the way you do—have a new appreciation for the gifts that are given just because you’re alive to experience them.  All the physics and mathematics aligned perfectly for it to happen—all the chemistry, the systems, the dynamics that dictate the universe, they all got together and crafted a world where you, him, and the kid all exist together at the same time.  You want him to know the significance of that.

“With color?”  You ask, knowing his answer before he seems to.

“I…”  Din wants to argue, or at least say it again.  He can’t or he’ll lose you, he already told you he doesn’t want to turn the setting off.  It’s such an unnecessary conflict, but you want to respect it so much that you’re willing to give up things of your own to make it happen.

“How do I fix it then?”  You whisper, so desperately wanting this one thing for him, this one grandeur to behold.  How do you fix this problem?  How do you convince him to look with you?  You’d offer to just go and find him instead of continuing to run away for the next few hours, but you know the show will be over soon and you don’t have much time left.  “Do you want me to come look for you?  It’ll be too late by then, you’re too far away.  Look at the sky.”

It’s silent for a moment—truly silent, even though colorful bombs are going off above the bay.  You don’t know why you’ve attached yourself to this so strongly, but it’s almost devastating when you don’t get a response.  You look away from the spectacle for the first time in an eternity, gazing unseeingly into the crowd of onlookers with a sudden sadness taking hold of you.  He won’t look, he’s too stubborn, he holds onto things too tightly.

But then, a flurry of flares start launching in rapid succession from the distant boats, screaming and crying on their way up and then igniting into showers of light, and the abrupt increase in activity manages to catch your attention once again.  This must be the end, they saved the best for last.  Every corner of the horizon flashes and sparks, and you’re mesmerized at how bright it is, how many colors they’ve managed to fit into one single frame.

“It’s beautiful,” comes his voice, and the smile that you break into feels just right for the brilliance of the view above you.  Maker, it is, isn’t it?  Now you can hear it—he sounds like he’s looking at it too, with color, in all its breathtaking glory, and you feel like you’re flying.  Like he picked you up and let you watch up close, like you can feel his armor under your fingers right now as he carries you through the sky.

It swells up inside you, a rising wave similar to the ones you can see in the distance, and you know you probably shouldn’t say it because it’s not in your best interest to say it right now, but you have to say it anyways.  It’s an unknowable compulsion, a need to connect and communicate directly with him but for your sake, not presently, not at this exact moment in time.

Luckily, you mute your comm just in time and simply give the words to him from very far away.

“Hurry up,” you say, sending the sentiment into the sky with all your love, and the conflicting hope that he won’t take the advice until a bit later on.  “Come and find me.”

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

After the fireworks are over, people start to drift off in separate directions, clearing the traffic and congestion from the streets around you.  Someone puts their hand on your shoulder and you blink a few times, spinning around and almost stepping on a bunch of tiny little feet by accident.

Stars, that’s a lot of children.  They’re all crowded around Naydee, who pats a few heads and almost buckles under the younglings clinging to her leg.

“Figured you would be long gone by now,” she grins at you from behind her mask, and you’re reminded to pull yours up over your face just from looking at her.  “It’s late—we’re going back to the Keja.”

“Oh, shit,” you breathe in surprise, but the noise of the gradually dispersing crowd manages to cover it up.  At least from younger, more easily distracted ears, but you think Naydee hears you.  Her dark eyes roll good-naturedly, looking happy but exhausted from the long day.  You’re going to have to say goodbye now.

“What happened to your family?”  She asks after a moment, and you think she’s being careful with the way she says it, likely because family is a difficult topic to navigate in general around some of the children hanging on her and begging for her attention.  “Have you been in touch with them?  If not, I’m sure you can come back with us.  It’ll be late by the time we get there, but at least you’ll be safe.”

You open your mouth to automatically decline her offer, knowing Din is still in the crowded city looking for you and wanting to stay where there’s lots of people.

But then… well, he would expect you to do that, wouldn’t he?

There’s more people here.  More danger, but better places to hide.  It’s the obvious choice, it’s the one that makes the most logical sense.  But you’d also be completely alone and you’re assuming the only reason he hasn’t snatched you up yet—which you know he could’ve done multiple times by now, is likely because you’re with a group of innocent foundlings, moody teenagers, and very stern older women.  He probably doesn’t realize you’ve told them about him and the kid, though you were slightly vague on the details.

It’s also a little over three hours to get back, but you’re banking on it being closer to four with how whiney and tired some of the small voices sound, others sounding like they’re an enormous sugar rush contained into a tiny little capsule.  Would he have the gall to try and get you right from under their noses?  Will he even know you left the city, or will he assume you made the smartest decision possible and simply account for it ahead of time?  No, you're overthinking it, just make a decision and stick with it.

“There’s also free food,” Naydee shrugs while you’re still considering, but… well, that settles that.  Almost three days of friendship and she already knows exactly how to win you over in the end.  Sustenance for your empty tummy, an escort the entire way there, and heavily guarded walls beyond.  Din will have to get creative in response—you flaunted your imagination for days, coming up with dozens of evasion tactics to outlast him, but this one just seems… incredibly practical.  Exploiting a weakness of his—isolating it, having it be reinforced by precedent, and then taking advantage of it.  You bet he’ll catch on, but still, it’ll make it more difficult for him, and you’re grasping at straws to hang on just a little longer.

“I…”  Quick, come up with something.  You clear your throat.  “The city is too crowded, I haven’t been able to find them.  I could just… tell them where I’m headed and see if they can find me along the way?”

Naydee smiles and nods.  “Sounds perfect.”

Yet, the entire walk back… you keep thinking you’re going to feel Din trailing behind you, waiting to feel the nerves twist in your tummy and your palms to sweat, but you don’t.  You keep glancing over your shoulder and then down at your wrist, needing to talk yourself out of addressing him through the comm to let him know exactly what the plan is.  You like maintaining a sense of secrecy from the new characters you’ve met on your adventures—Naydee, Karga, Peli—almost everyone you’ve been introduced to, you found a way to find a subtle enjoyment in hiding certain things from them.  But with Din, you don’t have any walls.  They crumbled nearly a full year ago when he silently pushed a cauterizer in your hand and took his armor off for you, and you’ve felt the inexplicable need to bare yourself to him in return ever since.  It would be to your extreme detriment to do it now, but you still have to fight the urge.

Even if you don’t feel him following, you still find yourself acting like he is.  Constantly turning back to double check the road behind you, drifting off in the middle of shallow, distant conversations with tiny foundlings who can’t tell the difference, keeping towards the middle of the pack this time to avoid being picked off towards the back.  The belltower at the orphanage is loud and will ring for quite a distance, so your timing has to be utterly pristine for this to all work out.  You eye your comm the entire way there, trying to stall just the right amount to avoid any realizations or fall into any traps he may be setting for you.

You eventually leave the city walls far behind you, and now you have no clue where he is.  You lost him, and maybe that’s why you feel your heart beat insanely fast the whole time.  He could be anywhere now.  Behind you, adjacent, parallel—you can’t decide where to look, but it keeps you wide awake and focused while the group tiredly travels back to the temple.

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

You can see it in the distance, the brick buildings slowly coming into view.  One might think your stress would have worked itself out by now, been brought back to a manageable level after four hours of walking, but you’ve been on red alert for the past hour or so.  Any movement or rustle that doesn’t come from the sleepy children or exhausted caretakers, you’re on top of it, snapping your attention to the offending tree or animal and not being able to relax even after affirming it’s just nature, it’s not shiny metal bounding after you in the darkness, ready to take you down.

The infants are all likely snoozing away in the nursery, and the Sister who volunteered to stay behind and look after them comes to greet the group at the gate as you approach.  Like always, two Brothers open the iron bars to allow you inside, and you feel the anxiety dig its claws into your tummy.  If Din is going to get you, this is the very last moment to do it.  These walls are guarded and you’re nervous for him, you’re nervous for yourself—you’re just fucking nervous.  Jumpy and worried, not being able to pinpoint him anymore and feeling all the more anxious because of it.

It doesn’t feel right.  Nothing feels right about this, but you can’t figure out specifically what’s wrong.  This was the exact plan, this was a way for you to just survive these last few hours and yet, it doesn’t feel right that you actually succeeded in doing so.  It doesn’t make sense that he’d allow you to return all the way here, especially when he was close enough to touch you earlier.  Din has had so much time to snatch you up, so many opportunities to lure you away, confront you—anything to catch you, and he hasn’t done it yet.  Why?  Either you truly did escape and he has no idea where you are, which doesn’t feel right, or he’s choosing not to get you for whatever reason, which also doesn’t feel right.  What’s he waiting for?  You can’t have won.  It was all too fucking easy, you’re expecting to see him around every single corner because he should be there, he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.

When someone gently touches your elbow, you’re so on edge that you nearly whip around in surprise.

“Sorry!”  Naydee immediately apologizes, taking her hand back to lift her hood and remove the mask covering her face.  “Didn’t mean to scare you!  I was just going to say that the commissary is still open,” she offers, and you watch the small group of hungry teenagers break off from the group to make their way there.  “It’s going to take awhile to get the children ready for bed, so we’ll be in the dormitories if you need to sleep.  Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see you again.”

You stare at her and blink a few times, trying to readjust your focus.  She’s your new friend, she just said this was likely the last time you’ll see each other, but you can’t stop thinking about Din.  Imagine he’s hours away in the city right now, still looking for you.  You’re trying to evaluate your priorities here, but you truthfully never expected to get this far.  Inside the gates, surrounded by brick buildings and silent guards.  You know your way around here, you know hiding spots, you know how to outlast—it’s incredibly advantageous for you to be inside these walls.  What is he doing?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you give Naydee a quick hug and she happily accepts it.  “I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point.”

She smiles and nods, pulling back and letting a couple grumpy foundlings catch her robes and yank on them impatiently.  The loud group eventually disappears into the dorms, and the door shutting behind them cuts off the tired crying and chatty voices determined to stay awake, leaving you in silence that feels slightly unfamiliar after going without it for so long.

Fuck, you just need to breathe.  As soon as the dead quiet grips the air around you, you realize you need to relax.  You’re way too fucking wound up; you want to bolt at the smallest thing and the sudden silence of being alone multiplies it to the point where you have to remind yourself of its importance.  Breathe.  Focus.  There’s about fifteen minutes before the bells ring, fifteen more minutes and the chase will be all over.

Can you eat?  You thought you’d want to, but you think you’re too fucking antsy.  You can’t stay here alone, that’s for sure, but you also don’t want to be around all the children right now.  The commissary will have a handful of people wandering around, teens snacking and maybe a Brother or two standing guard.  It’s the best place to wait the clock out, so you make your way there.  The gentle breeze billows around your loose robes, your pantlegs swishing as you walk.

A few minutes later, you’ve got a plate of food in front of you but your mask is still up, and you’re just sitting there.  Towards the back of the large room, sitting by yourself at one of the tables and staring down at your communicator.  Five minutes.  You have five fucking minutes left before he finds you.  Can you feel him?  Is he closing in?

You sit up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath.  Focus on that feeling from earlier.  The presence in your chest, the weight that didn’t used to be there months ago—focus on that feeling and branch it outwards.  Can you feel him?

Something catches your eye.

Or no… it doesn’t, does it?  Nothing is out of place here, nothing is visibly wrong or amiss.  The only thing that’s changed from all the times before is how dark it is through the windows, and how there are only a few kids in here grabbing a midnight snack instead of being packed like usual.  Nothing else.

But there’s… there’s an acolyte in the far corner, standing guard with his back to the wall.  It’s not his presence that gives you pause—you expected him to be here, there’s always been at least one present whenever you’ve sat down to eat.  He doesn’t look any different from the rest of the Brothers you’ve passed by this evening or the days before—tall, silent, dark brown robes, hooded and mysterious—so why do you suddenly feel yourself break out into a cold sweat as soon as your eyes land on him?

Bubbling laughter and chatter echoes through the large room from one of the tables near the entrance—seven teenagers stuffing their faces with food and sharing animated conversation with each other now that it’s late and they’re alone—but your stomach twists and your fingers start to tremble as you slowly rise from your seat in the back.  You want to keep your head down and be casual but it’s impossible, you desperately need to keep looking at that silent guard in particular and your heart kicks up in your chest—

—and then it wrenches sideways when you’re carefully backing away from the table and the offending acolyte takes a single step forwards.

Run.  Everything in you screams for you to run, and it’s rarely done that before, but you can’t.  Not yet, you don’t want to draw attention, and the logical part of your mind rages against your gut instinct to haul ass.  He’s here—of course he is, the thought screams through your veins as you try to weave quickly in between tables, feeling light on your toes and readying yourself to run as soon as you can.  The dark figure seems to find a careful pace behind you, staying just far enough behind and walking in perfect silence, and you have so many fucking questions but you can’t even think a single thing beyond run away, run away.  Where’s the kid?  How did he get those robes?  Did he actually take his helmet off just to get to you in a room where anyone could confront him?

Your feet propel you forward as soon as you make it out of the door, you break out into a sprint—just flat out bolting because you know how fucking fast he is and you need as big a headstart as you can get.

You race down the stairs and through the courtyard, the beautiful surroundings contrasting drastically with the way you’re running for your fucking life through them.  It’s not beautiful to you right now; you feel clumsy and physically unable to move fast enough no matter how quick you go, your eyes are wide and every nerve is on fire and you can’t even tell if he’s behind you anymore with how silently he moves, but you just trust that he is and keep barreling forward.  Your breath puffs against the clinging fabric of your mask as you keep sprinting, willing your legs to pump faster.  Get to the belltower at least, get to where you have the smallest chance of being caught by the people who guard this place.

As soon as you allow yourself to even conceive the possibility, two Brothers in dark hooded robes suddenly turn the corner a little ways in front of you and your reaction time is perfect—you jerk to a halt and take a single step forward as soon as they spot you.  Since your momentum already committed you to it, you just have to walk, keep your head down, move directly past them and hope Din disappeared from behind you in time.

