#But I know it's eight hours-ish and I know the chapters were that long

[oveliagirlhaditright]

I wanted to ask this in an ask in case you wanted to post it for others, but how long is Slayers, roughly? (or exactly, if you know) I'm very bad with audio books, podcasts, etc and I can't find the actual length on the store page to judge whether or not I can sit through it.

It's eight hours. It may be a few more minutes than that, but not by very many.

IIRC, I think people have said it's eight chapters long? And at first, the chapters are about thirty minutes long, then you get to forty minute ones, and then the last few are an hour each (the last one being a few minutes longer than an hour).

Hope this helps!

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ Earth 42! Miles Morales x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ this one’s kinda long, for some reason my episode made me more productive wtf

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie

Chapter 6: At Home

Warning ೃ⁀➷ Mentions of child labor(?), cursing, a fuck ton of flirting, a bit suggestive (THIS IS HOW I ACTED WHEN I WAS SIXTEEN😭😭), daddy issues.

FIC MASTERLIST

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Montrell casts his eyes beyond the limousine's window to the sight of the traffic, the nostalgic view of Manhattan flooding his sights. To those unfamiliar with the borough, Manhattan would seem plausibly sophisticated to the average man, but he thinks of it as somewhat more provincial compared to cities he's flown to. Whether it be Venice, Singapore, or Dubai.

It’s nice to be home, he thinks. He’s grown to miss it all after spending a few years in London. But what he certainly missed the most was the presence of his family, particularly the one sitting next to him with a restless knee.

"This little... Brat."

Five missed calls. Twenty unseen messages.

"Is there a problem?"

Antonne snaps his head. "Nothing. It's nothing at all." He announces way too quickly.

Montrell taps at his collar, tugging at the tightness of his tie. "You're looking very restless." His voice gravelly speaks, laced with exhaustion from his eight-hour flight from good ol' London to New York. "I just got back home, now you're making me nervous."

Antonne doesn't reply, his attention still glued onto the flat of his screen. He alternatively switches between texting and calling, feverishly anxious. "It's nothing. Don't mind it."

Montrell parts his lips to reply, but instead silently agrees to drop the topic.

"... I trust everyone’s been well?" He piqued. "Seeing the news I've been receiving from the press, and my classmates, I'd reckoned you'd have improved since the last... Predicament."

“Predicament?”

“Would you rather I word it any other way?”

Antonne grimaces at the fine way Montrell speaks— his sophisticated accent bleeding into his every word.

"I have improved." He states, a little too condescendingly. "Wouldn't you have known that by now?"

"Well," Montrell sits up straight. "None of the problems you cause particularly strike me as interesting. However, I do have one particular concern. Have you been taking care of [Y/n]?"

At the mention of you, Antonne tenses up distastefully. "I've been taking care of her too much." He grits. "She's very, and I mean very, hard-headed."

Speaking of taking care of you, Antonne's been calling and texting your number for the last hour, thinking you'd still be up at this time. Seeing as how you weren't, you were probably fast asleep.

Oh, if only he knew.

"Well, we all share that trait now, don't we?" Montrell teases. "Stubbornness, hard-headedness. In the end, we all chalk it up to ambition. She’s sixteen, after all. Time passes by too fast." He bemoans. "I ought to take her to Shanghai after the fundraising event, little bonding or so."

"You do know that after the fund-raiser, people are going to lure her out of the manor for publicity?"

"Precisely." Montrell rolls the window open, placing a cigarette between his teeth. "But you and I both know how stubborn [Y/n] is. Do you really think anyone can force her out of her comfort zone?"

Antonne straightened his lips. "If she doesn't want to be cast away by society, she would have to try, or she’ll vanish off the map.”

Speaking of vanishing, where were you?

The rules of high society were simple.

Appear neat, be mindful of how you present yourself, and always, always take mind in how you act.

For the longest time, you followed these rules as though they were your variant of the ten commandments. Your mother ensured you a place in New York’s elite for your sake, or so she says. Since then, you crafted your whole image from people’s expectations of you.

By the time you were eight, you constantly switched between masks and personalities— that were all titled separately according to every event.

