#Calculated Risks

[zepskies]

Calculated Risks

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Summary: You and Ben argue about your commitment to being a working mom. When a rogue supe gets loose at Supe Affairs, mayhem ensues, putting not only your life at risk, but your daughter’s as well.

AN: Welcome back to the BMD-verse, friends! Did you miss these two as much as I did? Plus, get ready for a heavy dose of fan-favorite Frank. (And Lila, of course!)

Word Count: 7K

Tags/Warnings: Familiar bickering, a mission gone awry, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff.

Catch up on the BMD-verse. ⤵️

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

In four years of marriage, one thing that had never changed between you and Ben was this.

“All right, you’re being a little too much right now,” you said in irritation. “Of course I’m not sitting this one out. I’m the one who found us the damn lead in the first place.”

The man was following you from the adjoining bathroom and back into your shared bedroom, where you began getting dressed for work in the blouse and pencil skirt you’d laid out for yourself.

Your husband had already donned his supe suit, sans helmet. He stood just behind you with his arms crossed, a familiar surly frown on his face. When you turned around, he hadn’t moved an inch.

“I’m being too much? You’re the one who’s not being fucking reasonable,” he said.

You rolled your eyes and moved past him to find your shoes. For this skirt, you really needed heels. Your most comfortable black pumps would do. You grabbed the closet doorknob for balance as you slipped them on, giving him a look of exasperation.

Ben held firm on his stance, but inside, he had a feeling you’d chosen this outfit on purpose. You knew he liked this whole sexcretary look on you, with your hair let down around your shoulders. The skirt and heels just brought his eyes to the delectable curve of your ass.

But again, he was holding firm.

He’d been called in on this case partly because Annie was on maternity leave. She was due in just a few weeks. Which meant “Soldier Boy” was definitely needed to help out Butcher and his merry band of assholes. By now, Ben had gotten used to them.  

“Look,” you said, “Slingshot has been causing a lot of havoc, and the police haven’t been able to catch him. You heard Grace. This is an ‘all hands on deck’ situation.”

“She always says that shit. Doesn’t make it true,” Ben retorted.

“This time it is,” you said. “I’ve already put in tons of man hours on surveillance for this guy. I want to get him off the street.”

Ben held you by your arms. “That’s exactly my point. You’ve been putting in way too many hours.”

You shook your head. He just didn’t get it.

“If I hadn’t, we wouldn’t have this opening now,” you said. You gave him a smile to try and lighten him. “Now he’s all teed up for you and the guys. This should be in and out. Practically a milk run for you.”

“Yeah, but not for you,” he pointed out. “And not for Lila. You’re stretching yourself too damn thin. It’s not like we need the money.”

Ahh, now we get to it, you thought. Yet again, he was bringing this up. In his mind, you should’ve cut your hours at Supe Affairs after Lila was born.

You did take an extended maternity leave of an entire year and a half, which was much more than women usually got from their jobs. However, because of your relationship with Grace and the entire team, you’d been allowed to come back whenever you felt ready. 

Ben had often felt it necessary to point out that with his money, you didn’t have to work at all. 

He knew very well that for you, this work was more than a job. 

“I’m not the first working mom in existence, Ben,” you said, pushing out of his hold. “And I’ll remind you that Supe Affairs has a great daycare program. Lila’s very happy there.”

Plus, she was almost three and a half years old. In less than a year, Lila would be off to preschool.

“And look, it’s not about the money,” you added. “I told you before Lila was born. I am a mother, and I’m your wife. But I’m still me.”

Ben processed that for a moment, meeting your gaze.

“The situation’s changed,” he replied. He grasped your hips this time. His thumb gently brushed over your belly, which had a small bump under your high-waisted skirt. 

You were finally pregnant again. Three months, in fact, and you were having a boy. You knew that Ben had several reasons to be more protective than usual…but still. You thought you were already taking every precaution to keep you and your children safe, even with the occasionally extensive hours of your job.

“These cases can be long and difficult, not to mention dangerous,” said Ben. His green eyes met yours as he looked down at you through furrowed brows. “You’re putting yourself at risk.”

You blew out a breath and tried to placate him, soothing a hand over his chest. 

“I’ve stopped doing field missions,” you pointed out. “And Supe Affairs is the most secure building in the city. Do you think I would bring Lila there if it wasn’t?”

The security team at the S.A. was bar none, not only because Loco was a part of that team. Frank was also your personal bodyguard; Ben hired him back when you found out you were pregnant with Lila.

In fact, Frank was coming to the house in a few minutes to pick you all up.

Ben frowned. “I think you’re being stubborn just to be fucking stubborn.”

That sparked at your temper. Again, you withdrew from his arms and crossed yours.

“I think you need to face the fact that I’m protected as well as I can be,” you said. “I also think that you’re trying to use this as a way to shoehorn me into some antiquated idea of what you still think a wife should be. I’m gonna tell you right now. That’s not me! It’s never been me. And you know that.”

He opened his mouth to give an angry retort, but you beat him to it.

“It’s like you don’t even care about what I want,” you snapped. “Just what you think is right—for me to be here waiting for you to come home, quite literally barefoot and pregnant, ready to rub your balls!”

Cliché as it might’ve been to say, if the shoe fit, then you were certainly not going to be the one to wear it.

“You know what, you can accuse me of being stuck in the fucking past all you want,” Ben said, raising a finger, as well as his voice. “But the problem here isn’t me. It’s that what you want is goddamn idiotic!”

Your mouth fell agape. “Excuse me?! I can’t even believe you right now!”

Ben fairly loomed above you when he shouted back.

“Well, that makes fucking two of us!”

His voice was loud enough to reverberate on the walls. You even flinched, but you held your ground with a glare…

Until you heard a whimper.

You and Ben paused, and turned to find Lila. The three-year-old was cowering a bit in the doorway to your bedroom. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she began to cry.

Your heart broke.

“Oh, honey,” you breathed. You were both apologetic and mortified as you quickly went to her.

Ben was close behind you, but while Lila was quick to melt into your arms when you picked her up, she shied away from his attempt to reach out to her. What would’ve been a placating hand on her head, turned into him pausing in surprise when she ducked.

“Lila?” he prodded.

He tried to mask how put out he was by his daughter hiding her face from him, burrowing into your neck instead. She was usually a daddy’s girl, through and through.

You shot him a knowing frown, while rubbing her back in comfort.

“It’s okay, baby,” you told her. “Your dad and I were just…talking. He didn’t mean to shout.”

When Lila only whimpered in response, Ben’s gaze dimmed in understanding. His lips pursed.

You saw that look on his face, and you wanted to sigh. Part of you felt bad for him, at the way Lila had flinched away from her father. In a way though, maybe it was a lesson he needed to learn.

Frank arrived a few minutes later in a black SUV, like he did every weekday morning to bring you all to work. Ben was quiet and taciturn climbing into the backseat on one side, and you clipped Lila into her car seat from the other side. He still made sure that she was strapped in correctly, and even tried to earn his daughter’s gaze.

She snuck a glance at him a couple of times, but quickly lowered it to play with one of her favorite stuffed animal toys (a little German shepherd that he had gotten for her).

Ben let out a long breath through his nose. He gave Frank a nod through the rearview mirror, and the other man peeled away from the house.

The four of you rode in silence away from your house in Scarsdale, towards New York City.

Ben’s mood remained grim, even when you all got to Supe Affairs. Frank held back while you and Ben stopped in the hallway with Lila. You were carrying her, and she was holding onto you and her stuffed animal like a lifeline instead of looking anywhere else—namely at Ben.

You sighed and tried to pull her back enough to see her face.

“Daddy’s gotta go to work now. Want to say goodbye?” you encouraged.

All Lila could manage was a shy look in his direction. Ben laid a gentle hand on her head, over her dark hair.

“Bye, sweetheart,” he said.

Lila didn’t answer him. She just bit her lip and stayed withdrawn.

You and Ben shared a glance. He was hiding it well behind his usual stoicism, but this was hurting him. There wasn’t much either of you could do about it now, however. You both had work to do, and the mission would have to come first.

“I’ll be online in a bit,” you told him. 

First, you needed to take Lila up to daycare before Frank accompanied you to your office. There you’d be able to join the mission from your computer and put your headset on. Aside from surveillance, you were their virtual eyes on missions. 

So Ben tacitly agreed, and the two of you parted ways.

You went up to the second floor to drop Lila off at daycare, where you set her onto her feet. You could see that she was quiet and almost sad, not as bright and talkative as usual. And she was clinging to your hand. You bent down the best you could in your skirt, so you could meet her eyes.

“Are you still upset with your dad?” you asked. 

After a moment, Lila replied, “Daddy’s loud.”

You couldn’t help a rueful smile. 

“Yeah, he can be,” you nodded. “But he’s gonna work on that, okay? He loves you very much.”

She finally smiled a little when you pressed a few sweet kisses to her cheeks. You felt a little better about leaving her with Sarah, the woman who ran the daycare center. She was kind, but well-organized, and good at her job of wrangling fifteen or so toddlers on a daily basis.

And she was hovering off to the side with a smile, waiting to shepherd Lila over to where the rest of the group were starting at the arts and crafts table.

“Okay, baby. I love you. I’m just downstairs if you need me,” you said, caressing Lila’s cheeks, brushing her hair away from her face.

She nodded and waved goodbye. Sarah then stepped in and guided the girl over to the crafts table. The other kids were already drawing and coloring with crayons and markers.

With a sigh, you knew you had to get to work. You joined Frank out in the hall.

“Did something happen this morning?” he asked. You gave him a weary look.

“Something always happens. I’ll fill you in when we hit the elevator,” you said.

“Kids are resilient. She’ll bounce back,” said Frank, when you two got off the elevator down to the basement, under the first floor. This was where the “heavy stuff” happened at the S.A.

“That’s not the point, Frank. He hasn’t snapped at me like that in a long time, and he really scared her. That’s not fucking okay,” you said. “He needs to learn to control his goddamn temper.”

He sent you a knowing glance. You rolled your eyes.

“Okay, I know I don’t always help. But in this case, I was justified,” you said. “Ben was being an ass.”

“Right,” Frank nodded. “It’s not at all that he’s worried about you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Whose side are you on?”

The man remained silent, but his stoic face wasn’t fooling you. He’d been your friend for much too long, and he knew Ben just as well…which was why you found yourself reconsidering what happened this morning.

“You really think he has a point?” you asked. “Am I working too much?”

Frank shook his head and opened the door for you into the Surveillance Department. The two of you ventured to your office, where your quadruple monitor setup was waiting for you. He also had a desk for himself, since he often spent the long hours of your day with you.