Step, step, step—keep going, control your breathing, you’re okay, you’re allowed to be up late tonight and they shouldn’t stop you.  Walk right by…  Stars, you feel their silent stares as you casually pass, and it just feels so cold and analytical compared to the kind of danger Din is gives off when dressed in the exact same clothing.  He’s hard and tangible and an unrelenting force, where they just feel like ghosts that haunt this place.  The threat they present is impersonal and detached, but the terror currently chasing after you is so real that he can read your mind.

You wipe the sweat from your brow as soon as you turn the corner, and your feet are already starting to speed up on their own knowing you’re out of their sight.  Run, get to the belltower before Din does, you can see it standing tall about a hundred feet away.  The stairs leading to the door come closer and closer, but you hear something behind you and it propels you faster.  It’s like you can feel him right at your heels even though you haven’t seen him, snapping at your ankles even though your footsteps are the only ones you can hear anymore.

You scramble up the stairs and close the door behind you, spinning around and facing it even as you slowly retreat backwards into the moonlit tower, trying to stay quiet.  Breathing through your nose, eyes shifting around the enclosed space, continuing to back up and away from the door.  Where is he?  There are so many windows that allow you to look outside, but why can’t you spot his movement through them?  Wasn’t he right behind you?

Behind you.

There’s no reason or logic at all to it; you just react.  Spinning around and throwing a mean punch.

Din jerks back just in time to miss it, twisting and dodging at the very last second to avoid your next few hits—but… things seem to slow down, even if they’re happening so fast.  The moonlight cascades through the dozens of windows lining the circular walls and it shines just enough to reveal small glimpses of him.  With every aggressive strike from you, you see something else—you see a flash of his chin when you try to uppercut, you aim for his chest and you see a bit of his jaw.  When you go for his jaw, he steps sideways and catches your wrist, and you see the bend of his nose catch the light this time.

But then it’s like he finally figures out that you’re actually fighting him, and now he’s coming for you.  Trained and ruthless, not weighed down by any armor and lightning quick, launching perfectly aimed attacks that you’re only able to avoid from reaction and muscle memory alone.  You block or move whenever he strikes, you attack whenever you see an opening, you sidestep at the same time he does—

Until you land a spin kick directly to the center of his chest and snap your leg to shove him back, your heel smashing into that soft spot right above his stomach with dead precision and brute force.  He exhales sharply and takes a few more steps back to steady himself while you pause to catch your breath.

Din abruptly comes back and you fall into it with him again, keeping a sharp rhythm with each other that’s faster, harder, and way more real than any sparring match you’ve ever shared.  The hours and days in hyperspace you spent practicing with him are but a fraction of what he’s throwing at you right now, the combinations so rapid and blurred that you just have to trust your knowledge of him and his movement through the dark.

But then, your downfall.  Bells begin ringing an earsplittingly familiar melody above you, and it shatters your concentration—you falter just as he grabs you and sweeps your feet out, and though you know how to get out of that, you’re not quick enough on the jump nor counterswing to prevent it.  He takes you to the ground, hard, and then your wrists are being pinned together above your head and your mask is being tugged down.

Din’s mouth on yours makes you want to cry.

The whole thing is like coming home.  You spent a week surrounded by strangers and having them call you by a name not given to you, fending for yourself, and now here he is.  Someone who knows who you really are, someone that wants to care for you.  Tears come to your eyes even as they're pressed tightly shut, and Din kisses you like he’s never known anything else.  His mouth fits to yours as if the Maker made your lips before ever considering the rest of you, his bare hand clutching your jaw and forcing you to open for him, letting him lick deep inside after going so many days without it.  It might feel dominant and overwhelming if it happened to any other person, but through it, you can also taste his desperation and weakness, how soft he is even when he’s squeezing your jaw and squishing your wrists together too tightly.

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

He pulls back and your heart throbs at how moonlight continues to bathe just the smallest glimpses of him under the hood—never the full thing, never the whole face, but enough.  The quiet light that brushes the arch of his nose, how it bathes the hard line of his jaw so that you can barely see his scruff when he turns his head the right way.  His eyes are hidden in near darkness but there’s the faintest glimmer where they should be, and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to looking at him without the helmet.  You can see him, you can see shadows of his chin, his neck—dear stars, his fucking neck.  You’re pinned and paralyzed under him and the ringing bells, yet you feel like you just might float if he wasn’t holding you so tight to the floor.

“Where’s the baby?”  You finally lift your chin and ask, needing to raise your voice over the melody clanging loud throughout the tower.

“Making friends,” Din pants back down at you, and… stars, then you just start giggling.  Adrenaline turning into pure joy, imagining the kid wreaking havoc with all the other babies in the nursery right now.  It feels more light and airy than anything your body should know.

“What are you so happy about?” He asks, swallowing and then continuing on with the same quick gasps.  “You lost, I caught you in time.”

“Did you?”  You drop your head to the brick floor and ask, biting your lip as he stares back down at you.  Suddenly—

—Bong—

Din holds utterly still over you while you take a quick breath and wait for the next eleven bells… 

…but then break into a slow grin up at him when nothing but utter silence follows.

There’s a moment.  Just a single moment where the cogs turn rapidly under that shadowy hood, one where the faint reflection of light in his eyes flickers down to the communicator on your wrist that says midnight and back to you, one that solidifies the longer it takes for another bell to ring.  It’s not going to.

One o’clock.

You think he puts it together.  The one moment he was never able to figure you out—when you tried reprogramming the comms just a few days ago.  The one trick up your sleeve that you resigned to throw away and almost forget about because the circumstances for pulling it off were never realistic.  Fuck with the electronics and set the clock back just one hour—all you’d need to do is reset his communicator, the timecode is synced together.  He told you before that it’s connected to his helmet, but all the buttons still work.  Rapid, panicky thinking and a wild surge of bravery in the face of certain downfall is the only reason you were able to pull it off, and you’re perfectly willing to admit you just got lucky… especially when he’s still holding dead still over you.

But then Din moves so suddenly.  You can’t account for it because there’s no build-up whatsoever—it’s so fast, you yelp while he grabs your knees and throws them both to one side.  You flop over sideways and large hands reach up under the draping length of your tunic to yank your pants down over the curve of your ass, before he’s fitting his palm up between your legs and pushing two thick fingers inside you.

Your head thunks back against brick with how unexpected and merciless it is, but his other hand is grabbing your jaw and twisting, forcing you to look up, stare right into the dark shadow under the loose cowl.  The whole thing is too overwhelming—you’re trying to keep quiet but your breathing feels like thunder crashing inside this tall, echoing chamber.  He’s touched you so many times, he knows exactly how to do it by now, but it feels like so much more than that.  Probably because you can see the way Din’s mouth silently falls open as he feels you, stretching his fingers up and hooking them tight inside.  You can tell when he closes his eyes, the smallest glint slowly disappearing into nothingness while the hand around your jaw blindly moves up.  It catches your chin and lips, and then two fingers push over the bottom edge of your teeth to slip into your mouth.

Your entire leg twitches and jerks while you lay sideways on the ground and open up for him, your neck twisted at a sharp angle to keep your eyes on him and his fingers in your mouth, giving you something to bite to stop making noise.  Din makes room for himself inside you two different ways, and you just choke on his fingers and try to stay quiet, praying he’ll go deeper.

But then you’re not expecting his whole fucking arm to start moving the way it does—oh fuck, what is that?  First you just feel jostled and displaced, but then suddenly a wicked, deep, burning pleasure starts to roar through you, radiating outwards from the rapid motion of just two fingers inside you.  It’s not in and out, it’s up and down so hard and quick against your g-spot that your eyes cross and your hands go numb.

You think you grab at him, clutch onto his arm or chest and open your mouth to moan at the new and overwhelming sensation, but his hand pushes up against your chin and closes it for you, the bend of his fingers caught hard between your teeth but you don’t think he cares.

“Quiet,” Din hisses the word down at you while his arm continues to work, your toes starting to curl as the feeling overwhelms you.  Fuck, what is happening, what is happening?  It’s like he’s just shoving unfamiliar sensation at you so forcefully that you can’t even think straight anymore, not even ten seconds in.  You can only feel the pleasure, fire blurring hot and shapeless through your entire body as your eyes clamp shut, his fingers isolating that perfect spot and stimulating it directly, relentlessly.

Something dull and white hot presses up tight against all the muscles you have down there and you’re almost afraid of how strong it is.  You gasp and choke and he has to take his fingers out of your mouth and just clamp down around your entire jaw, sealing the whole thing shut with his large hand.  And then Din’s fingers leave your pussy too—and stars, you should be embarrassed by how desperately it clamps around nothing for as long as it does.  He’s not even inside you anymore but your body is on such a delay from the hot, twisting pleasure, and he doesn’t put them back in until your muscles are finished spasming.

Everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again.  Noise starts to come from your throat, humming in your vocal cords to deal with the arcing, swirling build, and so Din just moves his hand there instead.  He finds where it’s vibrating from your neck and he pushes up against it, trapping the sound right at the source.  He’s fucking perfect at it for some reason… how many times must he have done this to know how to cut noise out without stopping airflow?  You clutch at his wrist and silently mouth his name, feeling his arm work between your legs—faster, faster, harder, pushing you higher, higher—

Din pulls his fingers out again and this time, one of your thighs suddenly feels warm and wet while you spasm and you hear him growl out a ragged, “Fuck yes.”  Everything is sparks zapping through you long after his touch is gone, you cry out but it’s all trapped under Din’s expert grip.  His fingers soon push back inside you and you dig your nails into his forearm, your sounds muffled and quiet enough to hear his raspy groan.  

“Let me see it again,” Din breathes, his arm starting to work up and down once more, and you don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore.  What does he want to see?  You losing your mind again?  Being reduced to an utter mess in front of his shadowy but unobstructed gaze just because you managed to pull one over on him?

Fucking… apparently.  It’s what happens, after all.  You’ve never seen him like this before; whenever he’s worked up and taking it out on you, there was always something in it for him, too.  He’d hammer into you and rock your world until his eventually shattered, and then you’d both lay exhausted afterwards, equally affected and satisfied.  This isn’t like that—this is just cruel, targeted retribution on his behalf, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you with his fingers and keeping his other hand locked around your throat.  You blink helplessly up at him, your vision starting to blur by the time he leans down to whisper to you.

“I missed you, sweet girl.  Did you miss me?”  It’s so soft and quiet compared to the strength and relentlessness of his movements.  You can’t speak even if you wanted to, but when he finally pulls away to yank his hand out and you feel all your muscles automatically flex outwards and push against the sudden emptiness inside you, his voice groans long and satisfied while your thighs get wet again  “Yeah you did,” he breathes, pushing your shaky legs to the brick with his hand and watching you struggle through the aftershocks.

Did you just cum?  You don’t even know, that’s how fucked up you are right now.  The whole thing felt like an orgasm from the very beginning, just a boiling hot tornado ripping through every single cell in your body, never really having a peak.  If you didn’t cum, then why do you feel so weak?  You feel heavy, your limbs don’t work properly, and you barely even register Din pulling at the fabric of his own robes until he fits himself up against your entrance.

When you do realize it, though… your body burns with it, wrecked already but wanting him to take what he wants from you.

“Oh, plea—” you gasp but you don’t even have enough time to get the full sentence out.  He’s already pushing his hips forward, pressing you tight into the ground and opening you up after what feels like a fucking eternity without him.  It’s the hottest, slickest welcome you could give him, you hear it in the whispered curse his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes that get louder the longer you hold the moan in your throat and bury your head into his shoulder.  He throbs thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, stretching you and smacking the rough ground near your head with how fucking good it is to be back, finally, finally—

Your hands grab uselessly at his chest while you try to acclimate, try to breathe while you’re blind with sensation.  It’s so fitting for him, isn’t it?  That your reunion should be just as physically debilitating as it is mentally.  Din’s voice scrapes on a groan like he’s dragging it across the brick ground as quiet as he can, catching when you clamp down on him and shuddering when you clamp down harder.  That’s just it—you don’t ever loosen, you just keep tightening and tightening around him, threatening to break and cum again.

This feels different from before, though.  It’s deep, purposefully so.  His hand reaches up to push the fabric of your hood back, lifting himself up over your body and wanting to start as deep as he can.  You feel him in a place you’d never be able to reach and that’s just the beginning—that’s before he starts thrusting into you, hitting a dull sensation at the apex of each movement so hard that it becomes sharp.  His hips don’t make practically any sound smacking into you because they don’t really smack, they just rock downwards and fuck you into the floor without needing to pull out really at all.  You know he’s just trying to keep it as quiet as possible, but what he lacks in speed and agility he makes up in power.

You don’t even realize you’re making too much noise until a palm wraps tight around your mouth and the room gets a little emptier.  Din keeps you all to himself on the floor, silencing as much as he’s working you up, smothering as much as he’s freeing you.  There’s no easing up, no dragging it out, no gradual build or climb—it’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and pain pummeling you all at once, engulfing you in flames.

You reach up to grab at the loose fabric of the hood over his face, catching a fistful of it before his hand suddenly snatches your shaky wrist and pins it back to the ground.

Maker, you forgot—oh, you completely forgot about how many people could find you right now if they ever decided to look in the right place.  You’re not in hyperspace; your body is rocking against rough brick, you’re probably going to have a lump on the back of your head from how terrible you are at trying to map out heaven while holding still.  He’s pinned down what he can with one hand; your fingers are the only things that can move besides how tight you can curl your toes, but you feel your moans turn into words against his palm.  They garble indistinctly and you’re not really even sure what you’re saying, but Din decides it’s worth hearing.

“Shh,” he whispers, slowly lifting his hand from your mouth.  “Shh, tell me—”

“W-wanna look,” you hear yourself whimper, trying your best to keep quiet but wanting to scream it while he fucks you hard and slow on the ground, “—I wanna see, I wanna look at you—”

“Fuck,” Din gasps, and though his grip tightens on your wrist and you know he can’t do it right this second, the words seem like they shatter something inside him, “Keep—oh fuck, please, k-keep saying…”

“I want to marry you,” you nearly whine for him, feeling his hips kick up rapidly and start hammering in and out, in and out, in and—“I want to see your face, I wanna be yours, I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I-I—”

You think he drops his head into your neck to muffle his own sounds.  Though they start out rough and quiet and indiscernible, but they gradually become louder as he repeats himself over and over again, growling and fucking you rough.  You only catch it on the peak, when he pulls his mouth away from your skin and gasps them raggedly one last time.