The beloved golden child; the mature older sister with her head leveled well, ; the bitchy conglomerate heiress with her head in the clouds; and your current, and notably hardest, façade; the obedient daughter who knows when to shut the fuck up.

A talent Antonne didn’t have, unfortunately.

Now, you had another title to hold onto.

“Are you sure your mother isn’t in there?”

You shift uncomfortably, arms crossed before your chest.

“She’s working the night shift tonight.” Miles reasoned, fishing the keys out of his pocket. “It’s not like you’re going to sleep here anyways— plus, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you go home like that?” He gestures over to your clothes that were soaked in dirt and rain.

Seven days ago, you swore neatness over any speck of dirt.

Yet here you are, some little girl who stole her brother’s bike, rode all the way down to Brooklyn in the rain, and kissed a boy out in the street.

You didn’t want to meet Miles’ mother like this. You wanted to present yourself the way most mothers would expect of their sons’ girlfriends— polite, proper, and of course, neat.

At that moment, you were just some wet nobody who came out of nowhere, wearing your brother’s stolen hoodie, stolen pants, and stolen shirt. Perhaps the shoes were stolen too.

“Gentleman my ass.” You mumbled, shivering like a sinner at church. You hear Miles deridingly snicker.

“I’ve always been a gentleman to you, you’re just oblivious as fuck.”

“I grew up with polite people. Politeness is my normalcy.”

“Don’t seem like it.”

You click your tongue.

Miles laughs at the way you glare. He’s grown way too used to seeing you like this. “M’just kidding, ma, don’t get all riled up, goddamn.” He simpered. “I guess I just have to out-gentleman the men in yo life, huh.”

“You can try, but that’d be kinda difficult.”

The door to his apartment then creaks open, a dark hall that smelled like citrus and florals awaited before you. Miles steps aside, gesturing you to go inside first. As you do, the warm air greets you like a welcome, the tension in your shoulders finally releasing. You mindfully looked down, checking to see if you were staining the floors.

Miles then slips his shoes off, making you follow suit.

“I’m gonna go get’chu a towel before you start spraying your bubonic plague germs all over my crib.”

“The bubonic plague’s a dead virus, dumbass.”

“It will be, when you die from hypothermia.”

“I fucking hate you— so much.” You breathily squeezed with clackering teeth. Miles only laughs, heading off to fetch the towel. As his fingers flick the lights open, you’re welcomed to the sight of this cozy home. You marveled, like a child first visiting Disney World, at the small picture frames hanging from the walls. There, you could see images of little Miles– with his hair unbraided and eyes a little brighter. There was one of him with his front teeth knocked out, still smiling as wide as ever while holding a puppy in his arms.

Hung jackets, mismatched cabinets, and walls with chipped wallpaper.

It was.. A foreign sight to you.

Somehow, this tiny apartment seemed much homelier than your own.

“Here ya go.” Miles approaches you with the towel in his hand. Though you try to reach out for it, Miles maneuvers it past your grasps and instead pats it over your head, humming a tune to himself. You look up, admiring the way he meticulously takes care of you, cautiously ruffling your hair as though every strand were pure gold. And when he notices you staring, he puts the towel over your face.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not even doing anything.” Your voice muffles, trying to pry his hands away. When he does take the towel off, he’s bent down to your level, face inches away from yours and smirking in a way that irked you. He then places both his covered hands over your cheeks, squeezing lightly.

“You look like a goldfish.” Miles piqued with a toothy grin. “Thas craaazy.”

You furrow your brows. “Fwook owff.”

“Fwook owff indeed.” He mocks of your voice before releasing you. “Now, you gon’ go inside or what?”

You move your head a bit, eyeing the apartment behind him. “You sure your mama ain’t there?”

“If my mama was here, she woulda whooped my damn ass for bringing a girl home.”

“… So she ain’t home?”

Miles stared at you. “…. Do I look like I’m getting my ass beat r’now?”

“… No.”

“… Exactly.”

Hesitantly, you stepped into the apartment, holding the towel close. You can see the kitchen drawing near, a few unwashed glasses in the sink, family pictures on the fridge, and lace tablecloth above the mahogany. There were tiny plants on the shelves, scattered books and chargers, and undone laundry in the baskets. It was the kind of home your mother used to mock— the kind of living she spoke so ill about, a glimpse of her past.