“When you were pregnant with Lila, you were on maternity leave by now,” he pointed out.

“Because we had no idea what was going to happen,” you countered. You went to your desk and started up your computer. “I had to meet with Tonya once a week, ultrasounds and blood tests all the time, making sure Lila was healthy, that I was healthy. This time around, we have a better idea of what to expect.”

For example, you were experiencing bouts of super strength once again, but it was still intermittent. Although, you pretty much never needed coffee. Maybe the supe genes coursing through your system, thanks to your unborn son, was part of the reason why you’d been able to go such long hours for these cases.

He's already brightening up my life, you thought with a little smile, holding a hand over your lower belly.

“It’s your choice,” Frank said at last. “But it is possible that Ben cares about more than just making you a suburban housewife.”

At that, you sighed. There was nothing wrong with being a housewife, you knew. It just wasn’t…you.

Once your computer and monitors were booted up, you connected to the right channels and put on your headset.

Already you could hear M.M. bitching about keeping the weapons trunk organized, not just tossing things in haphazardly. 

“It’s a simple fucking system, Frenchie. You can at least abide by it,” M.M. said. “We don’t have time to be scratching our asses while you try to find a—”

“Hey, Bert and Ernie. Would you shut the fuck up already?” Ben groused.

Your mouth twitched at his grumpiness.

“A little testy this morning, ey guv?” Butcher remarked.

“Gargle my ball sack,” Ben replied, with an even grouchier deadpan than usual.

“Do you kiss your child with that mouth?” Frenchie teased. 

“Nah, just your mother’s French hole,” Ben slung back. You rolled your eyes. 

“All right, all right. Put the measuring tapes away,” you interrupted. “I’m online, locked on your GPS.”

“Well, if it ain’t Mrs. America herself,” Butcher drawled. “Got a lock on Slingshot’s location for us?” 

“You know it,” you replied. “Sending to the group chat now. Slingshot’s been spotted entering a strip club in Chinatown.” 

“Jeez. A little early for tits and booze. It’s 10:00 a.m. on a Tuesday,” said Hughie.

You heard Ben huff in amusement. “It’s never too early.”

You snorted at that.

“Right. I’ll remember that next time you fall asleep watching Family Feud,” you clipped back.

You heard the other guys trying not to laugh as they got into Butcher’s van. Part of you felt bad for teasing Ben, knowing he was already in a bad mood, but you were feeling a bit petty about what happened this morning.

You had to bite your lip against a smile, as you could picture the ill-tempered face your man was likely sporting.

And we’re off.

Lila wasn’t having a good day. 

She didn’t feel like coloring, and the toys just weren’t fun today.

She just didn’t want to be here. The other kids smelled like old Cheetos and feet (especially the boys).

She missed you. And though she hadn’t wanted to admit it to you, she missed Daddy too.

Lila wanted to go home…she wanted her mom. 

“I’m just downstairs if you need me,” you’d said.

Lila had a kind of plan percolating in her mind, all through the morning, and even through lunch time. She didn’t want to get in trouble, but when she’d asked Miss Sarah if she could go see you, she’d said you were at work and couldn’t come get Lila until later. 

But that’s not what Mommy said, Lila thought.  

After lunch, she laid on the napping mat with her pillow and blanket, even though she was wide awake. She didn’t want to nap with the other kids, even though Miss Sarah told her it was time to sleep. 

Again, Lila didn’t want to be bad. She didn’t want to get in trouble either, but she really, really just wanted to see you.

And you’d said it was okay to go downstairs if she needed you, right?

Lila closed her eyes while Miss Sarah was looking, but she waited until the teacher went into her office to answer a call. Then, Lila carefully put Charlie, her stuffed dog, against her pillow, tucking the blanket up to his neck. 

She crawled off her mat and snuck over to the door while Miss Sarah was distracted on her phone. Lila reached up and was just tall enough to twist the doorknob. It led her out of the room, and out into the empty hall. She then looked both ways for a clue on where to go. 

She heard a ding, and looked over at a nearby pair of elevators.

The mission went more or less according to plan. Slingshot’s abilities allowed him to stretch every part of his body like elastic. It not only made him hard to catch, but even harder to maim without collateral damage. 

A whole block in Chinatown was wrecked in the takedown, but your idea of ripping the cables from a nearby utility pole to electrocute him let Ben finally subdue the elastic supe. Kimiko knocked him out, and Butcher slapped some tight-ass cuffs on him and dragged him into the van. They returned with the rogue supe in custody. 

You were mentally exhausted from helping them track down routes to pin down Slingshot, but you were relieved to be done. You were also satisfied that another danger to society was neutralized, for now.

You took pride in your work, and you didn’t think Ben saw that, or thought it was important. You supposed that was what upset you the most about that fight with him.

Sometimes, you wondered if he would ever truly change.

You grabbed your purse and made sure to slip in your gun and taser. You left your office and greeted Frank, who had just finished making his rounds in the building with Loco’s team. Frank joined you on the way to the elevator.

“I meant to ask you, how’s Alana doing?” you asked. Alana was his daughter, who was now in college.

“She’s changed her major yet again,” he said wryly. “This time to philosophy.”

“Philosophy? That’s interesting. What does she want to do with that?” you asked.

“No fucking clue,” he replied, hitting the button for the first floor. “I just hope she gets bored and picks something practical. Like…teaching, or dentistry.”

You shot him a bemused look. “Dentistry?”

“As much money as I put into that girl’s braces, it’d be good for her to pay it forward,” Frank said, in a surly tone that reminded you of Ben. You had to laugh.

You and Frank exited the elevator and started down the hall.

You planned to touch base with Grace Mallory on the safety measures of Slingshot’s containment before he was put into custody. The idea was to house him in a prison cell that could actually hold him until he went through the legal process. 

But you’d only gotten halfway down the hall before the supe in question literally stretched past you on unnaturally long legs—in a blur of his white and blue supe suit. Your eyes widened on a gasp as you watched him head toward the elevator you’d just come off of. 

“Fuckin’ hell, we’ve got a runner!” Butcher shouted from down the hall. He along with Ben, M.M., Frenchie, Hughie, and Kimiko were rushing your way. 

It all happened so fast. 

You registered Frank shooting out a protective arm in front of you. You turned back to see the elevator doors had opened back up, and Slingshot rushed inside. He made eye contact with you.

Then his arms shot out like rubber bands. One of them knocked Frank into the far wall. You gasped and froze on reflex. 

Ben shouted your name; he was running towards you, getting closer. You were able to meet his wide eyes for a brief moment. He reached out for you, but those stretching arms closed around you first. You gasped when they slung you backwards.

You cried out in shock when your back met a surprisingly solid chest.

Meanwhile, Ben barreled the rest of the way down the hall as the elevators closed just short of his angrily furrowed face.

The stretched arms holding you were tight around your torso, making your grit your teeth as you tried to pull away. They twisted you around so you could face your captor. Or so he could see you.

His natural height was around Butcher’s—dark hair, blue eyes, angular features. He gave you what was probably meant to be a suave smile as those baby blues dragged down your body.

“Hey, baby. Nice heels,” he said. You rolled your eyes.

“So that’s why they call you Slingshot,” you said, still a bit breathless. The elevator started to move. He’d chosen the top floor. “Where do you think you’re gonna go?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he snarked. “Anywhere but here. And you’re gonna help me.”

“How? Being a human shield?”

“For a start,” he smirked down at you. He backed up a step just to take another proper look at you, and he whistled lowly. He took your chin between his sweaty fingers, making you grimace when he stroked your cheek. 

“Down boy,” you said warily. “Trust me, you really don’t want to do this.”

This jackass hadn’t even realized you had a small, but noticeable baby bump.

“Why not, babe?” he grinned. “You’ve got the whole sexy librarian thing going on.” 

You heard a loud creaking sound outside the elevator doors. The compartment itself came to an abrupt stop, making the lights flicker. 

“What the fuck?” Slingshot muttered. His hold around you loosened. 

You had an idea of what just happened, with grim satisfaction. You also took advantage of his distraction and managed to slip a hand into your purse.

You pulled out your taser. Slingshot noticed and tried to grab you again, but the elevator somehow started to move in reverse, about a foot a time. It made both of you lose your balance and utter sounds of surprise.  

As soon as you regained your footing, you aimed the taser at the most sensitive place you could think of—the supe’s dick and balls.

His howls of pain were loud enough to reach Ben, Frank, and the rest of the team on the third floor. Ben’s face became edged with a smirk. 

He kept pulling the elevator cables down until the compartment’s doors were in reach. There he grabbed the doors and pulled them open with his bare hands, crunching metal under his fingers. The moment he saw you, the relief in your eyes, he grabbed your hand and pulled you out, into his arms. 

Slingshot was angry, though he managed to recover, rip off the taser’s metal prongs and wires, and evade Kimiko, M.M., and even Butcher when he slithered his way out of the elevator and around their guns. The bullets ricocheted off the walls, and off his body as they followed him down the hall.

Ben focused on you. He brushed his half-gloved hands over your shoulders and sides while he quickly looked you over. There was worry in his eyes, disguised as anger. You caught your breath and held a protective hand over your lower belly out of reflex. 

“You okay?” he said, but you were already nodding before he asked.

“I’m fine,” you replied. “Just get him. I’ll get Lila.” 

Ben nodded. He shot one last firm look at Frank, who was back at your side. Frank laid a hand on your shoulder as Ben took off down the hall to find Slingshot. 

“The stairs are safer at this point,” Frank said. 

“I would have to agree,” you said, steeling yourself with a breath. 

While you and Frank went downstairs to the second floor, you didn’t see the second elevator ding, its doors opening to your daughter, who ambled out alone. She looked one way down the hall, but hearing her father’s voice carrying down the opposite way, she started venturing in that direction.

If she couldn’t find you, then she’d find her dad. 

“What the hell do you mean you lost her?” you shouted at Sarah, the woman who was supposed to be looking after your daughter. “How do you lose a three-year-old at nap time? What kind of incompetent fuck are you?”

Yes, Ben had unfortunately rubbed off on you. 

Sarah was in tears by the time you were not even halfway done, but Frank calmed you down with another touch to your shoulder. You had tears of panic stinging in your eyes when you met his gaze, your mouth trembling.

“I just radioed in and put Loco and the rest of the security team on looking for Lila. She can’t have gotten far,” he said. 

“Come on! Keep up with me, old man,” Slingshot taunted at Ben. His super flexibility allowed him to keep several steps ahead, dodging any attempts to grab him and any weapons fired with easy dips and playful deflection. 