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

He kisses you to stop himself.  But it’s not really a kiss, it’s more desperate than that.  Though it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful in a different light.  It’s not rejoicing at having you back with him once again; it’s a last prayer begging you to stay by his side forever.  He loves you.  He gives it everything—it feels even more concrete and simple than taking the hood off him and revealing his face would.  You told you that you'd know him without ever seeing him, and you did.  You picked him out and found him when absolutely nothing was giving him away, and this feels like a manifestation of that.  Even if you’re not in a place where he can show you his face, his beautiful brown eyes, something still feels like it changes.  He loves you.  You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, tenacious and brave and unyielding.  

When you finally cum, you almost bite him on accident.  

Everything surges hot and molten while he pulls back and keeps fucking you through it, and you can’t tell where you’re touching him anymore, just that his skin is blazing hot under your hand and he feels like everything the armor isn’t.  He loves you.  You’re looking into his eyes right now.  You can’t see any of the details, not really, but the moonlight flickers like silent stars moving through dark depths, staring right back at you and giving you an anchor for the euphoria rocketing through you.  He loves you.  Your nails dig in sharp and slowly drag downwards, scratching hard red lines into whatever thick muscle that is—

The back of his neck, making his hips stutter and when he cums for you, he does bite.

You lift your head just in time to feel his teeth catch your chin instead of your mouth, and his entire body shakes while you keep dragging your nails down the side of his neck and his throat.  Din fucking lives for it, he releases you and arches into the pain and owns your marks like he wishes you made them deeper, stretching his neck and lifting his chin into the moonlight and—

Maker.  You can see it, with direct light, you can see more of it than ever before.  You can see his soft lips and white teeth gritting the sound of your name as quietly as he can, the dark facial hair dusting across the lower half of his face.  A fucking gorgeous jawline and throat extended long over you, flexing hard with his cock pulsing inside you.  You can just barely see the bottom of his nose from under the brown hood, the dark curls brushing up under his ears.

Stars, you still never see his eyes, the fabric of his hood acts like a blindfold draped over them, but you think you cum again.  Even if it’s on accident, it’s mean—Din tries to keep from squishing you and his hand pushes down hard against your lower tummy while he shoves his hips deep one last time, and you cum while staring at half of his face in the moonlight.  Completely lovestruck.

How can he be this beautiful when you’ve only seen fractions of him?  You have everything but the eyes now, everything but the most mysterious thing about him, the reflection into his deepest self, but you feel like you’re hypnotized by every single feature you do see.  His tongue coming out to wet his lips, the vein pulling under his sharp jaw—he’s gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, and your body agrees.  It shakes and shudders under him and eventually, Din finishes and you keep looking as his chin slowly lowers, face disappearing into the shadow once more.

Stars.  He’s so handsome and no one has ever told him, fucking dreamy and the biggest grump you’ve ever met.  Without being able to see him, you already want to reach your hands out and touch him, drag your nails through his scruff and force him to extend outwards into the moonlight again for you.  Whenever he does end up showing you his face, you know right fucking now that you’ll never be able to look away.  For the rest of your life, you’ll be staring at him, apologizing blankly for your rudeness but not feeling sorry at all.

Din leans down and gives you a slow, gentle kiss, finally relaxing into a slouch and breathing hard with the effort it took to shatter you with pleasure.

“The kid is with the other foundlings,” he whispers against your lips.  “You… you’ll have to go get him, I need to grab my armor.”

You squeeze around his cock, pulling at the fabric of his robes and ignoring him for just a second.  He fucked you in robes belonging to one of the guards and nobody has mentioned it, you need to say something.  “Where did you get this?”

“I found it,” he tells you after a moment, kissing up under your jaw.  Oh fucking Maker, he feels so good and perfect inside you, shoulders so broad and crowding you on the floor, and his lips are plush and hot, brushing and fitting your skin like it’s just an extension of his own.  “Some guy was wearing it.”

It takes you a second.

“Mando,” you suddenly gasp in quiet horror, pushing at his chest and trying your best to detach his mouth from your throat.  It’s so much more difficult than it needs to be, but you eventually succeed.  “What did you do to him?  Where is he?”

He lifts his neck up just the tiniest bit, turning his face towards yours under the hood and holding still for way too fucking long.  He’s too close to see the expression he’s making, but you know the tone of his silence.  He’s in trouble and he knows it before you do.

“Ma—”

“They’re in a closet,” he admits at the very same time, completely monotone.

You don’t know which word to emphasize.  A fucking closet?  They’re?  Plural?  Instead of stressing any particular word, you decide not to do it at all and it ends up just coming out in the same exact blank tone as him.  “They're in a closet.”

“Inside the Temple,” Din continues on when you lay still as a statue underneath him.  His head slowly dips down once more, pushing his hips against you just the slightest bit to make you remember the cock still inside you instead.  Your eyelashes flutter with it—fuck, focus—“I didn’t know there’d be more than two.”  He kisses your neck so gently.  “It was an accident.”

You don’t say anything at all, your mouth pinching down at the corners because it should but your heartbeat galloping with how… fucking sexy he is.  You shouldn’t encourage this, this horrible behavior just to get close enough to catch you, but your curiosity overtakes you and you ask a question you’ve asked yourself before.  “Did they put up a fight?”

“Mm,” he whispers noncommittally, rocking his hips down once more.  “You did.”  Your nails dig into his chest, making him falter just slightly before slowly kissing your neck again.  “Did so good.  Fought hard, outsmarted me.  Pretty fucking girl.”

And then your eyes pop open as you feel it.  His cock suddenly beginning to harden once again inside you, twitching and gradually gaining a thicker shape, and for a moment, you actually fucking consider it.  He’s the only one in this galaxy that could not only ruin you on these sacred grounds, but then coax you into doing it more than once—stars, are you actually considering it?

“We can’t,” you automatically tell him, but it’s fucking pitiful.  Zero effort, absolutely no umph behind it, leaving it entirely up to him and how much he wants it.  Your logic reminds you that the kid is probably wreaking havoc in the nursery and there are tied up guards in the fucking temple that could be discovered any second.  You shouldn’t have even let him fuck you here in the first place, but…  “Mando, we can’t—”

His mouth opens against the crook of your neck and his tongue brushes velvet hot on your skin, tasting the glistening sweat there and not moving his broad figure a single inch over you besides getting closer, deeper.  Your nails dig into his collarbone, aiming for reason one last time.  It’s apparent that you’d be better off rephrasing, knowing the challenging streak in him and how much telling him what to do doesn't help.

“It’s not a good idea,” you attempt instead, breathless and trying not to move under his mouth and lazy hips.  “Not smart.  Bad idea to fuck again.”

Din’s body stops moving, even though he keeps getting harder.  His jaw opens and then his teeth scrape softly against your flesh, making you tilt your neck back and gasp.

“Later,” he lifts his head to state aloud, committing it to truth now that it’s been spoken and heard by another person.  “Later, I’ll fuck you on the ship, in our bed, when I can get you naked and have your taste in my mouth.”

Tingles rock through your body and you squeeze around his cock just as he pulls it out and tucks it back into his pants.  Your lungs quiver when you inhale—it’s shaky, but it reminds you of how long it’s been since you’ve been able to breathe correctly.

“Later,” you finally agree, combing your fingers through your hair and glad you have this hood to cover your freshly fucked dishevelment.  He came inside you and you don’t want to be leaking and getting your nice pretty robes all wet and stained, but then of course, without any prompting, Din quickly scoots back on his knees and drops his head down to take care of it for you.

***

Commotion.

After Din helped you clean up the way he sometimes likes and then disappeared to change back into his armor, you put your mask and hood back on and tried to look as casual as possible walking to the nursery.  Your knees wobbled slightly and you couldn’t stop smiling under the mask the entire walk there, but when you arrived, you just saw a dim room with sleeping infants—not what you were expecting.  Soon, however, you hear it: down the hall, distant and coming from the dormitories, you hear a loud commotion.

Fuck, you’re nearly wincing with every step you take now, and not because you’re sore.  Well, you… are, a little bit, but in a great way.  No, you’re just dreading the ridiculous shinanigans you already know are well underway, wondering if Din actually dropped the kid off in the dorms from the beginning or if he somehow migrated his way there to cause trouble.

When you walk inside, the first thing you see is a handful of crying and shouting toddlers, and while you can’t immediately spot your favorite floppy-eared monster, you don’t have to see him to know he’s probably standing tiny directly in the middle of this tense showdown.  Automatically, you’re taking a few steps forward to rescue him, but then you stop as soon as you see what the other babies are so mad about.  A large piece of chocolate leftover from the festival levitating just beyond their pitiful little reaches.

Hm.  Who could possibly be responsible for using demon powers to steal snacks and hold them hostage from a sizeable group of hostile children.  A mystery that may never be solved.

It makes you take a second.  The sheer… the… stars, you can’t even think straight—how fucking typical it is just hits you right in the chest, sends your heart into orbit.  Of course.  Of course this is what he’s gotten himself into without immediate supervision, of course this is the shipwreck you’d walk into, and you’re holding back a chuckle before making a single move to intervene.  In the midst of everything, you can hear adults approaching distantly from behind you.

“—don’t know where it came from, I was helping the younglings into bed when I heard the ruckus and I—”

The voices gradually grow louder, and you snatch the floating piece of candy out of thin air and whip around right before Sister Drya and Naydee walk in.  Their hushed, concerned conversation is cut to an abrupt end, and you clear your throat as they take you in, standing in front of chaos central continuing to go off behind you.  Do you… look as freshly disheveled as you are?  You’re not supposed to be here, you know, but hopefully the only strange thing is your presence itself and not anything concerning your appearance.

“Nerida,” the older lady suddenly announces, the name alone holding so much expectation, and the younglings missing their candy have now turned their ire towards you and the crinkly food wrapper hidden in your fist.  “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ah, yeah,” you stand up a little straighter, letting the chocolate casually fall out of your grip behind you, and a stampede of feet suddenly kick up to recover it.  It’s fine, nobody will know, it’s fine.  “It’s just…”  Your head tips behind you to the cause of the uproar, feeling a bit sheepish yet so incredibly fond.  “My… kid.”

Sister Drya stares at you for a few seconds, before tipping sideways and staring at the culprit.  “That is your child?”

You turn around just in time to see him, now abandoned by the angry mob of children, finally notice you.  All of a sudden, his pitch black eyes light up something bright and sunshiney, and you just start beaming in return.  What an adorable little creature, apple of your eye and pain of your ass.

“Yep,” you sigh, dropping into a squat and watching him barrel towards you, catching him right before he can trip over his brown potato sack and scooping him up into your arms.  “Hiya, bug,” you murmur with a grin, lifting back up and plopping him in his favorite spot in the universe—your left hip.  “You making friends?”

He giggles and it’s like sparkles and bubbles fill the room instead, wrapping tiny arms around the largest surface area he can get and clinging.  He laughs with a tiny open mouth, bless him, clearly not understanding the sarcasm, and suddenly your eyes feel just the slightest bit wet.  No, you’re not crying, don’t be fucking ridiculous, but you missed him like hell and he’s just the cutest fucking thing—why do you feel like crying?

“Sorry about that,” you apologize to the two women while slowly turning around, brushing your thumb over one of his cheeks and smiling as it squishes.  “He’s… uh.  Not great at sharing.  We’ll work on it.”

Takes after his dad, you purposefully leave out, just a different kind of sharing.  Din hasn’t shown you his full face yet and the kid performs magic tricks to taunt a roomful of children a fraction of his age for a single piece of chocolate, completely different kind of sharing.

Sister Drya says something in response, but when you look up to address her, all you see is Din standing silently behind her and Naydee, slowly dropping his hand from his helmet to his side.  They don’t seem to notice he’s there and you automatically try your best to pay attention to the Sister speaking to you, but your eyes get caught on the silver reflecting in the dim light beyond.  Fuck, he’s a presence.  An immediate distraction, taking all your focus with a single glimpse.  Seeing him fully armored again, staring at you from the silent shadows behind everything… you melt a little bit, knowing that you’ve seen more of what’s underneath than anyone.  Your shoulders settle and your entire body burns warm, wobbly like the air around a fire, and one of the kid’s hands leaves you to reach out towards his dad.

You watch the metallic helmet tilt sideways after a moment, saying everything without saying anything.  Come on, make up an excuse, let’s get out of here.

Looking at him in the quiet shadows, you’re reminded once again about how much you love him, how much softness you have inside you for a man so hard, so guarded.  And, for the first time, a voice in your head finishes a poem you didn’t realize you were writing, adding its own verse and bringing everything back around to the beginning.  He loves you, too.  How much he lets his guard down for you, the way he’s revealed more of his face to you than not.  You love each other.  You’re family.

So, all at once, you decide to mess with him, because that’s what family does best.

“Don’t be shy, come say hello,” you suddenly urge his silent figure, taking a step forward and speaking directly to him.  “Sister Drya, Naydee, I’d like to introduce you to my—”

It’s remarkable, you see it happen in front of you.  Like he has powers of his own, Din just literally fucking disappears.  Like magic, he’s nowhere to be found within a blink of an eye.  You know he’s capable of it; he’s done it plenty of times during the chase just to fuck with your head, but you’re staring straight at him when it happens this time and it might just be the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever seen him do.

Sister Drya and Naydee both turn around to an empty hallway bathed in shadows and you laugh.  A deep, shameless, loud belly laugh.  Where the fuck did he go so quick?  You were staring straight at him and you have no fucking clue.  He’s just out, and you’re left alone with his child and the unspoken understanding that he’ll just catch up with you later.