Strangely, you adored everything about it.

“Sorry bout the mess.” Miles sighed. “I was gonna clean up tonight— but I brought you here.”

“No— no,” You sigh, gaze still skimming around in amazement. “Your place is.. Absolutely lovely.”

A slip of an accent. Something sort of posh. Miles notices it, but he pretends not to.

“My mom’s the one who designed most of it— I just let her do what she wants since I ain’t really much of an interior designer.” He kicks a few trinkets away from his path, making way for you.

“I love her tastes.” A genuine compliment, not the falsified ones you half-heartedly gave out to the elite. “Can you, uh, tour me more?”

Miles looks around, also somewhat lost. He slips his hands out his pockets, randomly pointing at places while not uttering a word. You follow where his finger leads, expecting an explanation, but all you get was a gaping “uh…”

“What?”

“… Mujer, this is a two-bedroom apartment, I don’t really know what I can show you here.”

When he noticed the way you clutch the towel, he places his hand over the knob of his bedroom door.

“You still cold?” He suddenly asks. You shrug. “Sort of— my clothes are still kinda wet, but your apartment’s really warm.”

“If you want, you can borrow some of my clothes, and we can hang your clothes r’now so they can dry.”

“That,” You hesitate for a moment. “Are you sure? I mean, I’m probably gonna leave in an hour.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, ma.” He tugs on the end of your sleeve just to pull you in his bedroom, revealing a somewhat small but well-decorated room nonetheless. There were clipped drawings on the walls, framed pictures, posters, and a large trio of windows at the center. From there, you gasp and approach it immediately, sitting by the sill while staring at the rainy Brooklyn before you.

“What? This your first time seein windows?”

“.. I don’t usually keep the windows open like this— AH! MILES. MILES. WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” You smack your hands up against your eyes.

Miles, who had taken off his jacket, stood before you dressed in a plain wife beater, his lean arms drenched in sweat and rain. You kept your hands over your eyes, swallowing immensely.

“Don’t be so damn dramatic, I’m still dressed.” He huffs.

“Miles, idunnoaboutyoubutthisisveryimproper.” You speak in between heaves.

He clicked his tongue. “Aight, aight. Hol on.”

And in a moment of silence, you hear subtle shifts. Ironically, you can’t help but part your fingers in an attempt to take a peek at him. When Miles looks your way, you swiftly turn around and hit your head against the window with a soft thud.

“Are you done yet?” You ask, rubbing your aching forehead.

You hear him draw closer.

Placing a hand above you, Miles corners you into the sill. You look at him with widened eyes, hands over your mouth just to seal the squeal threatening to burst out of your throat.

“You look like you ain’t ever seen a guy’s arms before, ma.”

“I've seen a lot of arms before, thanks." You defensively answered, watching him remain ever-so amused by your shyness. Seeing you flustered like this was a surprise even for Miles who'd grown too used to you being cocky most of the damn time. He didn't think you were the type to go red just by the sight of his biceps.

"I guess I'm just too fine as hell, huh?"

Miles mischievously bends down to your level, fingers tracing the line of your jaw. Like instinct, you look up with furrowed brows.

"Hasn’t anyone ever told you to be humble, hm?"

"Ain't nobody ever told me shit," He grins. "What I do know is that you've been calling me pretty boy for the last two months, talkin shit 'bout how much you like pretty people, now suddenly, after kissin' me n all that, you're not saying it anymore. Really, mami," He kneels down before you, looking up into your eyes.

"Ain’t I a pretty boy to you no more?"

Miles watches and watches. He wanted to test the limits of how flustered you could get, but instead, he finds your amusement scribbled all over your face. Like a switch, your arrogance finds its way back to you. The light of the streets gleamed behind you as he marveled at the shadows cascading over your pretty face, a few droplets escaping from your soaked strands and down to the nape of his neck.

Your lone finger traces the lower half of his lip, tapping in intervals. Miles tries to head in for a kiss, but you pull away, pulling the hoodie he's buried in his arms out for you to wear.

"Sit down, Miles."

Straightening his lips, he mumbled.

"Yes, ma’am."

He stands up, heading over to sit by your side. As he watched you slip on his hoodie, he couldn't help but wonder.