“When I get my hands on you, you flaccid fuck, you won’t know your ass from your ball sack,” Ben growled. 

But he crashed into the wall when he took a corner too hard trying to tackle the other supe. He picked himself up from the debris of crumbled wall and plaster, ignoring Kimiko’s offer of a helping hand. 

“Big fucking talk from the walking AARP commercial,” Slingshot snorted. He turned around and once again prepared to run. “Try not to shatter a hip, asshole!”

He took off down another bend in the hallway. Meanwhile, Ben shook himself off and joined the others in running after this cocksucker. Ben looked over at Butcher.

“What’s your fucking plan?” he grated out. 

Butcher seemed to have an idea growing in his mind. “What’d she do to him in that elevator?”

“Tased his dick, by the sound of it,” Ben replied. He knew what weapons you kept in your purse, and that you'd know better than to fire a gun in an enclosed elevator. Butcher snapped his fingers.

“Electricity. Bloody brilliant,” he said. He pointed at Hughie and grabbed Frenchie by the collar. “You, with me. I’ve got an idea. The rest of ya, get him pinned down.”

“Easier said than done, motherfucker,” M.M. grumbled. But he followed Ben and Kimiko to find their errant supe. 

Slingshot played a cocky game, but inside, there was fear. 

They’d caught him once, and now, this building was crawling with security, let alone the assholes chasing him.

He was panting for breath when he nearly ran straight into…a kid? 

She was wandering around, trying to open a locked door. He skidded to a stop in front of her, and she looked up at him wide-eyed. He tilted his head. She was a cute little thing with brown hair and green eyes. She wore a blouse with cartoon ducks on it over her jeans and sunshine-yellow shoes. 

“Hey, cutie. Where you going?” asked Slingshot. “Are you lost?”

“Looking for my mom,” she answered, a bit timidly. The supe gave her an easy smile; inside, he knew he’d just found his collateral, and his ticket out of here. 

“Okay. What’s your name?” he asked. 

“L…Lila,” she said. 

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he said, with all due charm. He struck a pose, with his fists held up to his waist. “I can help you, Lila. I’m a superhero.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? Like Daddy?”

“Oh, yeah. Your dad and I are friends.” Never mind that he had no fucking clue who her daddy was. He offered her his hand. 

Now, Lila knew not to talk to strangers, but if he knew her dad… 

After a moment of reluctant indecision, she took his hand. Slingshot tapered a smirk into a more friendly smile. 

“Let’s go find him.”  

Ben was ahead of the pack, but he soon came to an abrupt stop with wider eyes. He finally found Slingshot, except he had Ben’s daughter by the hand. Slingshot wore a cocky grin as he took the child up into his arms. 

“Hey, guys. Who’s this little peanut belong to?” he asked. “Said she was looking for her daddy.” 

Ben’s breath turned to lead in his lungs. Lila’s eyes lit up with recognition when she saw him. 

“Daddy!”

Ben’s softer gaze shifted from her, hardening once it reached the other supe. 

“Let her go,” he growled lowly. 

Slingshot’s grin deepened incredulously as he laughed.

“Oh shit, she’s yours?” he exclaimed. “This’s just too fucking perfect.”

“Lila!” your shout came from behind Ben, and you stepped around M.M. and Kimiko.

Ben held out a hand to keep you at bay. He kept his eyes on Slingshot, but Ben heard your gasp. His stomach dipped, knowing your worry had to be reaching new heights as you took in the situation.

“Ben,” you uttered. 

“I’ve got this,” he said to you.

“You don’t got shit, old man,” Slingshot snapped. He shot you a smirk next. “She’s your bitch? Figures.”

“Just let her go,” you implored. You had tears brimming in your eyes. “We can negotiate your release if you promise to be more responsible.”

Ben shot you a glance then. He didn’t intend for this fucker to live, let alone walk the streets of New York again. But he supposed any bluff was worth it at this point.

Meanwhile, seeing the distress on her parents’ faces made Lila begin to break down into tears. She whined, pushing against the supe holding her, wanting to be let go. 

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Slingshot cooed. “You’re just gonna take a little trip with me.”

“No!” a ragged shout tore from your throat when he took a few backward steps down the hall. 

Ben held you back from following him, all while he tensed with rage. M.M. and Kimiko were also poised to try and stop the supe. But Slingshot tightened his hold on Lila in warning.

“Back the fuck off,” he demanded. “Once I get to JFK and get my ass on a plane, maybe, maybe you see your daughter aga—”

He had to stop short, as he sensed something just outside of his peripheral vision.

It was Butcher, coming at him to swing a baseball bat at the supe’s head.

You screamed in protest, but Butcher was relying on the supe’s reflexes to dodge the bat. He wasn’t disappointed. Slingshot dodged. Though in his distraction, it gave Ben the opening he needed to step into his orbit and land a solid punch across Slingshot’s face.

It not only cracked his jaw, but also caught him off guard enough for his grip on the child to loosen. Ben grabbed his daughter and turned her away in a protective embrace.

Then Frenchie brought Slingshot down with the prongs of a massive taser clipping onto his nipples. He jolted and screamed—and went down hard on the tile floor. 

While Hughie and M.M. ushered in the rest of the security team to swarm in and take the supe into custody, you raced forward to Ben and Lila in tears.

Lila was also crying and clinging to Ben’s neck, shaking like a leaf.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he said quietly, so only she could hear. Lila whimpered and burrowed tighter against his neck.

Tears streamed down your face, but you tried to breathe through it. You rubbed her back and checked her over, making sure she wasn’t hurt. 

For Ben, the force of his relief was pounding in his ears. He briefly closed his eyes as he held his daughter closer. 

When he opened them again, he met your gaze. You couldn’t speak. All you could do was grab onto his wrist for support. He gave that to you, wrapping his free arm around your waist and pulling you into his side. 

“Frank,” he said. His voice was a sharp command. The other man was ready to carry out whatever Ben asked. He also looked relieved to see that Lila was all right.

“Pull the car around,” said Ben. Frank nodded, and went to do just that.

Ben turned to watch in satisfaction when Frenchie and M.M. hauled up a still twitching Slingshot. Butcher slapped a pair of electroshock handcuffs on him that would keep him better contained this time—courtesy of the S.A. armory. He nodded over at Ben, and the latter returned the gesture. 

You missed it all, as you were preoccupied with comforting your daughter.

“It’s okay, honey. We’re going home,” you gently whispered to Lila, who was still hiding her face in Ben’s neck. You shared a look with him, and he gave you a short nod. His hand moved to the small of your back, both protective and possessive as the three of you moved towards the garage exit. 

There Frank waited with the car that would take your family home.

You watched Ben with the beginning of tears brimming in your eyes. You managed to hold them at bay while he set Lila down in her bed. You’d just finished giving her a bath and helping her get into her pajamas after a quiet, somewhat tense dinner. 

Lila still seemed upset in her unusually quiet mood, which you knew was understandable. Ben sat at her bedside and soothed a hand over her head, brushing her cheek with his thumb. 

“You’ve had a crazy friggin’ day, huh?” he asked. Lila didn’t want to look at him, but he encouraged it with gentle fingers brushing her chin, teasing the tip of her nose. She hinted at a smile and finally met his eyes. He smiled back at her, if more reserved. But his expression turned serious again.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. He could see it. She had been more or less fine throughout dinner, but now she’d turned quiet and withdrawn again. She only got like that when she was upset about something.

Lila toyed with the ear of her stuffed animal, Charlie. Frank had retrieved it for her from the daycare.

“Sorry I talked to strangers,” Lila mumbled.

You had to bite the inside of your lip so you wouldn’t cry. You came over to sit on the other side of her bed. You sniffed and shook your head, but Ben beat you to what you wanted to say. 

“You’re not in trouble, all right? We’re not mad,” he said. 

Lila’s lower lip wobbled. Ben sighed and picked her up, plopping her down in his lap. She hugged him as tight as she could and he held her back, warm and secure.  

“You know I’m always gonna be there to keep you safe. You never have to worry or be afraid,” he said. 

You carded your fingers through Lila’s hair so she knew you were there too. Usually, the roles were reversed, where you were doing the comforting and Ben was the solid support. Right now though, you just didn’t have the words. Not when guilt was eating you from the inside out.

Fortunately, your husband did have the words, after he heaved a sigh. 

“I might raise my voice, sometimes, but uh…you never have to be afraid of me either. Okay?” he said.

"Mhmm," Lila agreed.

You laid hand on Ben's arm, gently squeezing. He met your gaze, and knew what you were prodding with just that look in your eyes.

Briefly, he hesitated before he looked back down at his daughter.

"I'm sorry I scared you," he said.

Lila nodded against his chest. “It's okay.”

“Good,” he said, laying a kiss on her forehead. “All right, you ready to go to bed?”

She clung to him and made a sound of refusal. 

You were finally able to crack a smile. You leaned down by her ear. 

“You want Daddy to read you a story first?” you asked. 

Ben shot you a look at the way you volunteered him for that. He was tired and drained. 

But one hopeful, shiny look from his daughter, and he folded like a deck of cards.

Later, when Lila was asleep, you tucked her in one last time and Ben turned out the light. He kept the door cracked open, just in case she called for either one of you tonight.

Then, somehow, you and Ben ended up in the kitchen instead of the bedroom. As exhausted as both of you were, you needed this moment to decompress, with one of your old favorite pastimes…

He broke out the whiskey while you found an appropriate midnight snack, and then a seat with him at the breakfast bar. The two of you shared a companionable silence, as well as a large bag of sea salt and vinegar chips. 

That was sort of how you felt inside.

“Today can’t happen again,” Ben said, breaking the silence. 

You looked over at him, but he was looking beyond you. Maybe so he didn’t have to show you how deeply he’d been rattled. You knew him far too well for that. 

“Of course not,” you replied. And you released a sigh. “So here’s what I’m thinking. From now on I’ll work from home, so I can watch Lila until she goes to preschool.”

Ben got ready to argue, but you held up a hand. The other went to rest over your belly. You had scheduled an ultrasound with Dr. Tonya Baker tomorrow, just to make sure all was well after this ordeal.

“I already plan to take my maternity leave when this guy rolls into town,” you said with a smile. “Then, when I’m ready, and if it’s feasible, I can continue to work from home until all the kids are in school.”

Ben’s lips twitched humorlessly. He should’ve known you’d continue making this a negotiation. He set down his glass, and he reached out to slide a hand over yours, across your belly. He took in a deep breath. But when he let it go, you sensed you still hadn’t convinced him.

“Listen, I know you don’t want me to work—” you began.

“It’s not that,” he said. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said it. “It’s not.”