You’re giggling even as you shake your head and give the women your genuine thanks for keeping you and feeding you these past few days, grabbing your backpack with all your belongings and eventually using three green fingers to wave goodbye to them.  The very first thing Din says when he seamlessly joins you outside the Keja later is, “That wasn’t funny,” which just makes you laugh harder.

***

About a half hour has passed, and you’re walking along a dirt road, cradling a very happy baby in your arms and giving the grown man next to you an incredibly hard time.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, your back twinging slightly at the way you’re leaning about as sideways as you can get without falling over.  You think you’re basically just the hypotenuse between the ground and Din, who easily supports almost your entire weight with your backpack slung around his far shoulder and readily allows you to rest against him.

“They’re fine,” he grumbles in response, squeezing you tight to his side.  You just have to focus on moving your feet; it’s like he’s practically carrying your upper-half anyways.  “I gave them the night off.”

“You stuffed them in a closet,” you hiss, feeling his shoulder shrug under your cheek.

“I gave them the robe back,” he says, not really defending himself and more just throwing it out there to see if it helps any.  “I’m sure someone’s found them by now, they’re fine.”

Your eyes suddenly go wide, absolutely mortified at the thought.  “Wait.  What do you mean you gave the robe back?”

He shrugs once more, apparently not seeing the problem yet.  “I borrowed it, so I gave it back after I put my armor back on.”

If you could plant your feet on the dirt road and screech to a halt, you would, but all your weight is already resting on him and you’re working solely off his forward movement.  You just hope your tone holds the same amount of shocked disapproval your body language would’ve conveyed if you weren’t so completely attached to his hip like a parasite he adores.

“You fucked me wearing it, though.”  Your voice is strangely flat, so fucking confused and horrified by the mental image of him just tossing the soiled garments haphazardly somewhere in the temple behind you, or even worse, leaving them somewhere respectful, and Din soon stops in the middle of the deserted road.

“Oh,” is all he says, emotionless and blank through the modulator.  Did he not even consider this?

“I had to promise them I was a virgin just to sleep there, you know,” you admit, and you can tell that’s brand new information to him with how still he goes as you continue to lean against him.  You’re getting the feeling that he probably knows a lot more about your experiences on this moon than you think he does, but can tell that this is brand new information to him.  “And you locked three of their holy men in a closet, chased me across the temple grounds, fucked me in one of their robes, and then.  You gave it.  Back.”

Din stays perfectly silent for quite some time.  You can never go back to that place, you know this for a fact.  You’re banned forever now, it’s what you deserve.

Never one to be outdone but not actually having anything to say for himself, Din suddenly decides to just scoop you into his arms and boost up into the sky without a single word like an actual fucking maniac.

You squeal and damn near drop the baby because of it, but he cinches you tight to his chest and refuses to loosen with your struggle.  Eventually, after you realize he’s completely locked you in and you won’t fall to your death with this poor innocent child in your arms, you glance over the shiny pauldron on his shoulder and watch the kid’s crib disappear by the abandoned road as Din takes you higher and higher.

The crib—he forgot the crib—

“D-Din,” you stammer out through the whistling air, stiff as a board.  Stars, you have such a different sense of adventure than him; an explorer and a daredevil, one who gets a thrill from discovering the existence of the edge of a cliff and one who’ll take a running dive off of it without thinking twice.  He’s hit with blaster fire some days, he faces down death completely fearless like it owes him one every single time, and you’re stiff as a fucking board while he carries you through the sky.  It’s stunning up here, it’s exciting and wonderful, but you’re so scared that you can barely even look.  He’s giving you the most fantastical view, everything your budding adventurous streak could ever ask for, and your terror is crushing.  It would be different if you could hold on, but you’re responsible for not letting the baby slip through your arms and you just have to trust that he won’t let you slip through his.

You raise your voice.  “Din?!”

“I won’t drop you,” he automatically reassures, and well you sure as fuck hope not, but there’s something else.

“What about the crib?”  You call out over the wind whipping, tucking the baby tight to your chest and settling your hands over his ears to avoid them flapping and whacking you repeatedly in the chin.

“We’ll come back for it,” he responds, just as easily.  Maker, you wish decision-making came that easy to you, that commitment and choice should be so simple as to just fly away from things on the ground and promise out loud to come back for them.  You know he will, but still, his spontaneity shocks you after spending the past week thinking every decision through meticulously, and you’re taken aback by the casualness of it all while soaring through the sky, committing such spectacular feats without a single thought beyond it.

Soon—incredibly soon, which honestly kind of blows your mind—you spot Nariss glowing in the distance and then you’re flying overtop of the city, slowly dropping altitude in the middle of a quiet little side street.

Din carefully allows your feet to settle on the ground before letting go, but you still stumble a bit stupidly after flying so high without any sort of safety measure besides him, prioritizing the steadiness of the baby in your arms instead of your feet underneath you.  His gloves catch at your clumsy body and pull you along with him without another word, leading you out of the quiet alley and into the middle of a beautiful, luminescent street.

What’s he doing?  He seems slightly hurried, and you’re clueless but you go with it, clamoring along behind him to wherever he’s leading you.

Though, you suddenly remember one of the very last things you told him last night right before he steps up in front of a vendor.

“Caf,” Din grunts, sliding a few credits towards the man standing behind the counter. “The… biggest one you have.”

Okay, well.  You could just about fucking cry.

“Y’sure?” The vendor asks skeptically, jerking his head at the large thermos behind him.  He’s balding, wearing a white outfit with his eyes scrunched up and forehead sweaty, likely working all day.  “It ain’t fresh.  Closin’ up soon, was just about to trash it and go home.”

The helmet turns to gauge your response to the news, the sharp angles and contours looking so sleek and dangerous as they reflect the colorful lamplights, but just filling you with comfort beyond anything in the entire galaxy.  He’ll take that armor off for you tonight and you’ll sleep next to him.  He’ll call you by your given name, or the fond name he’s given you, and you’ll cuddle your baby on a metal floor in hyperspace with him, and all will be well.  Even if he needs to leave again soon—even if you don’t get to go with him, you’ll always have these small eternities with each other, and that’s more enough for you now.

You’re completely zoned out while staring at him, and Din turns back to the vendor before you can even remember the conflict he was attempting to defer to you.

“Yeah, just empty the whole thing in there for her,” he mutters, and you want to marry him.  It’s been a long week, and in your haze and delight of being with him in this gorgeous setting, your brain turns to cavewoman mush.  Big man, makes me happy.  Strong man, loves me, knows me.  Provider, makes me feel good, protector, loves me.

Din hands you the large cup of steaming caffeine, clueless to your grunted inner monologue but knowing better than to reach out and grab the kid from your other arm.  You’re just fine like this, hands full, the little frog snuggled up against your side and blinking up at your face instead of any of the shiny or glowing things around you.  When you look down at him, you can see the world through his eyes—quite literally, they’re reflective and gigantic—and his father’s hand quickly finds its preferred spot on your lower back.

“Try to drink it quick,” Din advises you gruffly, pulling you snug into his side and sloshing the big cupful of piping hot liquid in your hand.

“It’s a thousand degrees,” you protest, trying to balance your three favorite things in the universe all begging for your direct attention at once.  “It has to cool down.”

He gives a dismissive hm in response, and you frown even as your heart soars with how tightly he’s gripping you, how little leeway you have to even move without him.  Part of you is so thrilled at being reunited with him that you consider snarking something back at him, excitement making you brave.  He could probably chug boiling hot liquid in thirty seconds and doesn’t see the point in letting it sit any longer, and you could make some stupid joke about filtering it through his helmet or having a built in bendy straw but you decide to keep it to yourself.

So then you just stand there together, under stringed lights and flowers everywhere, and he waits.  Holding you glued to his side, completely silent and clearly just waiting for your caf to stop steaming so threateningly in your hand so you can drink it.  For some reason, the fact that he’s wanted by the New Republic doesn’t really register at this second—you’re not looking for cops, though he may be.  You’re just lost in this beautiful, fancy city that’s on the edge of finally quieting down after a long day, and you’d like to see more of it with him next to you.

“Well, do you wanna just…”  You ask, tilting your head around at all the vendors.  “Shop around for a bit?”

“Shop… around,” Din repeats slowly, sounding the words out like they’re not common Basic.  Admittedly, they do sit a bit awkward in his voice when put together like that, describing a phenomena he’s likely never even considered a thing before, but it’s so fucking pretty here and you’d like to show him something this time instead of the other way around.

“Yeah, like,” you shrug a shoulder, tipping your head in a random direction.  Anywhere, you’ll go literally anywhere with him, the three of you can go explore.  “Just wander around, and look at all the pretty things.”

From where you’re standing right now, you can already see glittering crystals and jewels being sold at the tent across the street, there’s a booth dedicated entirely to floral arrangements and crowns next to it, you can hear a distant quartet playing melodically in the distance and a couple is being painted by an artist on the corner.  Bars are in full swing at this point, as if they weren’t all day, and even though the merchandise is all different, the multicolored tents look slightly similar when they’re underlit with multicolored lights.  It’s less slightly lively than it was in the daytime, but also… more beautiful, in a sense.  Muted, softer, more romantic.

“I don’t have any more credits,” Din admits casually, finally turning to look around at everything.  You get the feeling that he’s just now seeing it, even after spending the entire day here.  “That stale caf was the last of it.”

Money well fucking spent, you can assure him of that.

“It’s okay,” you tell him automatically, gently bumping your hip into his.  “We don’t need credits, we can just look.”

So that’s what you do.  Even though it’s completely not his fucking style, for the next hour or so, you just walk around downtown with him and sip your caf, looking at anything and everything new and experiencing it with him.  At first, you think he’s just entertaining you, following you while you discover new streets and attractions, but then he points out different things and you know he's looking, too.  There are large animals harnessed up and pulling carts for people to ride, there's an enormous spinning wheel set up in the distance, its colorful lights flickering out as soon as you ask what the fuck that is and why anyone would ever get inside one.

You eventually end up finishing your caf around the time he’s leading you back through a quiet, abandoned alleyway, and you hand him the empty cup to throw away in one of the trash cans on the corner.  The conversation has faded to a comfortable quiet and you don’t really need to ask—you go willingly, not requiring anything beyond his hands on you and the baby dozing in your arms.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, gently sweeping you up into his.  You sigh, glad he’s giving you a moment to prepare yourself this time, holding the sleeping kid securely to your chest and resting your head on his shoulder.  “Let’s go home.”

After you’re comfortable, Din rockets up from the ground and climbs high up into the canvas sky.  He disappears with you and the baby into the pastel clouds above, making it back to the Razor Crest in probably about an hour, maybe less.  You and the baby do nothing more than climb into the comfy floor blankets while Din starts up the engines, and you think you’re dozing off together by the time he makes the pit stop to collect the crib and the jump into hyperspace.

You think he might shower?  You’re not sure—you just know he moves up behind you in bed at one point without any armor, burying his face in your hair while you cuddle the sleepy kid to your chest.  It’s dark in the hull, Din’s palms are bare and warm as they slide around the front of your body and he breathes you in, and there isn’t a single place that can touch you here, not a single place you’d rather be.

Home.

***

@followwhereshegoes​ Thank you for the stunning artwork! 💕To anyone interested in possibly doing an art collab in the future, please message me!!

[firecoloredwater]

OKAY NEW AU IDEA

What if: it was standard for shinobi children to have an animal (a regular animal) sealed to them while very young, in order to give that child the animals’ abilities later, in a werecreature-ish way.  (Specifically, the type that has a distinct “inner wolf” with its own instincts, desires, and reactions.)

If everything goes perfectly, the result is a shinobi who can shift between human and animal size and shape, and also any combination in between, as well as having the option to give themself senses equivalent to their animal while in human form.  In exchange they have a few, controllable animalistic instincts/tendencies, like liking catnip, wanting to sunbathe, wanting to build/sleep in something nest-shaped, etc.

Of course things usually don’t go perfectly.  It’s pretty normal for shinobi to not have perfect control of shifting: that might mean they simply can’t access certain forms, or can be startled into/out of forms, or more specific things like “can use eagle eyesight, but only if shifted at least halfway to eagle size/mass.” It can also result in things that make being a shinobi completely impossible, such as someone with a rabbit sealed to them who exclusively reacts to battle by running or freezing, and can’t overcome the rabbit instinct in order to fight.  Or, in the worst cases, with the person being overwhelmed completely, turning into an animal, running off, and never being seen again.

I find this especially interesting because while you get all the usual werecreature opportunities (“hahaha no I don’t like him at all.  Can’t imagine why my inner animal is so mad at that other person for flirting with him!  No idea at all”) a character can have basically any animal that exists, BUT which animal they have is usually dependent on what their parents would choose/want for them, and not what necessarily suits them.  So some characters will end up at odds with their own paired animal’s instincts/traits.

Anyway!  I have lots more thoughts but I have rambled through the basics already, and I’m really curious what anyone else makes of this!

More tangential thoughts under the cut.

A sealing is believed to work better if A: it’s done while the kid is as young as possible, and B: if the kid and the animal are as close to the same (relative) age as possible.  If the animal is much older than the kid, it’s more difficult to use/control; if it’s much younger, it’s weaker.

Different clans have different traditions regarding which animals they use.

Some clans use one or a few animals exclusively.  (The Uchiha use domestic cats and hawks or falcons, with very few exceptions.  This is probably the most common approach.)

Some take that extra far, and have a specific breed of an animal that they created and maintain specifically for the purpose, which exists nowhere else.  (The Hyuuga probably do this, though I don’t know which animal they use yet.  Probably one for the branch house and a different breed/animal for the main house.  Nara, of course, use their deer, so they’re also in this category.  The Yamanaka might as well, but I’m undecided.)

Some use whatever is available/useful.  (The Senju did this.)

The Inuzuka are considered weird as fuck because they don’t seal their kids to any animal at all (because their dogs are independent people, and they aren’t going to seal their kids to anything ELSE).

I don’t know what the Aburame are doing.  They could probably seal bugs to themself?  But they also might just not seal anything to themself, like the Inuzuka don’t.