“… When am I gonna come over to your house?”

As your head pops out of the hood, your eyes widened after hearing the sudden question.

"My house?" You repeat.

"… Who else’s?”

It’s crossed your mind several times— bringing Miles over. You’ve thought of taking him in under the guise of a project, or claiming he’s some kid you tutor, but it wasn’t particularly your home that was the problem. It was that Miles didn’t know anything about the sort of life you’re living.

If he were to ever find out, his view of you would completely change.

And you didn’t want that.

Your hands begin to fumble with the edge of the jacket.

“… I don’t know if I could let you meet my parents.. Or let you in my house yet.”

“Why not?”

Your gaze narrows. “.. Just… Stuff.”

Your gaze travels to the sights of the silvery pavements beyond the glass windows, hands reaching out to pluck the dry skin off your lips. Seeing this, Miles reaches out for your hands, gently pulling you over to his side. You follow his guide, wrapping your hands over his waist and resting your head against his chest. Silently, he plays with the ends of your drenched hair, resting his chin above your head. Hearing the way his heart beats, your own comes to ease down to match his pace.

Despite the comfort you were in, you were still understandably stiff. You’ve never been like this before, and for a while, you begin to agree with the movies you’ve seen— suddenly, the space between his arms became your favorite place.

“.. Ma, I’m gonna be pretty honest with you. I’ve been really wanting to know what’s up with your family.” Miles mumbles against your hair. “.. And I know how hard it is to open up, but I really wanna understand you.”

“… You don’t have to do all that, Miles.”

“I want to.” He insists. “I want to understand every part of you.”

His fingers comb through the sea of your locks, his brown gaze drawn to the shifting of your feet. He feels your head sink down to the center of his abdomen, and now you’re lying on his lap with your head turned to the window.

“… Are you sure?” You query so subtly, like you’d break if he were to falter.

He agreeably hums, fiddling with the tip of your strands.

“But Ion want’chu to force yourself, y’know?” Miles mumbles. “You don’t have to tell me now.”

“No,” You intervene. “No, you’re right.” Your eyes flutter shut. “I’ve been keeping everything to myself for too long… It’s draining me.”

What was there to say? What would a rich girl like you have to stress about so much?

“… How do I even start it?”

Miles tugged on one of your strands gently. “Well.. What are your parents like?”

You turn your head to look up at him.

Your hands flinch, almost like they were shaking. Miles takes his own and intertwines it with yours, easing you entirely. A quivering breath exits your lips, lashes fanning down.

“My father isn’t really much of a father to me.” You begin. “… More like a boss? I believe. Yeah, that’s the right word to say it. My family owns a.. Business. Small business.”

Small business. A grand hotel that’s been running since the industrial revolution of Manhattan— passed down from generation to generation. Your family was its sole custodian, and unfortunately for you, you weren't in line to be the lady of the house.

"What kind of business?"

You bite your lower lip, trying to pull through with an appropriate answer. "It's like an—" Your brow twitches. "A sort of.. Event place and catering or something like that.. Yeah." You vaguely answer. "... Like an inn."

Inn. The last time someone ever used that word, Jesus was being nailed at the cross.

"So.. Your family is, like, what? Rich?"

Rich?

You swallow the lump in your throat, lowering your voice. "My family's... Capable. Not that rich, but we make do."

You can sense him picturing this average, suburban American household— the kind of folks who can send off their daughter to a private academy and afford business-class trips to different countries every three years. As his mouth hung agape, Miles eventually does nod to signal that he’s getting the gist of your story. ".. Okay? So what do you do there?"

"I'm in charge of the upkeep." You search for a less complicated explanation. "Basically, I'm the one keeping the whole building clean. I'm in charge of customer service, and tidying things up when shit goes down the drain. I make daily reports, and I keep track of.. My dad’s employees."

You were the family's hostess, the one in charge of overseeing high-profile events. Though you weren't of the best pedigree, your family was still impossibly wealthy, and your mother's good looks spared you and your brothers from looking plain, and that enough made you interesting to many suitors.

You handled the media, covered up minor scandals, and took charge of spreading rumors for your family's sake.

Your father claimed it was practice, for god knows what— you weren't even the inheritor of the damn place.