Despite yourself, you read the sincerity in his words. It had you pausing, waiting for him to continue.

“You know damn well…that just being around me is dangerous,” he said. “To you, and to Lila. But you being connected with Supe Affairs, working these missions, even from behind a desk, it’s a fucking risk. It’ll always be a risk.”

You considered that with new understanding. You took his hand with both of yours.

“Ben, this life, this work…it’s the same for me as it is for you. It’s all I know how to do. It’s what I’m wired for. So that’s why it’s hard for me to turn down that dial,” you explained. “But look, I understand what you’re saying. Believe me, I do. And today…today was…”

Your breath hitched as tears stung in your eyes. Ben shook his head and tugged you closer.

“Come ‘ere,” he said.

You left your chair to go to him. You stood between his long legs while he pulled you into a warm embrace. Logically, you knew that what happened today wasn’t your fault. However, part of you still felt like a failure of a mother for underestimating the risks of having your daughter at the S.A.  

You should’ve known better, you berated yourself. And yet, it was Ben’s words that stopped your train of thought.

“Today wasn't on you,” he said. "Get that thought outta your head."

He knew you well too, and this was one of those times. You wept harder against him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. He held you, comforted you until you began to calm down.

“Take your maternity leave early,” he said. His deep voice was a rumble. “You’re going to have your hands full with Lila when I’m not here. Unless we hire someone to help you.”

It was an idea you could consider, but who could you trust? That was the question. 

Maybe your mother? you thought. You knew she was thinking of retiring from her job in a couple of years anyway.

You sighed and slipped your fingers through Ben’s hair. Your hand came to rest on the back of his neck as you leaned against him.

When Lila came into your lives, you had been so excited to start a family that you hadn’t considered the non-physical side effects. Namely, the sacrifices you would have to make in order to keep your family safe. 

Before you met Ben, your job was your life. But today reminded you that your daughter…and your unborn son, were more important to you than your job. No matter how important that job might be for the rest of the world. 

“Let’s talk about this more tomorrow,” you said, shaking your head. “I can’t think anymore.”

After a beat of hesitation, he agreed with a nod. Like so many battles before, whatever compromise you and Ben finally reached would be hard won. His hand found your cheek and caressed your skin.

“You still try my fucking patience, you know that?” he muttered.

You smiled tiredly. “Did you really expect that to change?”

He scoffed. Even so, he guided you off his shoulder so that he could claim your lips. His kiss tasted like the burn of whiskey. You met his demanding lips in kind, though you were the first one to part from him slowly. 

“I love you,” you whispered a reminder. 

Ben nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead. He lingered there for a moment, as if he could pause the world for a while. 

He eventually let out a breath through his nose and allowed himself to be honest.

“I love you too,” he said.

With that shared understanding, he stood from his seat. He drained the last of his glass before he bent to gather you up into his arms. You yelped in surprise, clinging to his shoulders.

“Time for some rest,” Ben said. There was a certain smile on his face, gentler than usual.

He forged a path towards the bedroom. You sighed and laid your head against his chest. 

For once, you didn’t argue with him.  

AN: I've been wanting to put this one out for a while now. 💚💚 I so hope you enjoyed this chapter of the BMD verse! Do you like how their little family is evolving? 😘

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Break Me Down Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26

@spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

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#Calculated Risks #Break Me Down #BMD-verse #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #Soldier Boy/Ben #daughter!OC #the boys #the boys AU #the boys season 3 #the boys amazon #soldier boy fanfiction #billy butcher #mother's milk #hughie campbell #jensen ackles characters #jensen ackles #soldier boy/ben #zepskies writes

[linovadraws]

Greg is a registered service animal!

#incryptid #calculated risks #seanan mcguire #this has been sitting in my drafts for apparently three years but with the power of aftermarket afterlife it was born #spider #huge spider #learning to draw spider has been very fun but also super challenging #weirdly i now have two series with delightful jumping spider companions to draw for? #fanart #memes

[pedrito-friskito]

three…two…one… - dieter bravo x fem!reader

❄️’tis the season❄️

summary: you and dieter throw a new year’s party.

word count: 2.8k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, smut, fluff, unprotected p-in-v, dieter’s dirty mouth, mentions of drinking/drugs/classic dieter things, this is SUPER SELF-INDULGENT AND I DON’T CARE BUT I LOVE THESE TWO SO MUCH AND JUST WANT THEM TO BE HAPPY OKAY THAT’S IT THAT’S ALL

a/n: the beginning of this fic genuinely made me laugh out loud when I wrote it. thank you all for the love and support always (I’ll make a sappy new years post separately) and I know I’m a day late, but enjoy! (also special props to @mandoblowmybackout for giving me the pizza idea 😏)

“I wanna throw a party.”

Well, that’s definitely not what you were expecting.

“What did you just say?”

Dieter pauses, head snapping up, eyes flicking from where they’d been trained on your bare tits up to your face. His eyes are bloodshot, pupils blown wide, and his cheeks are rosy, a slick of sweat at his temple. “Huh?”

He’s stoned. You both are, truthfully. The last few weeks have been a blur of cardboard, tinsel, and red wine, flitting from one house to the next. You were Dieter’s plus one to a slew of holiday parties (which went much better than your Halloween escapades had, mainly because it was time spent with Dieter’s actual friends, people he trusted, not a bunch of strangers trying to get on his good side) and, in a not-so-shocking twist, a Christmas party thrown by your closest pals. 

They had been more than shocked when you announced you were bringing Dieter fucking Bravo along with you, doubly shocked when you told them you were moving in together. It was something to get used to, the talking about him, the calling him your…boyfriend? Partner? Something like that. But up until now, you’ve been so used to keeping it hush hush, reducing your relationship to what it had been, not what it’s turning into. And your closest friend had a keen eye on Dieter, knowing exactly what had gone down at Halloween.

“You’re sure moving in with him is the right thing?”

“There’s nothing I’m more sure of, trust me.”

She’d tilted her head to the side, stared at you a long moment. “You seem happy. Almost too happy.”

“I am,” you said, barking a laugh. “I’m really fucking happy.”

Parties, friends, a quick appearance by your parents — which Dieter had handled with such composure you had to restrain yourself from sticking your tongue down his throat in front of your mother — and the end of the era that was your apartment. You were officially moved out as of Boxing Day, the 27th of December was spent at a work party, and now…you’re officially living together.

The end of a long few weeks, both of you dead on your feet and desperate for a little reprieve, Dieter had declared it a night for celebrating. A healthy-sized joint had been shared on the balcony, reminiscent of the first time you’d set foot in his condo, and you’d swapped smoke, shotgunning between heavy giggles and tired smiles.

“I’m really happy you’re here, baby.”

“Me, too.”

Realizing this would be the first official meal in your now shared space, you spent nearly half an hour trying to decide what to order. Dieter had pouted at that, telling you he wanted to cook you something, but he’d nearly tripped over his own feet coming in from the balcony and almost ripped the curtains down in the process, and the last thing you want to do your first official night is have to call the fire department or an ambulance.

You settled on a giant meat lover’s pizza with extra cheese, bottles of root beer, garlic sticks, the works. You ate sprawled on the rug in front of his fireplace, licking grease from your fingers, watching old episodes of Family Guy, and Dieter’s Stewie impression made you laugh so hard you nearly spewed root beer out of your nose.

It was perfect.

After the pizza had been demolished, things took a turn. It had started innocent enough, the pair of you cuddled up on the couch, your head tucked under Dieter’s chin, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. Something else came on tv, but you were barely paying attention at that point, Dieter having tipped your chin in his direction, hungry kisses that tasted vaguely of pizza pressed to your mouth.

One thing led to another, and before you knew it, you were sprawled on the chaise end of the sofa, stripped of all your clothes. He’d started with your knees hooked over his shoulders, face buried between your legs. He’d pumped you full of three fingers, lips sealed around your clit, mumbling into you the whole while.

“Pussy tastes so fucking good, baby,” he rasped, curling his knuckles, making you keen. “God, you’re so good for me, aren’t you? Taste like a fucking dream.”

You’d cum so hard you saw stars the first time, your head thrown back on the couch, hands buried in his wayward curls. He’d worked you through it, lapping around where his fingers were splitting you open, pulling them out only to replace them with his tongue.

Dieter growled when you yanked at his shoulders, clawing at his t-shirt until he scrambled up the couch, shoving his lounge shorts down over his ass, pulling the hem of his shirt up and over his head. He dropped onto his elbows a second later, covering your mouth with his as he slid into you, both of you stark naked, thrusting so hard the couch slid across the hardwood. You were lost in it, chasing Dieter’s mouth, arms hooked around his shoulders, keeping him close to you.

And then—

“I wanna throw a party.”

He starts laughing, clearly realizing that he said the words out loud, but his pace doesn’t falter. He grins broadly, leaning up on his knees slightly, letting his hands skim along your shoulders and down over his chest, squeezing at your breasts, thumbs swiping your nipples.

“A party, baby,” he continues, glassy eyes raking down your body, trained on the spot where you’re joined together. “New Year’s, yeah? Wanna celebrate this.” He punctuates the word with the drop of his thumb, a slow drag over your clit. 

You make a choked sound, back arching slightly. “My pussy?”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Something this good should be celebrated,” he says, swiping at your clit again. “God, you feel amazing, you know that? Fuck, I love you.”

“Dieter.”

“The New Year, baby,” he says, eyes flicking back up to yours. “Your friends, my friends, the people we actually give a shit about. Let’s celebrate it. This. Us.” He runs his other hand up your side, curls his fingers around your ribs, rubs a harder circle around your nerves. “Get all dressed up, drink champagne, the whole thing.”

You laugh despite it all, sliding your hand up his arm, squeezing at his bicep. “I’m used to New Years in my sweatpants.”

“Wear whatever you want, baby girl,” he purrs, leaning down and nipping at your lips. “I’m just gonna peel it off you at midnight anyway.”

+

You think he’ll forget, that you’ll wake up the next morning and his sudden desperate need to throw a party would have subsided, but you instead wake up to an empty bed. At eleven in the morning. Supremely uncharacteristic of Dieter, who usually lays in bed until the last possible moment, trying to keep you hostage every single morning.

Snagging one of his t-shirts off the bed, you pad out of the bedroom to find him perched at one of the barstools. He’s got his laptop open in front of him, a giant mug of coffee in his hand, and his phone pressed to his ear. “Yeah, hi, do you guys do those little fuckin’ pigs-in-a-blanket things?”

You just burst out laughing.