Culturally, sealing a bird to a kid is complicated.  It still happens a lot, because flight is so useful for a shinobi that needs to escape or spy.  But bird forms and traits are difficult to use in a fight (can you give yourself talons?  Sure!  But they’ll be on your feet, which is not nearly as convenient as being able to sprout claws on your hands) and are considered particularly Awkward for girls/women, because of the whole shirt vs wings thing.  Girls do still get birds sealed to them sometimes, though, just not as often as boys do.

It’s fashionable among shinobi to go around with a few of your animal’s traits visible, but you’re not supposed to keep the same traits visible for long.  So the fashionable thing to do would be to have cat ears during lunch and claws at dinner, and a tail the next day.  It’s a way of showing off control of your animal/its abilities.

But that’s like the supermodel version of the fashion.  Most people don’t have perfect control and being a shinobi at all is still impressive, so going around with the same animal trait visible all the time is still Very Cool.  (This interacted weirdly with Naruto’s whisker marks.  He tried REALLY HARD to convince people they meant he was cool, but didn’t succeed very well.  Some people thought he’d drawn them on.)

Most of my headcanons for specific characters are for the Founders because that’s the corner of fandom I’m mostly in, but:

Sasuke got a typical Uchiha animal sealed to him within a few weeks of being born (as would be normal for the kids of shinobi clans).  Probably a domestic cat but maybe a hawk of some sort.  He’s good at using/working with it in the way that he’s a genius generally and good at everything, but hates all instincts he gets from it.  He may have grown up hearing cute stories about how Itachi insisted that Sasuke HAD to get this particular animal, in which case he hates everything about it.

Naruto has the kyuubi, and no regular animal at all.  No one is sure if adding a regular animal after the fact will do something weird and dangerous to the kyuubi seal, and definitely no one wants to risk it.  This contributes to him being considered a loser in the academy, because he can’t draw on animal senses or other traits (like claws) to use.

Sakura, as the child or civilians, didn’t get an animal sealed to her at all until around when she became a genin.  Being a tween instead of an infant she had a lot more say in what she got, but she used that mostly for “what would Sasuke like?”  On the other hand she IS smart, so she probably picked something that’s known first for being pretty, but is also very useful.  A swan would work very well but is kind of the obvious answer.  A cat is also likely, especially if Sasuke has a cat too.  Regardless she struggles for a while with how to keep the animal happy/cooperative, since she’s not used to having non-human instincts or desires and finds some of them a bit embarrassing.

Kakashi has a wolf.  He REALLY wishes he had a dog, or at least a wolf that looked more like a dog, but.  That’s a wolf.

Hashirama has an Ussuri brown bear.  Powerful, impressive, but not overly aggressive; a very good standard (Future) Leader/Clan Heir animal.  Butsuma might very well have the same, and if not, he probably has a Japanese black bear.  (The Senju don’t limit themselves to one animal as a clan, but they do have sometimes very specific thoughts about what’s appropriate for/conducive to someone’s position in life.)

Tobirama has a dog, either Kai Ken or Kishu.  Useful, obedient, loyal, but not particularly friendly to anyone outside his immediate family.  Great for the second in command/backup heir.

Itama has either a Blakiston’s fish owl or a Long-eared owl: great for sneaking and spying in places/ways that bears and dogs can’t.  Mostly this was to cover the bases that Hashirama and Tobirama didn’t.

Kawarama has a boar: powerful, dangerous, and aggressive to the point of recklessness.  It was meant to make him a better weapon.

Madara skipped the “domestic” part of the Uchiha standard domestic cat and has a tiger.  He likes to give his hair stripes.  Unusually (for a shinobi that has the ability) he almost never gives himself claws because that would ruin his gloves.

Izuna has a... well, a bird.  I’m eyeing the black kite (known to spread fires in order to hunt) and Lidth’s jay (aesthetic corvid), but really any hawk/falcon/similar would work equally well.  Could get into eagles too.  (Or hummingbirds, for humor.)

Mito probably had an ordinary fox, and had some thoughts about binding the kyuubi to the ordinary fox in order to eventually merge them and make the kyuubi a bit more mortal/manageable.  It didn’t work though, for her or for Kushina (who might well have had an entirely different animal to begin with) and Naruto doesn’t have a regular animal at all.

I think that edo tensei summons just... don’t have their animal anymore.  It’s a flaw that frustrated Tobirama immensely.  All of those abilities are gone, so in this verse edo tensei versions of people are significantly limited relative to how they were while alive.  Not enough to make them weak, but it’s a pretty dramatic omission.

[alexhornefan]

Taskmaster’s 15th season starts on Channel 4 next week. Here, Greg Davies and Alex Horne talk about this year’s batch of contestants, starting with Frankie Boyle.

People may be surprised that Frankie signed up.

Greg:  I think that’s a perfectly reasonable thing to be surprised about. He’s on it because his children like it.

Alex: He sometimes seems surprised that he’s on it as well. It’s unusual to see him without his dignity and not being in charge but he completely threw himself into it, partly because his kids are big fans, as Greg says, and partly because he really likes the show and I think he trusts us, luckily. But he had to wait 14 series to really be sure that we’d look after him and agree to do it! He’s got friends, people like Sophie Duker, who helped persuade him. It was really nice to see him be his normal self. He brought his kids into lots of conversations during the studio shoot so you see a tender side of him, which was nice.

Greg: I make a lot of jokes in this series about him not caring whether he wins or not but,  he really entered into the spirit of it. It’s not that he was sitting there going, ‘Who cares?’ He tried, and was often bad. It’s nice to see someone like Frankie being incompetent.

Alex: He’s always competent with his mouth though. The things he says are so brilliant.

Greg: He restores his dignity with every analysis… It’s kind of awkward having Frankie in the room to point out the facts. I might bluster over certain things sometimes, then people like Frankie come in and check the facts. But dictators need to be checked.

Alex:  These five actually feel like a really intelligent five. I don’t want to say that they’re more intelligent than others, but …

Greg:  But you are.

Alex: I am, yes. They’re much cleverer than anyone we’ve had. They’re led by Frankie, I think, when they’re arguing.

On the other hand, you’ve got him running around in his pants in one task.

Alex: That was all his idea. I think he was keen to put a stamp on the show. I think he decided: ‘Right, if I’m doing it, I’m doing it.’

Greg: It shows a different side to his creativity as well. His normal act is not a natural conduit for some of the things you see him doing and being naturally funny.

What about Ivo Graham: he’s quite chaotic and anxious, isn’t he?

Greg: Wilfully so.

Alex: He fits a bit into the David Baddiel or Mark Watson ‘intelligent man doing badly with practical things’ but he’s also got a real playful side. I think he’s in control of his badness.

Greg: He’s not cartwheeling out of control; he knows exactly what he’s doing. I don’t think he’s being bad on purpose – but when it’s evident that he’s being bad, he welcomes the chaos. He revels in his mistakes.

Alex:  He was desperate to win it because he knows the show inside-out. Most of his mates have done it and that desperation meant going charging into the tasks and then realising it was too late. He got all giddy and excited and never stopped to think. But he’s a really thoughtful person generally, so that was surprising.

Greg: I think he makes an assertion, he comes up with a plan, and he follows that plan through regardless of new information that might come in.   It’s a Bomber Harris approach to Taskmaster.

Alex:  When he does get in too deep, that’s fun. He’s prepared to go the extra mile more than anyone. He has quite a physical reaction to it. He’s a peculiar character. There have been moments of sadness with him but he has got his dignity as well.

Greg: It’s remarkable. He’s so naturally funny. He does a thing where he throws away a point wilfully in one of the live tasks. It’s one of the most surprising and funniest things I’ve seen on the show. That really wrong-footed me, that.

Alex:  Me too. He’s technically an unbelievably clever comedian.

And then there’s Ghosts star Kiell Smith-Bynoe​…

Alex: I think he’ll surprise people. He’s known as an actor, not as a comedian, but he’s thankfully a really funny person. And he’s got a face that lights up, a real twinkle.

Greg: I always say he adds value in some way to every task. There’s always a shimmy or flourish. He’s showbiz.

Alex:  Yes, he’s a showman. Even the clothes he’s wearing. He’s very likeable. 

Greg: He’s very competitive.

Alex: He’s had a problem with me as well on several occasions, which I found quite funny.

Greg: Which I’ve really enjoyed as well. They turn on me normally around show six, and my judgements get called into question. But he really has had it in for you since the beginning.

Alex: I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong. I have dobbed him in, but that’s my job. I could see you were getting beguiled by him and I had to stand up for justice. He did a few things badly but he managed to get things under the radar by being a bit showy, so I had to make sure you get the full picture.

 How would you describe his approach to tasks?

Greg: Route one.

Alex:  Yes. He’s got such a confused face.

Greg: And there’s a lot of fury.

Alex:  I think he thinks it’s all against him. He doesn’t realise there’s four other people doing it too.

 And Jenny Eclair?

Alex:  She had the time of her life, both in and out of the studio. The whole show is meant to be doing stuff you did as a kid that you don’t do any more. She’s really throwing herself into it.

Greg: You can really see the inner child in her, and I found it so gleeful. There was one task where she just went, ‘fuck, yes!"’I think there’s genuine glee there. It’s not performance. She’s doing it for herself.

Alex:  She’s quite anti-establishment as a person, so this is a good way of breaking rules and not giving a shit.

Greg:  She’s very, very funny and quite chaotic.

Alex: If you say to her, ‘What do you think of the Nissan Micra?’ she’ll have a story about it, in the same way Greg often has a story for most occasions. She’s got an amazing memory for details.

 Do you think people will be surprised by her?

Greg: I don’t know how people have perceived her in more recent years.

Alex: I’m just really pleased that people will see her being funny on telly, because she should be on telly more. You’re seeing the true Jenny, I think.

Greg: And carefree. Not being associated with being grumpy and menopausal. What she is on our show is someone who loves life. She spends a lot of time laughing.

Alex: She had a grandchild during the filming. It’s quite nice when Taskmaster fits around people’s lives, and you can see their lives in the show. Her grandson has come up to the show a couple of times. I do like that.

Finally, Mae Martin…

Alex:  Yes, they’re quite hard to pin down because they had a really good approach to the tasks, almost more than anyone. They read it and think, ‘Yes, I know how to do this.’ They sometimes think they’re taking it too seriously.

Greg: But we like that, don’t we? They’re quite forensic in the way they approach tasks. But then there are flashes of mischief: understated mischief. And they’ll often throw in a very clever call-back or a very witty line.

Alex: They’re very good at bending the rules and going the extra mile. Also, it’s worth mentioning they were much better by themselves than with the team. They found it quite frustrating to be with their team. And that was really funny. Also Mae is really good friends with Charlotte Ritchie and Kiell, so it’s good to see someone who’s had history with the show and came in with a slight mindset. I like that.

[shwoo]

Grumpus Headcanons (1/3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

I finished my big list of headcanons about the Bugsnax characters and their pre-game relationships, and it turned out super long! So instead of using a readmore like normal people, I'm going to post it in three parts over three days.

These aren't, like, analytical headcanons; they're mostly just me making stuff up that I think is plausible. I meant to do this a year ago, and even already expanded a little in a fanfic on the headcanon about Chandlo being a small kid (here). But I got it done eventually! The idea is one headcanon for one character or relationship.

Character Headcanons (Eggabell Batternugget - Gramble Gigglefunny)

Eggabell Batternugget I think she actively studied Bugsnax with Floofty, as well as volunteering as a test subject, but I also think that has some backing in the game, so it's not the headcanon I'm talking about here. The headcanon is what she was studying: the nutritional value of Bugsnax. This is how she's able to be so confident that they're a perfectly balanced source of nutrition in her DLC interview. She also tried to figure out what exactly made them feel so good to eat. Being an endocrinologist, she guessed that it was some hormone, and made some progress in figuring out whether that was true, but then the earthquake happened.

Clumby Clumbernut She wasn't interested in joining the Snackolytes, and said no once Jamfoot was done talking about recruitment bonuses, though she knew he was telling her, not asking. But she was the last survivor of her expedition, and Jamfoot told her that she probably wouldn't last long all alone. Based on what she'd seen so far, Clumby agreed, so she joined up with the intention of going back on it once they were back on the mainland. But the Snakolytes were a lot bigger and more influential than she'd thought. They're also the reason she's continuing to do a job she hates.

Cromdo Face Hiding his singing is a habit left over from childhood, when he'd get in trouble if he did something fun when there was still work to be done. He also didn't have a lot of privacy, making it hard to find a time and place to sing that didn't annoy anyone. When he got married later, his singing also annoyed his husband. The idea that crime was the best shortcut to living comfortably was his own, though.

Filbo Fiddlepie I've made up my mind. He grew up with Lizbert; he's Grumpus American-Australian. His family moved to… I'm going to say Grumpus Sydney when his dad was a preteen, and his dad returned to New Grump City after finishing year twelve, then moved back to a smaller town when Filbo was a toddler. Filbo speaks American English to please his family, particularly his dad. Also he definitely did not get his pen licence in primary school. I've seen his handwriting in-game. I came up with a lot of extra stuff about Filbo's dad, for a story that's still in editing, but I'd sum up his attitude as "I love my cringe fail son".

Floofty Fizzlebean They've always been interested in biology and experimentation, but their parents impressed the importance of consent on them early. As a result, they've been experimenting on themself since before they were in their teens. They accidentally poisoned themself when they were sixteen. Snorpy found them, and they spent a week in the hospital. Also, their hair used to be a more vivid purple, for reasons unrelated to ageing.

Snorpy Fizzlebean First, psychotic Snorpy. That's an obvious one. But not all the stuff he believes is a delusion. I don't know enough about psychosis to go into detail, but he is aware of it, and so is Chandlo, and they have strategies. Less so for the conspiracy stuff, since Snorpy is unwilling to talk to Chandlo about that. And being on Snaktooth definitely made things worse. But, he really is being monitored by the "Grumpinati" (actually the Snakolytes), even if he's wrong about some of the details. They were involved in the artificial limbs project, as well as some other things that Snorpy noticed but blamed on the Grumpinati. They could disappear him, but he's off the mark about so much, and they think nobody would believe him anyway, so they don't bother.

Chandlo Funkbun If he didn't work out all the time, he'd be skinny as well as short. His body doesn't build muscle mass easily. He got beaten up a lot as a kid, because his school had a bullying problem, and he kept trying to intervene, while also being tiny. He started strength training as soon as he could, and got stronger pretty fast, but he stayed skinny until after puberty.

Gramble Gigglefunny He grew up in a very rural area, and concluded that if he wanted to find a family, he needed to be around more people. So he moved to New Grump City, and waited for a family to come to him. Instead, he learned the ways you can also be lonely in a big city. His preference for animals over people didn't help. Lizbert's expedition was his third attempt at finding a new family, as he thought he might get along better with the kind of people who'd go on this kind of expedition than with the people in his home town.

[loki-zen]

I’m not gonna do a point by point @discoursedrome because this is starting to get unfun for me as a discourse topic but tbh i think you’re weirdly focused on defining ‘disabled’ and i don’t really see why that’s necessary. Like when I say people are kidding themselves that disabled people are far fewer than they really are all I mean is they’re kidding themselves that their mental model of Standard Human Being Who Needs No Help Or Accommodations Ever is a fair approximation of far more of all of the people than it really is.

And I think you’re way too dismissive of the ways in which a single accommodation can vastly increase accessibility for whole swathes of people.

Take for example a doctor’s office committing to communicating by email as well as telephone. This accommodates Deaf and Hard of Hearing people, people with sensory processing issues that make it hard to hear people on the phone, people with anxieties affecting their ability to make phone calls, people who speak English as a second language and find it easier to read and compose text at their own pace, and also people who just for a host of other reasons can’t randomly make or receive phone calls during the working day. It even automatically creates a record of what was said so that people who are forgetful and/or have low executive functioning resources to spare - whether because they’re ND or just Like That or because they have a full time job and two kids under five - can check back on it.

Or take the automatic door at that same doctors office. If you’re in a wheelchair you need it. If you’re pushing a pushchair, or have a baby in your arms, or have one arm and are carrying something, or have arthritis and it hurts to push doors open, or have weird autistic extra-tasks and crossing-thresholds problems, or are germphobic and don’t want to touch door handles, it’s invaluable.

If you thought about any of these things only in the narrow terms you’re promoting - only in terms of what benefit there might be to people with one specific issue that definitely is ‘a disability’ and not anything else - they would seem totally not worth it, probably. And that’s why that sort of framing is harmful.

I think you’re also underestimating the potential benefit of having the staff at the doctor’s office trained to expect that people trying to use the doctor’s surgery are quite likely to have disabilities - it’s a doctor’s office after all - including ones that might produce needs that haven’t been specifically accounted for, and then the staff would be given the flexibility to make adjustments on the fly and praised for doing so.

As opposed to the status quo where pretty much all frontline staff in anything ever increasingly have zero discretion about how they do anything and will get in trouble if they deviate from The Script.

The Script is based on the idea that there’s such a thing as The Consumer, basically. And what’s important is that people learn that that’s at best an abstraction and, mostly, a lie it’s just a lie; the healthcare system for instance is set up for the convenience of a Healthy Patient who isn’t even a majority of the ‘at least 51%’ kind for most practical purposes bc surprise, Perfectly Healthy people go to the doctor less, but also fucking c’mon man it’s not okay to take just anyone’s/everyone’s (delete as appropriate for your country/healthcare system) money and dispense a service that’s ‘cost efficient’ bc it can treat the most ‘normal’ and ‘textbook’ and ‘no other problems having’ ~80% of people really quickly and cheaply while throwing everyone else on the garbage heap to die.

Like in my ideal world other stuff would be accessible too (maybe it would even be different mechanisms that wind up making this happen*) but essential services first.

It legit doesn’t matter where you draw the lines. It’s just important to recognise that there’s no essential difference between glasses and a wheelchair. Hell, there’s no essential difference between a wheelchair ramp and a road. (As a society, we have put vast amounts of resources into accommodating assistive technology that allows humans to overcome their endemic disability of not being able to walk 30 miles in half an hour.)

*I kind of remain flabbergasted that pure market forces don’t seem to have incentivised the existence of one pub/restaurant/cafe in a given city distinguishing itself from competitors by actively striving to be (and marketing itself as) ‘the place you can actually hear your friends talk’, which would also make it uncommonly accessible to people like me with sensory sensitivities and/or auditory processing problems.

Even aside from the draw for totally non disabled people, I feel like while there probably aren’t enough of us by ourselves making money to financially support this, when you add in the fact that if somewhere like this existed i would always go here with all of my friends and my family and their wallets pretty much any time I went to town, (and if I knew about one in another town I would go there every time I went to that town, and honestly be much more likely to visit that town because I would know there was somewhere I could socialise with people) and I would win all arguments about which place to go to because of the reasoning, and people diagnosed with stuff like I have are disproportionately likely to have pretty well off families, it kinda seems like a slam dunk that could surely find ways to compensate for the inability to make people drink faster by turning the music up.

I mean, tbh, late capitalism and all - for all I know this totally would be viable and make shit tons of money but can’t exist bc it doesn’t sound good to a few wealthy investors

[rebeccccccaaa]

TEᑎᔕIOᑎ

_____________________________

ᗩGEᗪ ᑌᑭ!ᑭETEᖇ ᑭᗩᖇKEᖇ ᙭ ᖇEᗩᗪEᖇ

ᔕᑌᗰᗰᗩᖇY: You and Peter have always been very flirty and touchy with each other. You chalked it up to just how he is, not that you minded. But what happens when Peter gets hit with Hydra’s infamous sex pollen and all he seems to be doing is moaning your name. 

ᗯᗩᖇᑎIᑎGᔕ: smut of course lol 18+ (virgin kink?, first time!reader, experienced!Peter, etc, unprotected sex cuz i forgot to write that lol be safe though, and a digusting amount of fluff) 

ᗩ/ᑎ: (non/dub con as per usual with sex pollen fics) although i tried to make as consensual as possible 

ᗯOᖇᗪ ᑕOᑌᑎT: 4.0k (i’m so sorry this is so long lmao)

_________________________________________

“We’re back!” Tony shouted, his voice echoing in the building. They had gone on a mission to infiltrate yet another Hydra base.

Peter was currently sitting and watching television and you were watching from the kitchen making two drinks for you and Peter. You both looked to the team walking in before scurrying beside Bruce and Tony who walked straight into the lab. 

“What did you get this time?” you asked excitedly. Sometimes the team brings back really cool things back from missions and in particular the Hydra missions have the coolest things. Unusually, Thor too walked in the lab before you all circled around the table and Tony placed a plant. 

He backs away as did Bruce and Thor so after looking at Peter with wide eyes you both also stepped back. 

“What is it?” Peter whispered.

“A plant,” Thor said.

“Not shit, Goldilocks. What does it do? You told us to take home, now what?” Tony said.

“Well, Man of Iron, it’s a sex pollen plant.”

“A what?” you gasped.

“Most planets use this as a sort of breeding plant; some species don’t really have the… stamina that Midgardians and Asgardians have.”

As Thor explained this, Tony and Bruce huddle away from the plant moving towards the computer to write down notes and data about what Thor was telling them. You followed pursuit also being intrigued by it. 

Unfortunately Peter did not follow and instead moved closer to the plant to take a closer look. The flower was beautiful. The petals were a soft shade of periwinkle and the pollen was yellow almost like gold. The same shade of golden yellow dust swirled around the flower itself. It was hypnotizing. He really wanted to smell it.

Suddenly as Peter got closer just to give it a quick sniff, he could smell an almost overbearing amount of your scent. That delicious scent of vanilla and lavender that you smelled so nicely of. That scent that made Peter want to run his hands through your hair and his nose along your neck. 

“One thing you should never do is inhale its pollen, if one does it could heighten their desires into madness.”

Peter looked up with wide eyes knowing he just did something he probably shouldn't have done. 

“What desires exactly?” Bruce asked.

“Well, sex.”

Peter started coughing.

“Pete are you ok?” you asked walking up to him.

He looked you in your eyes and his own dilated insanely. You backed away slightly concerned for your friend only for him to take a step closer to you. The lab coated with silence analyzing his behavior since it was so unlike him. Tony got up from sitting on a stool and Thor puffed his chest anticipating his next move; he was certain the boy breathed in the plant’s pollen. 

“It smelled just like you,” he whispered close to your face; his hands reaching under your shirt slightly.

The minute he put his hands on you, all three men ran you and Peter. Bruce pulled you behind him while Tony and Thor grabbed Peter dragging him away from you. You felt hot after what Peter had just done; in front of people too. He thrashed in Thor’s and Tony’s grasp, groaning and shouting from them to let him go. 

You felt tears brimming your eyes. You did not like Peter like this. He was crying and begging to be with you, which you’ll admit surprised you. 

“What’s happening to him?” you asked from behind Banner.

“The boy seems to have inhaled the pollen as I said not to do.”

“Yeah I get that! Why is he crying? Is he hurt?” you asked.

“Not exactly, the pollen will affect his mind and simulate pain as if he were to die, but his body will be perfectly fine.”

“What?” you all said at the same time.

“How do we fix it?” Tony asked.

“Y/n, baby. Please,” Peter practically moaned making everyone kind of uncomfortable.

“Well, the only way I’m aware of is, well, sex. And it seems like Peter desires the young lady,” you eyes widened and you shifted under everyone’s stares. 

“No, no way,” Tony said; you were like a daughter to Tony and therefore boys were something he wasn’t too keen on the idea of you having. He still thinks you’re too young even though you’re already a consenting adult. 

“Tony, the boy-”

“No, I’m not letting Y/n do that. We’ll find a different cure. Take him to his room and don’t let him out.”

“Tony, are you sure about this?” Bruce asked Tony.

“Yes I’m sure, Banner. There’s no way in hell I’m putting her in that situation. It’s not fair. Now come on, more time talking, less time finding a cure.”

“Technically there’s already a cure,” Thor muttered. 

“Go!” Tony pushed him out. 

“Is he gonna be ok?” you softly asked, hearing his cries and screams for you as Thor took him to is room.

“He’s gonna be alright, bug,” Tony said, hugging you. 

Steve and Nat both walked in the lab after changing out  of their clothes concerned with all the screaming they had been hearing.

“What happened?” Nat asked.

“Thor had us bring this plant home for analysis and turns out this shit makes anyone who smells the pollen horny as hell.”

“Really? Come on Tony, we heard the kid crying and screaming. What’s really going on?” Steve didn’t believe him at first.

“He wants to… have sex,” Bruce said shyly.

“Wait really?” Nat asked.

“With who?” Steve hesitantly asked curiously.

Tony and Bruce simply look at you, which you curled into yourself feeling embarrassed. 

“Oh no, honey are you ok? Did he do anything?” Nat asked, holding your hand.

“I’m fine, I’m just worried about him.”

“Don’t. We’ll fix this I promise,” Tony said getting to work.

Well now it’s been 8 hours and Peter is still crying and moaning your name. You had been in Nat's room with her, Steve, and Bucky. Sam and Thor had been outside ‘patrolling’ Peter’s room making sure he was as ok as he can be, though it’s been proven that he seems to be in excruciating pain. 

Tony and Bruce had been in the lab the entire day, you’d think they made wonderful progress and found a cure by now but no. All they’ve found was normal samples of Peter’s… everything. He was physically perfectly fine.��

You were very quiet as they played video games and watched movies. You couldn’t help but feel burdened because you knew you could fix all of this. All you needed to do was go to Peter’s room and let him have his way with you. It’s not like you wouldn’t mind. You and Peter have always had this sort of tension and extra friendly behavior between you guys ever since you met. 

To say you hadn’t developed feelings for him would be a huge lie. 

“Are you ok?” Nat asked you.

“No, not really.”

“I know you want to help him but it’s for the better. Let Tony and Bruce find a cure.”

“Actually that won’t be happening anytime soon,” Thor said, walking with Sam. 

“What happened?” Steve asked.

“They haven’t found anything and although Peter will be physically fine, mentally he could be extremely traumatized by the time they find something, if anything. The pollen mimics physical pain until sexual ‘needs’ are fulfilled by the person they desire most,” Thor looked to you at the end. 

“I want to help him,” you said.

“Y/n, that’s not fair to you,” Steve said.

“And it’s not fair to Peter if I don’t help! He didn’t mean to smell the flower. I can't just sit here waiting for nothing to happen when I can go in there and help him!” you argued, “If I don’t, he’ll not only hate you for keeping me away from him but me too for not trying.”

“Don’t be silly, he’d never hate you,” Nat said.

“He will if I’m the reason he’s going to be traumatized for the rest of his life.”

“Come with me,” Nat said, holding your hand.

“Nat,” Steve warned.

“Steve, you and I both know this has to happen. They’re adults,” Nat shot back. 

You followed Nat out of the room. 

“Are you absolutely sure about this? Your first time should be special-”

“First time?” your eyes widen.

“Y/n, I know you're a virgin.”

“I’m not a virgin,” you mumbled.

“Really? When was your first?” she poked.

“It was- was in, it was high school,” you stuttered.

“With who?”

“... Tommy?” you said after a long moment of silence, trying to come up with a name.

“Tommy?” Nat smirked.

“Yeah, he was in my history class,” you lied.

“Ok we’ll work on that,” she said.

“On what?”

“Lying.”

“Hey, virginity is merely a social construct made by men who think their tiny dicks have the ability to change a woman’s life. It’s gonna be like a five second pump; I’ll be in and out,” Nat laughed at that.

“Ok, fine. Follow me.”

You followed her to Peter’s room where his moans and groans got louder with each step you got closer. Truthfully you were a bit nervous about the situation. Sure you did imagine your first to be extra special in a dim lit room with flowers and with someone you love. Well, now it looks like it’s going to be a dark room with your best friend who’s in the room driven by magic sex pollen, but at least you love him. 