Two days later, and the condo is full of friendly faces. It’s by far your favourite party you’ve been to with Dieter, made all the more special that you’re throwing it together, in the home you both live in. You make the rounds, play hostess, resist the urge to go hide in the bathroom. You love the holidays, really, but the constant stream of people, the small talk and the drinking and the late nights, it’s weighing on you.

But when you saw the spark in Dieter’s eye as he called caterers and made drink menus and decided on a guest list, you couldn’t say no.

You still haven’t had time to unpack, and all of your boxes are shoved in the guest room, but even that doesn’t stop it from feeling crowded and overwhelming. You’re stopped by a few friends, remnants of your old life mixing with your new one, and you’re grateful, having a quick conversation before someone else is calling your name, pulling you away.

It’s quarter to midnight when you know you need a moment, and you excuse yourself from the people you’d been talking to and head straight for the bedroom. Your dress feels too tight, the necklace you’d worn with it making you want to claw your head off. Heaving a breath, you toss it onto the chest of drawers, reaching for the zipper on your dress as you head into the closet.

Toeing off your shoes, you reach for one Dieter’s t-shirts, the fluffy jacket you’d thrifted for him, a pair of leggings. You’re halfway into the leggings when you glance over and see the Mandalorian armour he’d worn on Halloween. It’s piled on the floor, the jumpsuit wrinkled and pieces of metal scattered. 

The helmet is now sitting beside his Oscar in the living room; your idea.

You already know the closet is going to be a project, a complete reorganization if you are gonna fit anything besides your underwear in with Dieter’s things (something you doubt he would mind). Pulling the leggings on all the way, you reach for the armour, gathering the pieces of metal first, stacking them on the shelves beside a pair of custom Crocs you know you’ve seen Dieter wearing around the apartment. 

The jumpsuit is next, and as you pull the fabric up off the floor, something tumbles out of it. Your eyes track it as it falls to the carpet. A little black box, perfectly square and shiny on top. You cock your head, putting the jump suit to the side as you sink down and reach for it. It must be a watch or something, but you realize as your fingers close around the box that it’s too small to be a watch, that it’s the perfect size for—

“Holy shit.”

Your breath stalls in your throat and for a moment, you pause. 

Should you open it? There’s a chance that it’s not at all what you think it is, but there’s also a chance that it is one thousand fucking percent exactly what you think it is.

What if he has a plan? Wait…then why was it in the Mando suit? Was he planning to ask at Halloween, before everything went down the way that it did? When had he bought the damn thing?

Your mind is a flurry of questions, a tiny voice screaming at you to just open the damn box! until you hear Dieter’s voice, snapping you out of your reverie so hard you have to shake your head.

“Baby? What are you doing back here?”

You nearly drop the box, shrieking as he steps into the closet before you have a chance to drop the box, hide it, put it back in the jumpsuit, anything. “Fuck, D, you scared me!”

He stares at you a long moment, eyes jumping between your face and the box over and over and over again. “Whatcha got there?”

You’re caught red-handed; there’s no getting out of this one. “I was putting your Mando costume away.”

Dieter chuckles, takes a half-step towards you, the closet door swinging shut behind him. “I can see that.”

“I was just putting it away,” you say again, and he takes another step towards you, until he’s close enough to put a hand on your hip, “and this fell out.”

“Oh, it fell,” he repeats, and his free hand moves to cup yours, the box held aloft in your palm. “It’s been there for a while now.”

“Did you forget you had it?” you ask, and there’s a crack in your voice you’re not expecting, a new sort of desperation crawling up the back of your throat. Is this actually fucking happening?

Slowly, Dieter shakes his head. You bottom lip trembles as he leans in and kisses you softly, squeezing his fingers around yours, around the box. “Not for a second.”

Realization sweeps through you, and you wince. “Oh god, you were gonna propose at midnight, weren’t you?” When he doesn’t answer, you take it as a yes, groaning. “Oh fuck, I fucked it all up, didn’t I? Fuck, Dieter, I’m sorry, baby, I’m—”

He kisses you again, cutting off your words as he pulls you against him. He plucks the box from your hands, snapping it open, and all your breath shoots from your lungs in a gush, knees nearly giving out underneath you. It’s beautiful, salt-and-pepper diamond winking back at you. Rose gold, flanked by two tinier diamonds on either side, an interesting octagonal cut that catches the light from every direction.

“Oh my god.”

“After the Halloween party,” he says, his voice dropping low, “I was gonna get McDonald’s on the way home. I was gonna get you a strawberry milkshake and put the ring on the straw, and then I was gonna write my question on a napkin and give it to you.” He gives a little chuckle, and his hand is at the small of your back now, holding you close. “Obviously, that didn’t work out how I planned it.”

There are tears in your eyes, thick and crawling up the back of your throat. Happy tears, the happiest you think you’ve ever felt. “No, it didn’t,” is all you can manage to mumble out.

“Then, I was gonna do it that day when you gave back the keys to your apartment, but you were so sad, and it didn’t feel like the right time. And then you agreed to this stupid fucking party, even though I knew you didn’t want to, and I thought now, but this—” He plucks the ring out of the box, reaches for your left hand. “—this is better.”

Vaguely, you can hear the sounds of the party, people yelling that the ball is about to drop, that it’s almost midnight, that the New Year is almost here.

Dieter smiles, and it’s a smile that’s now familiar to you. It’s love and it’s light and the man is beaming. “You know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, baby. And I know we’re not easy, or conventional, and maybe people are gonna say this is way too fucking fast, I don’t know. But I know that I love you, and I wanna have a life with you.”

People are counting down now, shouting the numbers as they tick by. Your heartbeat is in your ears, thumping loudly with every second that passes.

10…9…8…7…

“Y’know, I’m supposed to get down on one knee for this,” Dieter murmurs, but you’ve got a death grip on his shoulder, refusing to let him move.

6…5…4…

“Ask me.”

He grins.

“Will you marry me, baby?”

3…2…1…

“Yes.”

Happy New Year!

Dimly, you hear the celebrations in your living room, the whooping and cheering of your friends. Your heartbeat is still thundering, and your hand is shaking as he slides the ring onto your finger.

A perfect fucking fit.

As soon as it hits your knuckle, your arms are around his neck, mouth seeking his, knotting your fingers in his hair. You can feel his smile, a broad grin against your lips as he crushes you to his chest. It’s tight enough to lift you off your feet, your legs automatically lifting around his hips as you kiss him.

His tongue tastes like champagne, and you’re drunk off the feeling of him, the taste of him, the new foreign weight of the ring on your finger. Holy fucking shit. The kiss is just as sweet as it always is, but there’s something about it that feels different now, something more intense, new territory for the two of you to suss out together.

Dieter carries you out of the closet, and it’s only then that you realize you’re only half-dressed, in the leggings you’d thrown on and your bra. He’s got one arm around your waist, other hand pressed between your shoulders, and your lips don’t break as he walks towards the bed and lays you out on the mattress.

“Happy New Year, baby,” he says against your lips, still smiling, and so are you. You’re on Cloud 9, champagne high, over the moon, walking on air, every fucking cliché you’ve ever heard in your life.

You clasp your hands behind his neck, fingers automatically seeking out the ring on your left hand, rubbing you thumb over the diamond. “Happy New Year, Dieter.”

He gives you one last lingering kiss, your whole body tingling with it before he pulls away.

“You wanna go tell your friends?”

You shake your head no. “Not yet. I want us to celebrate it first.”

He nods, an understanding look in his eye. “Wait here,” he whispers, grabbing your left hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, kissing your ring. “I’m gonna go kick all these fucking people out, and then I’m gonna make love to my fiancée, you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

That beaming smile is back, and it sends a flurry of butterflies through your stomach. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you.”

As soon as the door clicks shut, you can’t hold back anymore. It’s that little girl moment, the kicking feet and the squealing and blushing so hard you think your cheeks are on fire. You can’t stop staring at your ring, and you just hope Dieter moves fast out.

—————

if you’re curious what the ring actually looks like, my inspo is HERE.

#calculated risks #‘tis the season #my fics #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo fluff #dieter bravo fanfiction #the bubble #the bubble fic #three…two…one…

[incryptid-quotes]

The difference between sacrifice and slaughter is consent.

Alice Healy

Book Title: Calculated Risks Book #: 10 Chapter: 15

#InCryptid #Seanan McGuire #Calculated Risks #InCryptid Quotes #InCryptid Chapter Quotes #Alice Healy #Alice Price-Healy

[esty-blog]

Cool. There is a science behind it That's what he said, as he lay back on my bed Yeh there are endorphins and warmth Feeling hot, racing hearts Does that mean you calculate us? The leaves were green when you came over Cheeky smile and beer in hand Now orange and falling There you still stand I brought ciggarettes becasue they smell like you Husky and smokey, I breathe in deeply Where is this science you candidly speak of? I'll be cool for you friend True words I can't send Because I'm lost in a haze of mischief and want I'm lost all the way, and I don't care to be found.

#love poem #love #cheeky #lost #unrequited love #so hot 🔥🔥🔥 #science #chemistry #romance #bereft #calculated risks #memories #nostalgia #lost love #letting go

[random-xpressions]

Taking a risk has its consequences and so does fear. The latter is nothing but a slow and cold-blooded death!

Random Xpressions

#take risks #life happens just once #calculated risks

[yourbestgal]

my ‘Best Buy dates aren’t real and they can’t touch me’ attitude towards things i scavenge in my fridge might be what takes me out in the end. but that’s only if my incredible talent for thoroughly and efficiently emptying my stomachs contents doesn’t prevail………

#calculated risks

[kiaramori]

THE NEW CHAPTER IS SO GOOD!!!

Thank you!!! I’m so glad you liked it!!! 🥰❤️❤️

#my fics #calculated risks #radioapple fic

[anxiety-culture-is]

Anxiety Culture is "I should have done it anyway, because at least I'd know" opposed to your annoying calculated risks and baby steps attitude to socializing and baby steps attitude to putting yourself out there in general

.

#anxiety #anxiety culture #anxiety culture is #anon #anon ask #anonymous #baby steps #calculated risks

[kaysbookpassport]

"Blood gives you hair color and skin color and maybe a few little quirks of biology or personality. It doesn't give you family. Family is something you build."

~Calculated Risks - Seanan McGuire

#calculated risks #seanan mcguire #book quotes

[ab2create]

The Most Powerful Results of Trusting Your Instincts

So I got up this beautiful Sunday morning with the intent to approach today with an attitude of "Take the day as it comes.” Simply because I am self aware. I’m always taking calculated risks and being a strategic planner (thinking). 

Instead of editing images for our Cultivate Your Enthusiasm™️ blog, which I thought was past due 🤷🏾‍♂️, I elected (by chance) to watch a YouTube video featuring Master Shi Heng Yi. During an interview with Mulligan Brothers, Master Shi addressed common concerns about overthinking. He gave practical action steps and explained why ancient techniques are practiced in the course of self-development and growth.

I pride myself on having a great work ethic & eager student mentality. I am willing, able, committed, and determined to take actions now (in the present) that will positively affect my good and expected end (future). Included in those actions are challenges for myself physically, mentally, & spiritually.

I think I am a man of wisdom. In recent years I have found myself obtaining more knowledge by reading books and delighting in the results I get after applying the knowledge I have gained and learned from others on the path to my success.

After processing and immediately applying Master Shi Heng Yi’s advice, I proceed to research for upcoming blog topics at one of the greatest places full of knowledge; yes, the local library. However, low and behold, before I am able to sit down, I noticed the poster above titled “Mindfulness.” For me this was self-assuring. All too often I have experiences of serendipity that empowers me with re-assurance to trust my instincts and affirms my confidence of being in the right place at the right time enables you to have meaningful & powerful favorable outcomes.

What makes this simple poster even more meaningful to me is the fact that I recognized I have read or listened to 2 out of the 18 books on its visual list.

I was very impressed with myself. Mostly because I recognized Goggins. I am proud to say I have an authentic hard copy of his book I purchased in 2021. I am eager to re-read it again in 2024  and make an investment for myself and show gratitude by purchasing his new best selling title ‘Never Finished.”

“Success lies not in possessions but in personal growth and character development.”- Bo Bennett

#david goggins #Stay Hard #Can't Hurt Me #serendipity #Sunday #sunday funday #mindfulness #overthinking #calculated risks #ancient wisdom #tai chi #Creative Lifestyle #21st Century Entrepreneur #wisdom #knowledge #Ab2Create

[zepskies]

✍🏽 Writing Update!

Hey, friends! I'm back for a proper update on this story in the Break Me Down world that I've been fine tuning for the past couple of weeks. I teased it a while ago, but here we go, a proper announcement.

Coming soon to the BMD-verse:

Calculated Risks

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader Summary: You and Ben argue about your commitment to being a working mom. When a rogue supe gets loose at Supe Affairs, mayhem ensues, putting not only your life at risk, but your daughter’s as well.

This will be set almost a year after the last one-shot, chronologically, which is Green.

👀 Sneak Peek:

In four years of marriage, one thing that had never changed between you and Ben was this.

“All right, you’re being a little too much right now,” you said in irritation. “Of course I’m not sitting this one out. I’m the one who found us the damn lead in the first place.”

The man was following you from the adjoining bathroom and back into your shared bedroom, where you began getting dressed for work in the blouse and pencil skirt you’d laid out for yourself.

Your husband had already donned his supe suit, sans helmet. He stood just behind you with his arms crossed, a familiar surly frown on his face. When you turned around, he hadn’t moved an inch.

“I’m being too much? You’re the one who’s not being fucking reasonable,” he said.

Coming on April 19!

(And don't worry, I haven't forgotten about the Wake Me Up mini series. I'll be dropping that masterlist very soon, as that will be coming out in May!)

#Calculated Risks #Coming soon! #soldier boy #the boys #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy/ben x reader #break me down #BMD-verse #zepskies updates

[michellesanches]

Book Summary - "Greenlights" by Matthew McConaughey

For me, Matthew McConaughey is like Marmite, its hard not to have an opinion, you either love him or hate him. I love Marmite, not so much Matthew. That said, everywhere I turned, I heard about his book, “Greenlights”. Setting aside my own thoughts on Matthew McConaughey personally, I found “Greenlights” to be more than just a celebrity memoir; it was a unique dose of wisdom and life lessons…

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#Accountability #Alignment #Authentic Journey #Authenticity #Boundaries #Calculated Risks #Connections #Core Values #Define #Embrace #Failures #Full Potential #Goals #Gratitude #Greenlights #Growth mindset #Hard Work #Honesty #Integrity #Journal #Joy #Learning #Lessons #Luck #Matthew McConaughey #Opportunity #Ownership #Personal Definition #Personal growth #Positive Mindset

[pedrito-friskito]

seeing double - dieter bravo x fem!reader

summary: you and dieter make a deal: you’ll attend his hollywood halloween party, but under the guise that the two of you have never met before. if he can seduce you by the end of the night, you’ll give him something extra special. but things don’t go exactly as planned…

warnings: NO SMUT HERE (sorry folks but next time I promise 😏), exposition, one non-consensual kiss (not from dieter), fighting, a few punches are thrown, angsty angsty angst

a/n: y’all do NOT understand how excited I am to share this. three for three is always a special story to me and finally continuing the saga is the BEST. I can’t wait to share what’s coming next!! 😈

🍂kay’s autumn adventures🍂

“C’moooooooon, baby,” he’s whining, the words drawn out and high-pitched. “It would be so much fun.” The end of his sentence is punctuated by a sharp nip at your side, making your back arch as you try to squirm away from him. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.”

You let out a giggle as he bites at you again, his grip around your waist tightening as you thrash a bit in the blankets, squealing as he drags you closer. “Dieter!”

“I’ll be so bored if you don’t come,” he grumbles, lowering his face to your stomach, scraping his scruffy cheek against your skin. “I don’t wanna go if you don’t go.”

You roll your eyes. “Isn’t this a paid appearance, Bravo?”

“Doesn’t count if they’re paying you in weed,” he replies, a brow quirked as he looks up at you. He squeezes your hips. “Come on, baby. You signed up for this, you know.”

“Oh, did I?”

He gives you a feral grin. “You did. It was in the contract.”

“What contract?”

He lifts his head, a faux-puzzled expression on his face. “You don’t remember? That night, we got really drunk and went to McDonald’s and I asked you to be my girlfriend.” You bark a laugh. “You signed a contract, baby.” He yanks you against his chest, body covering yours as he moves up the bed, planting a hand beside your head and leaning down to bury his face in your neck. “You’re mine.” You squeal again as he nips at your throat, other hand moving to squeeze your ribs. “Them’s the rules, sweet cheeks.”

You keep giggling as he litters your body with kisses. The contract is a load of shit; you haven’t signed anything except a few NDAs when you visited Dieter on movie sets. But the drunken McDonald’s? A common memory for you two, but you know exactly what night he’s referring to. He didn’t ask you to be his girlfriend, per se, but it was close enough.

After the awards, after he’d asked you to stay, after you’d finally relented and gave into what you really wanted. The weekend was a blur of sex and drugs and alcohol, after-parties and dodging photographers. You’d perfected your hermit look — a pair of sunglasses and one of Dieter’s gigantic hoodies — and you had to admit, the way he’d tucked you under his arm and shielded you from the paparazzi had done something, the protective look in his eye making your chest swell.

But sure enough, after one of his co-star’s after-parties had been shut down because of fire regulations, you’d both stumbled out into the night drunk as anything, and there wasn’t a camera in sight. “I’m starving,” you’d crowed, hanging off Dieter’s arm. “Who the fuck serves h’ors d’oeuvres all fucking night? There wasn’t a chip bowl in sight.”

Dieter paused on the street corner, reaching into his suit pocket for a lighter and a joint. He cupped his hand over the flame as he lit the end, took a deep inhale before passing it to you. “What are you craving?”

You’d given him a feral grin, closing the distance, blowing your smoke over your shoulder before your chest was pressed to his, free hand snaked between the two of you to cup him over his slacks. He gave you a dopey smile in return, one arm looped around your waist.

“Bad girl.”

You shook your head, giving him innocent doe eyes, pouting your lips. “Nuh-uh, I’m your good girl, D.”

His face changed, expression going from light and airy to dark and lusty. “Damn fucking right,” he grumbled, a hard kiss pressed to the underside of your jaw. He pulled your hand away, looking over his shoulder as he disguised the mini-grope session as a little public display of affection, knotting his fingers with yours and starting to walk across the intersection. Cars whizzed by on the road and Dieter tucked you under his arm, his slung around your shoulders while yours ended up around his waist, dipped into his back pocket.

McDonald’s was the first fast food joint you stumbled upon, and you were nearly bursting with delight as you stepped inside, Dieter holding the door open and ushering you through. You ordered far too much food for just two of you, and the cashier was looking at Dieter the entire time with a holy fuck, is that Dieter Bravo? expression on his face, but he didn’t say anything.

The two of you chatted away over fries and nuggets and a strawberry milkshake that nearly made you cry, and at one point or another, Dieter had produced a pen from his pocket, snagged a napkin from your stack, and started scribbling away. You watched, your head cocked to the side, trying to figure out what he was scrawling on the paper. He tried to shield it after a moment, but you laughed and batted his hand away. “I wanna see!”

Ten minutes later, and his masterpiece was complete. He spun the napkin on the table, tucking the pen behind his ear, and pushed his work towards you.

It was you.

Arbitrary and not nearly as detailed as you’d seen his other portraits, but it was easy to tell. He’d even gotten the detail of your earrings, the little stones in your lobes that dropped into a little cascade of jewels. And, scrawled beneath it in his own hurried font:

you love me. check one box.

[  ] yes

[  ] no

You’d shouted a laugh, leaning forward to snag the pen from his ear, tapping the end against his nose as you sat back, pulling the napkin towards you and covering your answer with your hand. Dieter didn’t say anything, didn’t protest like you had, but you could feel his eyes on your face, not the pen. You stared back at him for a long moment, teeth catching on your bottom lip as you wrote out your answer, and a question of your own beneath.

[ x ] obviously

you love me back?

[  ] yes

[  ] no

You bit the end of the pen as you pushed the paper back to him. His eyes flared as he read what you’d written, holding his hand out for the pen. You handed it to him and a nervous riot of butterflies erupted through your stomach, the french fries turning to a lead weight as you watched the end of the pen move through the air, the ink covered by his hand.

He stared you down as he slid the napkin back.

[ x ] more than you know, baby

Nervous laughter spouted from you as you leaned across the table, barely noticing the way your milkshake tumbled to the floor, and grabbed the collar of his shirt, hauling him up out of his own seat to kiss him hard. You were both a mess of giggles and mumbled words of affection as you stuffed the napkin in your purse and pulled Dieter from the restaurant.

You caught a cab back to his apartment, and by some stroke of luck, there were no cameras chasing you there either. You were grateful, to have one moment with him that wouldn’t be strewn across the tabloids come sun-up. As soon as the elevator doors closed, he was on you, wrapping you up in his arms, kissing you absolutely breathless. It was different than any other kiss you’d had before, deeper and warmer and lovely.