You got to the door and Peter instantly knew you were on the other side. His senses overwhelmed him with your scent, your racing heart beat. You exchanged a few words with Nat before she hugged you and left you to go into his room alone. 

You slipped inside and immediately met with Peter crawling on the floor to you in nothing but a pair of boxers; a large prominent tent formed where his dick was. 

“Y/n, you’re here,” he rubbed your legs and kissed your thighs softly still on the floor at your feet. 

“Yeah, I am. I’m here to help you,” you said shakily.

“Oh god, you smell so good,” his hand reached up behind your thighs towards your ass and you panicked. 

“Peter wait,” you pulled his hand away. 

“What, baby? What’s wrong?” he too panicked.

“Nothing, I just… I’m kinda scared.”

“Of what? Of me?” he stood up and backed away from you.

“No! Not of you. I’ve never… done this, you know?”

“Y/n, why are doing this then- ugh!” he groaned, a wave of need and sexual frustration rushed over him making his body cramp. 

“I want to help you,” you grabbed his hand; he pulled his hand back very quickly and retracted his body over to the bed. 

“Peter, please let me help you,” you walked over to him.

“No, Y/n. I can’t do that to you.”

You were getting tired of his arguing. You wanted to do this. You rushed to him and took your shirt off hoping that’ll prove a point or something. 

“Look, look. I want to help you, Pete. Let me do that,” you cupped his face making him look at you. 

His eyes were so dilated nearly black as he looked into your eyes. His hands caressed your bare stomach and lower back making goosebumps rise across your body. He leaned forward running his nose along your neck breathing you in. He used every ounce of control he had in his body to not flip you on the bed rail you into the mattress. He had to be gentle. The idea of you never have been touched shouldn't have turned him on as much as it does. 

Your stomach fluttered and you let out a shaky breath. Arousal pooled in your underwear with each move that Peter made. Your hands rested on his shoulders unsure of what to do but thankfully Peter moved your hands in his hair and you gently ran your fingers through his curly brown locks as he kissed and nibbled at your neck. 

He moved your bra strap down your shoulder tracing his lips along your collarbone to your shoulder.

“I'm so sorry, baby,” he whispered against your skin.

“It’s ok Pete, I want to help you. Teach me. Teach me how to make you feel good.” 

He practically growled picking you up and laying you on his bed. He kissed your stomach and left small bites and purple marks littered across your belly. He looked at you to make sure you were ok before pulling your shorts down your legs and off to the side. He continued to kiss up and down your legs growing harder at the small pants and gasps you made above him. 

“I'm gonna give you a little taste, ok darling?” he whispered against your inner thighs.

You nodded and lifted your hips off the bed for Peter to easily take your underwear off. You grew embarrassed at how wet you were. Peter only chuckled before going in a licking along your entrance. You gasped and clenched your thighs together, only to wrap around Peter’s head pulling him closer to you.

This isn’t Peter’s first time eating a girl out so he was obviously quite skilled in bringing you a lot of pleasure from his tongue alone. Now in his twenties, after high school and after his identity was revealed, Peter somewhat tumbled his way into playboy town just like his mentor. 

Girls left and right shot their chance to spend a night in the spider boy’s bed. But when Peter met you, oh boy, the kid fell in love. You were this innocent little thing that Peter just wanted to hold and take care of all the time. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. He stopped seeing other women in hopes that one day you’d be out of your mind enough to give him a shot. 

Now here you were, laying in his bed like an angel, letting him have his way with you because he was shithead and smelled the flower when he wasn’t supposed to. 

Your hips squirmed around, pressure building up in the pit of your stomach. You moaned loudly as you got closer to your oragsm. Your hands went to Peter’s hair making him hum when you tugged on his hair. His vibrations pushed over the edge and you came for the first time that night on Peter’s face.

“God that was hot, baby. Are you ok?” he asked, crawling up your body after discarding his boxers.

“Yeah, that was amazing,” you cupped his face, smiling.

He leaned down and kissed you for the first time ever. His hands roamed your almost naked body except for your bra of which you still had on. Not for long of course. Peter leaned back to sit up pulling you with him so you were now sitting straddling his lap. 

You could feel his dick against you and your body shuddered in arousal. His hands wrapped around you to skillfully remove your bra, the last piece of clothing left on you. When he did so you covered yourself in instinct never having been naked in front of anyone before in your life. 

“Don’t cover up princess. You’re so beautiful. I wanna see you,” he whispered, cupping his hand under your chin so you could look at him.

“Sorry, it’s- It’s a lot,” you whispered back. 

“I know and I’ll try to go slow but if I’m not inside you right now I think I’m gonna pass out,” he moaned. 

You looked down in between your bodies to find Peter’s dick big, swollen, and red. You felt bad because you don’t know if it’ll fit inside you and it looks painful. 

“Please, Yn,” Peter had tears in eyes begging for you to take the pain away.

“Ok, I’m ready.”

Peter grabbed his cock and lined up to your entrance. You got up and slowly sank down feeling him stretching you out. With how aroused and wet you were after Peter’s mouth you were able to slide all the way down without feeling too much pain.

Peter moaned when he bottomed out and grabbed your face you kiss passionately. You moved slowly up and down and soon all the pain you felt subsided into pleasure and you too started moaning above him. 

“You look so fucking good riding me, princess.”

His words made you moan even more embarrassed that everyone can probably hear you and Peter having sex. You bit your lip in hopes to silence the moans as much as possible, but Peter didn’t like that.

“Don’t. I want everyone in this building to know who fucking you this good,” he flipped you over onto you back and started thrusting wildly. 

“Let them know what a good little girl you are for daddy. Let them know who’s name you’re gonna be screaming all night.”

“Peter oh god,” you moaned.

“Huh? You like it when I call you a good girl?”

“Yes!”

“My good girl. My little slut,” Peter groaned in your ear.

You were getting insanely close to your climax and Peter’s words only sped up the approach. 

“Daddy, I think I’m close,” you whispered, pleasure becoming overwhelming.

“Let go baby. Cum all over my cock,” he said.

Your oragsm ripped through you and you practically screamed into his ear. Pleasure came over you in a huge wave. Your eyes screwed shut and your legs wrapped around Peter’s torso pulling him impossibly close. Your body felt limp under Peter’s and when you opened your eyes Peter's face held worrisome and frustration. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“I haven’t came,” his voice trembled.

“It’s ok. We can keep going,” you said tiredly.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he buried his face in your neck.

“You won’t hurt me, Peter. I promise.”

He kissed softly before gently flipping you over and thrusted into furiously.

Six hours later Peter finally came after you did so nine times; and that was before you stopped counting. Your body shook and Peter cleaned you up. He had a small fridge where he kept drinks from time to time and grabbed a water bottle for you to drink. 

You breathed heavily after drinking a copious amount of water before laying back down. You turned to check the clock on his bedside and saw that it was around three thirty in the morning. Peter crawled into bed with you, both still naked not caring enough to change. He held you impossibly close, burying his face in your shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry. Are you ok?” he mumbled in your skin. 

“I mean it was a lot,” you chuckled.

“I swear if it weren’t for that stupid fucking pollen our first time would have been softer and special,” he said, making you look at him with surprise. 

“What do you mean?”

“Uh, well, look. Y/n, I really like you and I know that timing is horrible but it’s true. I promise.”

“Well, I like you too,” you smiled at him.

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

“Wow. God, you’re amazing. Thank you for today,” he whispered, cuddling you close.

“Of course. I’d do anything for you.” 

You both fell  asleep soundly in each other's arms until you both woke up the next day from loud yet muffled voices downstairs. The sun was shining very bright, lighting the whole room up brightly. You stirred around and peeked over Peter’s sleeping body to find that it was around noon already and you two were still in bed. 

Peter moved a bit slowly waking up. You turned around to face and watched his beautiful face slowly come to life. His eyes met your eyes and you both smiled before bursting into giggles; hiding your face in his chest. 

“We’ll have to get up soon, you know,” he said, making you sigh dramatically.

“Let’s run away, before they make fun of us. They had to have heard, right?” you said, slightly panicked.

Peter just laughed and shook his head. He reached to kiss you, moving your hair off your neck eyes widening. 

“Oh man,” he said, thumb rubbing the dark spots he left on you.

“What?” You pushed the sheets off your body feeling intensely sore. You heard Peter gasped as you trotted to a mirror.

Your body was covered in bruises and hickeys that Peter left for literally everyone to see. When you looked in the mirror you yelled Peter’s name completely shocked at the state of your body. 

“I can’t believe you!”

“Well, in my opinion I think you looking fucking sexy,” he said coming up behind you.

“I like them,” you said shyly, “But everyone’s gonna see them, no?”

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen next time.”

“Next time?”

“Hell yeah. Only if you want of course,” he chuckled, “Let’s take a shower before we grab some food.”

That was filled with giggles and little touches. Kisses were exchanged practically every minute. You both came out of the shower and Peter so generously lent you a pair of clean boxers and one of his shirts fitting way too big on you. He wore these delicious looking grey sweatpants and a tight fitted black shirt. You practically drooled over him.

“No, later,” he winked.

He grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers before heading down stairs preparing for what could be an upcoming disaster. You came down stairs meeting everyone appearing to be arguing probably over what you did. Everyone noticed you two and immediately stopped conversing. 

Tony sat on a stool, arms crossed and an unamused look staring at you both while everyone else looked down or at each other, anywhere at but you guys.

“Before you say anything, everything that happened is my fault,” Peter pulled you behind him. 

Tony simply looked at you and made you feel shy and ashamed somewhat under his gaze. He told you to stay away and you didn’t listen.

“Don’t even look at her. She has nothing to do with this,” he said when Tony shifted his gaze.

“Relax, kid. Look we all talked. Thor told me about the effects the pollen can have mentally and the trauma it can impact when ‘untreated’ for too long. We weren’t going to find a cure anytime soon and I don’t even want to think about the consequences you’d have to pay because I'm a stubborn old man who didn’t like seeing the kids not be kids anymore. You both are adults and I had no right to interfere with that. Besides everyone knows you two are in love.”

“We’re not in love,” Peter mumbled.

“Love is such a strong word,” you mumbled simultaneously. 

“Don’t argue with me,” Tony said. 

“Sorry,” you both whispered.

“I’m sorry,” he admitted.

“We also agreed that starting today we will be installing soundproofing in both of your rooms and Y/n, maybe put some ice on…” he pointed to your neck but then waved around your whole body because you were pretty beaten up. 

“Thanks, guys,” Peter said holding your hand again.

“Congrats on getting the girl finally,” Steve said.

Before you two left you saw Nat wink at you and you smiled running away with Peter most likely to go cuddle and maybe fuck another round if your body feels better. As much as you hate to admit, thank god Peter smelled that fucking plant. 

[ladykissingfish]

Hi! I love your quirky headcanons, especially the ones you do for the Akatsuki. I was wondering if you could do one where you talk about how each member celebrates their birthday? Thanks!

Konan: February 20

Very quiet and low key. The most she’ll want to do is go out for a nice dinner at a sit-down restaurant. She’d also be perfectly content with just staying home and relaxing with those closest to her, maybe make some desserts together ((she keeps herself on a really strict no-sugar diet, her birthday is one of the few days she’ll break her own rules)) and watch some of her favorite movies. She’ll dress very pretty on the day (nice dress, maybe fix her hair in a different way, etc). However she’s not one of those people that will be upset if nobody remembers that it’s her special day; not that Pein aka Nagato would let the others forget. In reality her day always tends to make her a bit sad, because she shares it with her long-lost lover and friend, Yahiko.

Pein (Nagato): September 19

The leader of the Akatsuki doesn’t really care for his own birthday. Konan is the only one who knows when it is, and she’ll always prepare him an extra-special meal and spend more time with him on that day, but that’s about it. In truth Nagato is much more concerned with celebrating Konan’s birthday, because her day was once shared with his best, dearly departed friend, Yahiko. Every year on a Konan’s birthday he and Konan will sit in a circle and place a picture of Yahiko, surrounded by candles, and Yahiko’s favorite treats, on a chair. They’ll spend quite a while talking to their friend, telling him of things going on in their lives, laughing and joking and just generally trying to honor his memory.

Obito: February 10

Obito does not acknowledge, care about, or “celebrate” his birthday in any capacity. It’s unknown whether or not he had any liking for it as a young kid, but as a teenager, his time spent in the cave with Madara significantly altered whatever feelings he may have had towards the day. Obito happened to share a birthday with Madara’s precious little brother Izuna, and every year on that day, Madara would talk Obito’s ear off about the lost Uchiha. How intelligent he was, what a brave warrior he was, how strong, how handsome, how absolutely perfect. All the while giving Obito subtle (and not so subtle) “hints” that Obito wasn’t really “worthy” of sharing the day with this illustrious ancestor. The closest anyone in the Akatsuki comes to knowing the truth about Obito’s day is Deidara, after much pestering and prompting. The normally-goofy Tobi snapped at the blonde for the first time, and Deidara, startled, decided to leave the topic alone. “Tobi” apologized later, and explained more fully that his birthday wasn’t something he cared to think about. Deidara, in a rare instance of maturity, conveyed that he understood, and the topic wasn’t ever brought up again.

Zetsu: ???

… birthday? What the hell is a “birthday”? Zetsu feels themselves to be eternal, around much longer than the other so-called “immortals” of the group. Things that are forever have no beginning and no end, they just are. Therefore a “birthday”, whatever that was, has no significance for them.

Kakuzu: August 15

Every birthday that finds Kakuzu alive and well is significant because, as the saying goes, “Any birthday past 80 without a Headstone, is a Milestone”. And the old guy, well into his 90’s and going stronger than ever, certainly believes this. He’s the kind of person that won’t make a fusss about it being his birthday, and will grunt about being wished a happy birthday, but secretly, if nobody said anything at all he’d be really, really hurt. Makes sure to use all store and restaurant coupons/promotions that pertain to his day/month. MIGHT treat himself to a nice meal and some “decent” sake; or else drop “subtle” hints for the others to do so. Also makes the request that he doesn’t have to go on any missions or, if it’s unavoidable, to be assigned a different partner than Hidan so he can at least enjoy some peace and quiet on his day.