“Did you mean it?” he asked later, after you’d stumbled into his apartment and into his bed, articles of clothing making a trail from the front door to the mattress. The sex had been as immaculate as ever, but just like his kisses, there’d been something more intense beneath the movements, the way he drove into you like it was the first time all over again. 

(Except it wasn’t, because his eyes were on your face, not your back, and he’d kissed your mouth as he came.)

Blissed out beside him, pillow bunched beneath your head, you inched closer, mouth tucked against his shoulder, a soft kiss pressed to him. Soft, tender, lovely. So different, but somehow so familiar at the same time. “I did. Did you?”

“More than you know,” he’d murmured, cuddling against you, holding you close.

It’s taken some getting used to — on both your parts, you’d say. It’s foreign territory for you both, and you’re both…hesitant, in a way, taking careful steps towards each other. The sex isn’t a problem, it never has been, as the intensity that’s appeared only makes things that much better, that much more tangible. The feelings you’d shoved down for so long are allowed to walk around freely now, and you’re not used to it.

But you’re used to him.

You refuse to give up your apartment, drawing a line in the sand with Dieter that you want to keep your own space, just for now. He takes it the wrong way at first, thinking you mean it as a fail-safe, that you don’t think things are going to work between you. By the time you’ve talked it through, he’s understanding and no longer upset, but it shows you a side of him you hadn’t anticipated.

He’s an over-thinker, you come to see, and his anxieties mirror your own, to a degree. He never thought he’d be famous, growing up, and while he had that classic move to LA and work as a waiter until you get your big break backstory, there was more to it.

His parents were unsupportive, his older sister the only one who was really rooting for him. “I don’t see her as much as I should,” he told you, the subject of family coming up one weekend when you start talking holidays, where you’re going, what time you’ll have to spend with each other. The fact that you want to spend holidays together is a new thing for you both, already discussing a budget for Christmas presents — “no, Dieter, you cannot buy me private jet, and no, I don’t care how convenient it would be.” — and agreeing completely that you’ll spend New Years on a beach somewhere.

His parents passed the same year he won his Oscar, and his sister lives on the other side of the country. “I hope I get to meet her someday,” you admitted, and Dieter kissed your cheek, chin pinched in his fingers.

“You will, baby, promise.”

The conversation quickly veered away from family after that, you still a little reluctant to offer as many details as he had, and the subject of Halloween took its place. Along with Dieter’s adamant request that you join him at a Halloween party thrown by old co-stars of his.

“You don’t even like Sean Knox,” you counter, more giggles pulled from your throat as he kisses his way from one hip to the other. “Why spend our first Halloween together drunk at a party with people you don’t even like?”

He’s got the elastic of your underwear between his teeth, and lets it snap back against your waist. “Keywords there, baby: drunk and together.” Dieter grabs at your thigh, pushing until your knee bends up towards his face and he can drag his mouth over the curve of it. “Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ll get dressed up and eat way too much candy and I’ll get those edibles that you like and then afterwards, maybe we can—”

The idea sparks in your brain somewhere between edibles and afterwards, and you reach out, two fingers hooked under Dieter’s chin to turn his face towards yours.

“I have an proposition for you, Bravo.”

His brow lifts, eyes on yours but mouth twisted back to your leg. “I’m listening.”

You explain yourself, your idea, the prize waiting for him at the end of it all if he’s successful. Those honey-chocolate eyes are on yours the entire time, occasionally raking your body when you say something salacious, pupils widening like dinner plates. He’s excited, it’s easy to tell, and he rolls his hips into yours once you’re done explaining, pulling a gasp from your mouth. You wait for his next move, not missing the way his cock is hard as a rock behind his thin boxers when he pushes into you.

But instead, he yanks himself away from you, grinning, and gets off the bed, heading towards the door

“Where are you going?” you shout, a little out of breath, propping yourself up on your elbows. “I wasn’t finished!”

“I have to start planning,” he tells you, pausing in the doorway, turning to wink at you. “See you later, baby.”

+

Dieter won’t so much as hint at his costume idea, but yours comes far too easily. It’s obvious, really, in hindsight, and you’re almost mad you didn’t think of it sooner. And the bonus: completely cost-free.

The night of the party rolls around quickly, and you’re grateful as hell. Dieter has been a fucking menace, all too happy to take your idea for the evening and all out sprint with it. You hadn’t anticipated him getting this into it, but it’s definitely making you hotter by the day.

“That night,” you’d said, “we don’t know each other. You’ve never seen me before in your life, and you have until midnight to seduce me.”

His fingers had twitched on your thigh, the corner of his mouth quirking in a grin. “And what do I win?”

You’d spelled out the prize as graphically as you could. His mouth had dropped completely open, bottom lip nearly trembling, eyes glazed over. It was something you’d discussed before, something that was truthfully as much a prize for you as it was for him, but making him earn it? You had to lift your hips right then and there, trying to chase some sort of friction before he’d rolled his hips and made you moan.

That had been three days ago, and the three days leading up to the party, menace isn’t even the right way to describe him.

Teasing isn’t even the right adjective. He hasn’t picked up the I don’t know you act just yet, but he’s definitely tried his hand at seducing you. And in the comfort of his apartment or yours, it works. It always works, and you know already you’ll have to be on your A-game for the party, if you want this little game to last you the evening.

It’s also three days since you’ve had sex, which is a record in itself since you two officially became the two of you. When it was just sex, with your strict rules and his (you now know reluctant) agreement, it was normal; you had separate schedules, were often on opposite ends of the country or world, and you had to make things work when the timing aligned. Whether that be him showing up at your apartment in the dead of night, or vice versa, but things have changed since. You spend most of your time at his apartment, a copy of his key having materialized itself on your keychain one weekend.

Regardless, the teasing. You haven’t had sex, but there’s been an endless amount of touching, kissing, hips rutted into your ass, a hand plunged down the front of your pants while you’re cooking dinner, his weight pressing you into the mattress before bed but refusing to move, to give you any kind of friction. And the same shit-eating grin on his face when he stops, leaves you gasping, leaves your blood on fire and your thighs clenching.

The plan is to arrive separately to the party. You’re both on the list, so getting in won’t be a problem, and then the game begins. You’re antsy, in the back of your Uber. Dieter was still getting ready when you left, though your phone shows his location as inside the large house looming over the curb as the car stops. You thank the driver, shoving your phone in your pocket as you get out and head for the front door. The bouncer checks your ID, marks your name off the list, and you’re in. Simple.

The house is a mess of faces you know and don’t, recognize off the covers of tabloids and TMZ articles but don’t know personally. Dieter’s made a point to introduce you to all of his friends, and a few genuinely familiar faces say hello as you make your way through the throng of people. A few stop you, drunkenly laughing over your costume, telling you it’s the best one at the party. You laugh along with them, twirling the belt of the robe through your fingers, pushing the sunglasses up your nose. “You look just like him!”

A mutual friend who knows you two are an item lowers her voice and whispers in your ear. “Are those his clothes?”

You laugh. “Obviously. Authenticity is key.”

“Fucking brilliant.”

He hadn’t noticed the few items that had gone missing from his closet; you were careful to only take ones he had duplicates of, the sage-coloured robe and the purple t-shirt, patterned green shorts and tortoise-shell sunglasses that are a little too big for your face. The hair doesn’t match, sure, and you’d contemplated a wig, but ultimately decided against, opting to throw your hair up in a messy bun instead.

You mingle and suck back a few drinks, scanning the crowds for Dieter. The problem, you realize, is you have no idea what he’s dressed as, so you don’t really know what you’re looking for. Mask or no mask, the sea of faces makes you even more antsy. You want the game to start already.

And then there’s a voice from behind you, a familiar throat cleared before he says: “I gotta tell you, the resemblance is uncanny.”

You turn around, beer bottle clutched in your hand, and clap your hand over your mouth to suppress the giggles that immediately spring forth.

Dieter — no, not Dieter — the Mandalorian stands before you, dressed head to toe in silver armour. Your jaw drops as you take in the detail, the rifle slung over his shoulder, the cape brushing the back of his calves. Even the helmet is perfect, and your breath hitches in your chest as he hooks his fingers under the edge and lifts, revealing his face. He’s even shaved his face to match the bounty hunter’s, less scruff lining his jaw and more of a moustache than anything else. Dieter grins at you as he reaches past you for a fresh beer, tilting the bottle to his lips, eyes raking over you as you lean back against the counter, hip cocked to the side.

He offers you a gloved hand, and you take it, shaking it slowly. The game has started, and you can feel it, grinning up at him as he meets your eyes. “Have we met before?”

You pull your hand back, shaking your head. “I don’t think so. I try to remember all the metal-covered men I encounter at parties.”

“Good to know,” he answers, and gestures to your outfit. “I’d tell you my name, but I’m pretty sure you know who I am.”

“Din Djarin?” you ask, and he laughs. You’d watched the show together, your nerdy excitement rubbing off on Dieter. You cock your head to the side. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Bravo,” you continue, looking up at him through your lashes. “I’m a big fan, in case you couldn’t tell.” You reach out, letting your fingers trace over the chest plate. It’s real metal, and you’re not surprised; leave it to Dieter to go all out on a costume. Especially one he knew you’d enjoy.

His head dips then, mouth right by your ear, and you can feel his breath on your neck as he speaks. “I thought I was the one seducing you tonight,” he murmurs, and you grin wide, moving out from under his gaze, beer bottle dangling from your fingers.

“See you around, Mando,” you call, looking at him over your shoulder with a wink. The helmet slowly sinks back into place and you just giggle as you disappear into the crowd.

The next few hours are spent similarly. You dance around each other, in every sense of the word, even sliding onto the dance floor at Dieter’s quiet request. His hands on your hips are familiar, yours searching beneath the metal plates for the slope of his shoulders. But with every meeting, you slip away first, a teasing smile on your face, leaving him to chase you, boots thunking after you. Sometimes he lets you go, watches you dodge and weave your way through groups of people, starting conversation to throw off his plans. You’re half a step ahead of him most of the night, until he corners you in the kitchen, your back pressed into fridge as he looms over you.

“I’m throwing in the towel,” he murmurs, and your jaw drops, an amused gasp falling out of you as he lifts his helmet. “You’re too fucking cute, baby, and I just wanna dance with you and get high and take you home, please.” The words are accompanied with a heady touch, gloved hands roaming your body beneath his robe, squeezing your ass, hips, tits. It sparks a fire in your blood and you lean your face up to his, your nose skimming his. “Please, baby.”

“The game isn’t over yet, D,” you reply, slowly disentangling yourself from him. You’re a little drunk, yes, but you’re having too much fun to give in just yet, to have him give up so easily. The night is still young. “You’re the one dressed as a bounty hunter.” You spread your arms wide, the universal gesture for come and get me as you beckon him with your hands, sunglasses slipping down your nose. “So, hunt.”

He actually starts to chase you. Room after room, through the crowds of people. You do your best to blend in, camouflaging with the groups of people. You even hide behind the DJ booth at one point, giggling behind your beer with one of your friends as you watch that silver helmet march its way through the room, completely oblivious to your hiding spot.

But it’s when you lose track of him, that’s when things go south.

You’ve abandoned your beer bottle for a red solo cup full of water, and now it’s you that’s abandoning the chase. You want to be caught; you wanna go get high and take your walking hunk of metal home, peel that armour off of him until he’s Dieter again, and you’re you again, and you can tell him how much you love him. A few of your friends have said goodbye, and the party is starting to dwindle. You’re in the kitchen again, leaned against the doorway, the DJ having swapped the party music for something a bit slower.  Your eyes scan the doorways, tucked in your corner, waiting for that silver helmet to walk past.

You’re too preoccupied looking for Dieter, you nearly miss the James Bond-looking motherfucker waltz in, martini glass filled with dark liquid that is notably not a martini. He bee-lines for you, breath like lighter fluid. “Hey there,” he slurs, stalking towards you.

“Hey,” you respond half-heatedly, trying to fish your phone out of the pocket of the robe so you can text Dieter. “You should get some water, dude, you smell like a distillery.” The guy laughs and you pull your phone out.

When you look up, James Bond is suddenly on top of you, arms caging you in, whiskey breath invading your nose. You try to go low, but he catches you shoulders, hauling you up instead of down, and pushes you against the wall, greasy face pressed against your neck, tongue on your pulse. You want to barf as he tries to drag his mouth up to yours, both hands shoving at his chest. He manages one disgusting kiss before you push harder, getting some space, trying to shove him again. You open your mouth to shout just as the DJ changes the music to something loud and upbeat, earning hoorays from the remaining crowd.

“Get the fuck off me!” you shout, your words getting lost in the noise. You kick hard, aiming between his legs, hoping you hit something vital that’ll send him toppling. Before your foot can deliver something painful, there’s the clang of metal, a deep growl, and James Bond is yanked backwards. You gasp for air, hands scrabbling for the wall.

Dieter stands in the middle of the kitchen, James Bond hauled against him, holding the guy by the lapels of his cheap suit jacket. “You got a fucking death wish, man?” Dieter spits, dark eyes flaring. You’ve never seen him this angry before; hell, you don’t think you’ve seen him angry before, not when he wasn’t acting. “Piece of shit!”

It’s a blur. You don’t know who swings first, but in a flash, Dieter is on the ground, metal banging against tile, and James Bond manages to deliver a solid right hook, connecting with Dieter’s face with a loud crunch that makes you cringe. You catch a stupid asshole! and a fucking prick! but it’s hard to tell who says what. The martini glass hit the floor in the shuffle, glass spread across the ground, and you surge forward, shoving at James Bond until he teeters sideways, losing his grip on Dieter’s front and toppling over.

You pull Dieter to his feet, and he’s still cursing and grunting, trying to push past you, trying to swing for James Bond again. “Dieter, stop,” you growl, pushing against him hard, grabbing his face in one hand and forcing his eyes down to yours. “We’re leaving.”

A crowd has started to form, and you don’t say a word as the two of you make your way out of the party. Dieter’s face is bloody, twin streams dripping from his nose, and part of you is worried it’s broken, but he doesn’t seem to notice, his brow furrowed with anger, glancing over his shoulder the entire way out. You have to literally push him out the door.

“Would you quit it?” you curse at him, planting both palms on the fake jet pack strapped to his back and pushing. “What the fuck was that in there?”

“He was touching you!” Dieter roars, nearly stumbling across the grass, closing the distance you’d created with your shove. “He was touching you, and you’re mad at me? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Anyone could have pulled out a camera in there, Dieter,” you scold, crossing your arms over your chest. “You really want that streaming on TMZ tomorrow? Dieter Bravo’s drunken brawl or some bullshit like that. What happens to your career then?”

“I don’t fucking care!” he yells, throwing his hand towards the house. “He put his hands on you!”

“You’re lucky he didn’t knock your fucking teeth out,” you shake your head, reaching for your phone. You let out a heavy sigh when the screen refuses to light up; dead battery. “Give me your phone.”

“No,” he replies, stubborn, crossing his arms, blood dripping over his top lip. “I’m walking home.” With that, he takes off towards the sidewalk, cape billowing in the night air behind him. You watch him take a few steps, a glob of blood spat onto the cement before you’re jogging to catch up with him.

“D, c’mon, baby,” you try, your tone soothing instead of brash. You jumped the gun, yelling like that. He was trying to defend you, right? That’s what all that was. “Give me your phone. I’ll call us an Uber and we can go home and smoke and—”

“Did you kiss him?”

Your mind is reeling enough already. The last fifteen minutes have felt like fifteen years, and your now half-buzzed brain is struggling to keep up. You can still smell James Bond’s kerosene breath, that phantom fear that had covered you as he’d forced himself on you. It makes your skin tingle unpleasantly just knowing it happened, without having to recount the story in your head.

Dieter has stopped, not turned towards you but looking at you over his shoulder. His eyes are big and wet and sad, his nose and chin a mess of blood, and you just stare at him.

“What?”

“You heard what I said.”

“Did I?” you throw back, pulling his robe tighter around you. Is it the evening air, or the conversation that’s making you feel so cold? It’s hard to tell. “Thought I’d give you the benefit of the doubt and let you try again.”

“Tell me,” he spits, still not turning towards you.

“You’re drunk, Dieter.”

“Tell me.”

You start laughing. And it’s not happy laughter, not the sweet giggles and chuckles that have been passed between you two like air. It’s anxious, upset, I cannot physically believe this is happening right now laughter. There are tears in your eyes, wet and hot, and they slide down your cheeks as you shake your head at him. “Are you actually asking me that?”

He doesn’t respond. Still doesn’t turn to you.

“I don’t know what kind of macho, alpha-male bullshit you’re trying to pull here, Bravo,” you start, your voice cracking on the words, “but now is not the fucking time. We are drunk and I…” You fling your hand back towards the party. “I never asked for any of this, okay? I don’t want it! Any of it!”

Now, he turns.

“What?”

“I don’t belong in this bullshit!” you cry, and you’re not totally sure where the words are coming from now. It’s an endless stream, provoked by the alcohol running through your veins, everything that’s happened pushing it all over the edge. “I’m not built for it, all right? The cameras and the parties and the drinking and you—”

“Me?” Dieter repeats, and the tone in his voice makes your heart break. He takes a step towards you, one hand extended like a peace offering. “Baby, fuck, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to blow up like that. I saw him with his fucking hands on you and I just lost it. It doesn’t matter if you kissed him, I was just so—”

“Then why did you ask?” you throw back, cutting him off, taking a step back. “If it doesn’t matter, then why the fuck did you ask?”

He sighs, puts his face in his hands. He’s still covered in blood, and you fish a tissue from the pocket of the robe. He doesn’t say anything as you hand it to him, but then you wipe the tears from your face with the sleeve of his robe.

“I’m drunk,” he says after a beat, and you scoff with laughter. Like that answers everything. “And so are you, and so are all the people in that party. And it’s late and I just wanna go home with you, baby, please? Can we just go home, please?”

You think about it. A long moment passes, and you just think about it. There’s too much truth already hanging in the air between you, your own anxious thoughts spoken out loud, things you’ve only been thinking internally up until now. It feels like an exposed nerve, and you don’t know your way around it; no matter what you say, what you do, it’s gonna hurt in one way or another.

“I’m gonna go home,” you finally say, and you almost see the way he deflates, chest caving in, head hanging as blood drips down his chin and onto the metal chest plate of his costume, “and you should go home. But I don’t think we should go home together.”

“Baby,” Dieter starts, his voice thick. “No, please, c’mon, let’s talk about this, please?” You shake your head, turning on your heel back towards the house. You’ll find one of your friends still inside, order an Uber for yourself, go home to your own apartment.

“I’m gonna go inside,” you say, turning around, walking backwards away from him. “Don’t be here when I come back out, please?”

You don’t wait for his response.

+

Dieter walks home.

It takes nearly two hours, but he doesn’t care. He looks like a complete fool, he knows, his helmet gone, still laying on the kitchen floor, probably covered in whiskey or blood or a combination. His boots feel like lead weights, dragging him down with every step, and the sky is just starting to lighten by the time he reaches his building.

He cries in the elevator. The tissue you’d given him is soaked in blood and tears, and his face aches. He doesn’t think his nose is broken, and the bleeding has mostly stopped, but he’s pretty sure he’s gonna have a black eye. Oh well, he deserves it.

His apartment is painfully quiet as he steps through the door. You’re not there; no one is. No one’s there to watch him peel off the armour right there in the foyer, the cape and pauldrons falling to ground, gloves and chest plate banging loudly on the floor. No one’s there to watch him stalk towards his bedroom, fiddling with the belt around his waist, sniffling loudly.

No one’s there to watch him fish the little black velvet box out of one of the pouches, snapping it open, staring down at the ring that winks up at him. Every plan he had is out the window, and hot tears sting at his eyes.

He’d planned it out. Once the night was over, once the game was won, you’d leave the party, find the nearest McDonald’s. There would have been milkshakes and chicken nuggets and he would have snagged a stack of napkins. He’d doodle on a few, throwing you off the scent, and then write down the most important question he’s ever thought about asking:

marry me? check one box.

[  ] yes

[  ] no

He’d been sure of your answer, earlier in the day. Before the party, he was sure. He was confident. He’s not perfect, far from it, but you made him feel like he was the closest thing to. You brought the better traits of Dieter Bravo to the surface in a way that no one else ever has, accepted the not-so-great ones, made him want to be a better person, and he liked it. Loved it.

Loved you.

Loves you.

But then he had to go and fuck it all up.

No one’s there to watch him launch the box into the back of his closet, shout at himself in anger, put his fist through the wall before he collapses into bed and buries his nose in your pillow.

No one’s there to watch. You’re not there.

—————

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[incryptid-quotes]

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Story Title: Singing the Comic-Con Blues Included In: Calculated Risks

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Are You In Pursuit of Certainty or the Unknown?

Are you seeking security or adventure? Do you chase the safety of certainty or the thrill of the unexplored? This article dives into the dichotomy of the human need for security and the urge for adventure. Learn to find a harmony between these opposites in your life journey. Keep reading to explore answers to common questions and gather insights into marrying the concepts of safety and…

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