Hidan: April 2

Without his most revered Lord Jashin, Hidan wouldn’t have survived as long as he’s managed to. And he knows this. And he makes sure to show his appreciation via means of sacrifice. Each year on his birthday, depending on how old he’s turning, that’s how many victims Hidan tries to claim in the name of his lord. This is difficult, as each victim requires an extensive prayer ritual following the killing, and each person must get their OWN ritual, even if multiple people were killed at the same time. It’s very time consuming and a bit tedious, but it’s something Hidan manages to accomplish each year. If he manages to make it back to the hideout by the end of the day, he’ll humbly request that Konan make him something good to eat, to which she’ll happily comply … AFTER he’s taken a long, hot shower, that is.

Sasori: November 8

Sasori isn’t really one for flash and flare, and celebrating anything really isn’t his style. However, every year on his birthday, he goes into whatever passes for a kitchen, and makes himself a cake. This is a ritual that he’s carried with him since he turned into an adult, even after becoming a puppet. Sasori’s grandmother was never one for “celebrating” any kind of occasion, birthday or not. But his parents were a different story. Every year they’d go all out for their only child’s birthday, lavishing him with handmade gifts, and his mother would call him into their kitchen, and together they’d make his cake. Sasori loved this special time with his mother, standing on a chair by her side at the counter. Laughing, tasting batter, making elaborate designs in the frosting. Although Sasori has never come close to replicating the deliciousness his mother once created, he still gives it his all, and in doing so creates for himself a temporary peace. He always invites the others to have a piece, although Hidan refuses to because he believes the redhead is trying to poison them.

Deidara: May 5

Deidara celebrates his big day with a bang. Quite literally. He spends no less than a week beforehand creating all sorts of fantastical explosives, and on the day of, he gathers them together (along with Hidan and sometimes Tobi) and sets out to unleash his creations. It’s a ton of fun for him, although not so much for the people whose properties he wrecks. When he comes back to the hideout, Sasori and Konan will have a cake and some kind of meal waiting for him, and he’ll end the night spending time with the others.

Kisame: March 18

Big shark man has a big appetite, and on his birthday he likes to indulge. This will be one of the very few and very rare times Kakuzu turns a blind eye towards the food budget, and let’s Kisame get whatever he wants to have Konan prepare for them. Kisame is a good friend to him and unproblematic the rest of the year, so Kakuzu figures that him not complaining about money is a decent enough “gift” for the half-shark. When not eating, Kisame rather prefers to spend his down time much like any other day; reading, talking to the others, or quietly sharing a cup of tea with his partner Itachi. The latter always has some sort of gift for him, usually a hand-woven item like a threaded bracelet, or some small trinket for Samehada, which Kisame always appreciates.

Itachi: June 9

The calm one. The quiet one. The gentle, soft-spoken sweet one. The one who misses his family, and especially his beloved little brother, more than anything. Because of the life he’s lived and the things he’s done, Itachi doesn’t ever feel like he deserves to have any good things, and a birthday celebration of any kind is no different. But the others in the house, don’t quite see it that way. They know that Itachi would balk at a huge affair, but each of them, in their own ways, does something special for the pale brunette. Early in the morning he, Zetsu and Tobi take a walk, one where “Tobi” removes his mask and the three talk freely, away from the eyes and ears of the others. Zetsu listens as the two sharingan users chat over old times in the Uchiha compound, their families, and plans for the future (or as much of a “future” as Itachi can make it to). The rest of Itachi’s morning will be spent with Konan and Nagato, who will help him make a variety of sweet treats to share with the others later. No matter the occasion, Itachi never lets a day go by without doing some form of training and meditation, and on this day he will be joined by, surprisingly, Hidan and Deidara. Usually abrasive and impatient, the two will take the time to learn the different training methods Itachi practices, and they’ll hold calm, respectful conversations with him. Sasori will give him a small, carefully crafted puppet that’s been made to look just like him, which Itachi is enchanted by. Kakuzu is very gruff and usually doesn’t take the time to exchange pleasantries with the others, but for Itachi, he’ll go the extra mile and HUG the kid, which Itachi appreciates One thing that Itachi misses the most from his early life with his family was having dinner together every night, so on his birthday, the entire group makes sure to come together to share a meal in his honor. Itachi’s birthday will draw to a close with Kisame, where they’ll share a cup of fragrant tea and talk over the latest books they’ve read. Small gestures, really, but they mean the world to Itachi Uchiha.

[cacoetheswriting]

little mystery

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warnings: tattoos, alcohol consumption, gambling/betting money, mild swearing (i actually don't think there is any but just in case), baby spence!!, no smut/or implied smut but it reads a little dirty (so i’m gonna rate this 18+ anyway) Word Count: 1.8k Summary: Bets are placed to see who can be the first to figure out the secret location of your tattoo, and what the tattoo is.

A/N: i was browsing pinterest for my next ink inspiration (the whole country is currently in lockdown, but a girl can dream), when i stumbled across a particular tattoo, featured in this fic, and this idea just came to me ah i hope you ENJOY!

 -

“A recent study concluded that people with tattoos are more likely to be so called experience seekers, and they tend to lean more towards rebellious, non-conforming lifestyles.” Spencer stated glancing between the group. His eyes lingering a little longer on you. “Research also shows, people who choose to get tattooed feel a stronger need to claim their identity and stand out from the crowd.”

Derek chuckled while taking a sip of his drink. “Kid, not everyone that has a tattoo is an attention seeker or a criminal. Many who get inked lead perfectly normal and stable lives.”

“It’s a form of self expression.” Morgan continued. “It doesn't necessarily mean people with multiple tattoos are wildings. I mean look at Y/N, she’s got like ten and she's far from a non-conformist.”

All heads turned in your direction.

“Ten is an over exaggeration Morgan.” You replied with a light giggle before looking directly at Spencer. “It’s eight. I have eight tattoos.” You said shooting him a smile. A mix of intrigue quickly spread across his features.

Of course, he was aware you had a couple of tattoos. Like the tiny heart on your left index finger. The crescent moon just above your right elbow. Or the rose on the inside of your left bicep. Given that the two of you were similar in age, the young doctor didn't think you would have that many.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s a huge difference.” He teased, granting Penelope to nudge him in the arm. The bubble blonde then turned to you. “You have eight tattoos?” She asked with a raised brow. “How come I didn't know this about you? I know everything.”

“Because you never asked me and eight really isn't that much. Plus they’re all pretty simple and dainty. Well... actually... all apart from the snake slithering between my boobs.” You responded nonchalantly causing the males at the table to simultaneously choke on their drinks.

The girls all whistled before erupting into laughter at the suddenly red faces of the three boys. Hotch stared silently at the half-empty class in his hands, Derek nervously cleared his throat, while Spencer gaped at you completely wide-eyed.

The image you just painted circulating in his mind.

“Don’t be shy, tell us, any other risqué body art?” Emily chimed once the laughter died down.

“Uhm, there is one but I really don't think it’s appropriate to share.” You answered, a sly smile circling your lips. JJ and Emily both groaned at your response. “Now you have too!” The blonde exclaimed, but you just shook your head.

“Only a handful of people know what it is, and where it is.” Your eyes locked briefly with the brunette doctor sat across from you. Not enough time for anyone at the table to notice, but enough to get him a tiny bit flustered.

“What if we guessed?” Emily enquired, her eyes sparkling mischievously. You giggled. “If one of you manages to guess both what and where it is, I will tell you whether you’re correct.”

“I want in on this little bet.” Derek chimed confidently. “I can get you talkin’ hot stuff.” He shot you a playful wink and took another sip of his drink. Hotch snickered next to him. “I wouldn't be so certain Morgan.” “Oh, and you think you can?” Derek asked sarcastically. “Maybe.” Hotch poised, shrugging his shoulders.

“Right.” JJ clapped her hands. “Let’s make this interesting. Everyone that wants to take part place a ten dollar bet on themselves, and the winner will take the pot.” She turned to you. “We’ll give you the money for safekeeping and once one of us guesses correctly, you can rightfully pass the cash onto that person.”

“Sounds good to me.” You replied with a grin. “But what if none of you guess? Who keeps the money then?” “Do you forget who you work with? We’re FBI agents, profilers, one of us is bound to figure it out.” Morgan stated making you giggle.

“Okay, if you say so.”

“Oh! And whoever wins gets to see this mysterious ink of yours.” Emily added teasingly.

Just like that a pile of cash formed in the middle of the table. You reached out to grab it when a hand slowly slid across with a neatly folded ten dollar bill between two fingers. Your eyes snapped up to meet the determined gaze of none other than the resident genius.

“I want to take part too.” He said, trying his best not to appear jittery. The grin currently embellishing your features swelled, and Spencer took note of the devilish sparkle in your eyes. “Well all right.” You responded, fingers brushing lightly against his as you retrieved the money. An instant spark tingled through both you and Spencer.

The night carried on. You were bombarded with questions that would give the team any sort of clue as to what the tattoo could be, but you didn't budge. It was a lot more fun seeing your friends struggle. The only person that didn't say anything further on the matter was the young doctor sat across from you. In true Spencer Reid fashion, he simply listened and observed.

About an hour later, he accompanied you to the bar for another round of drinks. After ordering for everyone, you quickly glanced at him. “What’s going on in that big brain of yours?” You asked causing him to break away from his thoughts and turn his attention to you. He lightly scrunched his nose.

“I’m just wondering when is the most appropriate time to tell everyone what your secret tattoo is.”

Your mouth parted ever in shock, eyes widened. “There is no way you know.”

“Actually, I not only know what and where it is. I also know when you got it and why.” He stated confidently.

“Alright then, tell me.” You challenged taking a step towards him. Spencer stiffened for a brief moment. Your sudden closeness caused the heat to rush to his face and his heart to skip a beat. All he could do was hope you didn't notice; which of course you did.

With a raised brow and your fingers tapping lightly on the wooden bar, you waited for Spencer to respond. You were about to say something like, ‘See, I knew you were bluffing.’, but he cleared his throat. Regaining his confidence.

“It’s the word ‘bite’ written in cursive on your ehm, on your left b-buttcheek. And you got it your freshmen year of university as a result of a drunken game of truth or dare with your friends. I believe it was either getting the tattoo or shaving your head.” He was, of course, correct. Every word.

You stared at him in disbelief. This you definitely did not expect. Spencer on the other hand seemed quite pleased with himself. It’s not often he’s the one to rattle you.

“H-how, how did you-” You shook your head. “You know what, never mind. I don’t want to know.” Your lips twirled into a smile. “Congratulations doctor.” Without really thinking, you leaned in closer and placed a soft kiss on his cheek causing once again for the blood to rush to his face. Once you pulled away, his hand immediately travelled to the spot.

“What, uhm, what was that for?” He asked and you shrugged. “An extra prize considering it didn't even take you ninety minutes to win. I hope that was okay?” He quickly nodded his head. “Ye-a, yes.” “Good.” And with that you kissed his cheek again.

He couldn't help but grin proudly as the two of you ambled back to the table, each holding a tray of drinks.

“What’s got you so happy, kid?” Morgan asked, drawing attention to Spencer’s expression.

“Spencer just won your little bet.” You replied, placing the tray down and reaching into your purse for the money. Although his win was definitely part of the reason for his increased good mood, it had more to do with the spot on his cheek that was still tingling from your kiss. But he’d never say that out loud.

Gasps of shock echoed through the team. “What?! There is no way he’s won already!” JJ exclaimed. “He cheated. Did you give him extra hints because you have a soft spot for him?” Emily accused, narrowing her eyes.

“Nope.” Your mouth popped. “He definitely won fair and square.” You stated before shifting your body weight to look the young doctor. Smiling, you handed him his winnings. He didn't hesitate to take them, eyes never leaving yours.

“Well pretty boy, what is it?!” Derek enquired eagerly. Spencer waited for you to nod your head before turning to address the team. He revealed the design and location of your secret tattoo in one breath as you watched, finding their reactions amusing.

“How did you figure that out?” Penelope asked.

“A little mystery never hurt.” You chimed before Spencer got a chance to respond, and proceeded to intertwine your fingers with his. His head snapped first down at your glued hands, and then up at your face. He wanted to ask what was happening, completely forgetting what else the winning prize entailed, as you were leading him away from the table.

Morgan and Emily whistled after the two of you, the rest of the group laughing.

It wasn't until you were walking into the bathroom, locking the door behind, that the realisation hit Spencer. He swallowed his breath and opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.

You quickly noticed the nervous look on his face. “We don't have to do this if you don't want to. If you’re uncomfortable.” You said in your usual kind and caring tone.

“No, uhm, it’s okay. B-but if you don't want to?” He mumbled. “I don’t have to see it if you don’t want to show me, or anyone for that matter. We can just pretend.”

You smiled at him, your hands travelling to the zipper of your jeans. “A bet’s a bet, and like I said, you won fair and square.”

“Y-you, are you sure you don't want to know how I figured it out?” Spencer asked, voice breaking. The palms of his hands began to sweat. He wasn't sure where to look. Did you want him looking directly at you? Or was he supposed to keep his attention on something else until you were ready to show the tattoo?

“A little mystery never hurt.” You repeated what you said earlier to the group and pulled your pants down, just low enough to display the tattoo in question.

Spencer’s gaze landed on the writing. At this point his heart was hammering inside of his chest, and he was sure it would explode any second. His eyes widened as he slowly licked his lips. He was sure this was the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

“Do you like it?” A seemingly innocent question, although the intention behind it was anything but.

Spencer nodded his head. “I-I...y-es, I do.” His eyes gradually moved up your body until they once again locked with your gaze. His pupils now flared.

A mischievous smirk escaped your mouth. “I always knew you had a naughty side, doctor.”

-

spencer reid taglist: spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no​, @calm-and-doctor​, @idroppedmygourd​​, @averyhotchner

masterlist