"That's one long ass way to say child labor." Miles couldn't help but laugh. "Is your dad one of those.. Capitalist businessmen kinda dudes? Like, the only language he speaks is money?"

He imagines this tall, roundish man donning an iron-pressed suit with a sharp red tie beneath his collar and a stick of burning tobacco between his yellow teeth. Miles pictures, drawing the image and character of your father, him counting dollars while yapping on about you slacking off.

"Oh, no." You scoff. "My dad doesn't care about money."

Money was your father's least concern. In fact, none of you within your household cared about money at all.

"The family business was passed down from.. My granddad to my dad, so what really matters to my dad is.. Preserving the family's reputation."

Now the caricature shifts, from a roundish businessman to a strict and tall Padre De Familia, with a slightly unbuttoned polo shirt and belted shorts— with crossed arms and a permanent arch in his dark brows.

"That sounds.. Honestly, yeah, I see that a lot on my mom's side." Miles grumbled. "My mom's had a few relatives who were really more concerned about how other people viewed them, instead of taking care of what was actually goin' on inside."

Fingers snapping in agreement, "That! That's exactly it." You gleam. "The thing is, my brother, who's actually set to inherit everything, kinda fucked up his job, and it almost ruined us for life."

"How much did he fuck up?"

"... He got scammed."

"Scammed?" You knew how absolutely stupid it must've sounded to Miles, seeing as how he was shaking his head.

"He got scammed off.." You try to think of a reasonable number. "Fifty thousand dollars."

Two million actually, but that would be too much money.

His face still drops. "Oh, shit."

Ironically, you didn’t know what the weight of money was like— so casually slipping out fifty thousand dollars as a loss somewhat made Miles confirm that you were indeed from money.

"And because of that, your father appointed you?"

"I appointed myself." You corrected of him. "I wanted oppurtunities. I wanted to have a path paved for me other than marriage."

"Marriage!?" He looked at you like you'd just opened up a third eye.

"... Well, I mean of course I'll have a career, but I wanted the hote— the-the inn, the catering business." You struggled to discuss. "Since I'm not inheriting it, I would have to pave a path of my own. And the thing is, if I don't start now, I have nothing to begin with when I'm older... If I don't become anything when I'm older, I have no point of living, really."

"... Is that the reason why you didn't wanna admit you like me?"

The straightforward way he asks it snatches you off like the blow of the wind.

"I’m only realizing right now how very career-driven you are, very afraid of failure. I’m starting to think that you probably thought that facing what you feel about me would ruin your future— so you wanted to convince yourself that we're just friends."

Miles' talent for reading you provoked your fear of vulnerability, but this time, you didn't cower.

"... Is it a bad thing?"

"What is?"

Your voice largens into a croak. "Is it a bad thing that I'm too career-driven?"

"…. There's nothing bad about wanting the best for your future. It's safe to say that everybody wants a good future, but," Miles shifts, resting a hand atop your own. "But what's also important is focusing on your present, because once you lose your present, your regret will have you living in the past."

Your eyes fan up to look at him. "... Where'd you get that one from? Philosophy class?"

"… It was from one of the Facebook memes my maw maw sent me when I was twelve."

You snickered. "How convenient.. Somehow, it’s making me think twice about inheriting the damn business.”

"Well.. Other than inheriting your family business, is there anything else you want to achieve in your life?"

"… I’ve always wanted to be a painter.”

You hear him hum.

“… And I want to live far, far away from this place.”

At that moment— a livid pain shoots through your mind.

In a flash, a hazy vision manifests before your eyes, one that glowered in dark, faded blue. A mask of red, black, and white appears before you, its big, white eyes outlined with red furrowing like a frown as it stares. The skies were dim and blue, showering you in the rain. You reach your fingers out to pull off the façade, but your arm grows weak, faltering down to the growing puddle beside you.

“[Y/n]?” Miles’ voice pulls you out of the vision.

“Huh?”

What the fuck was that?

Only then you realized you'd sat up, which was weird as you hardly felt it. You turn to look at Miles, a little confused with all that had just happened. "... I must be getting sleepy." You whispered, running your hand through your face. "I'm starting to hallucinate n shit."

“You can rest here for a bit.” He tucks a strand behind your ear. “I mean— mama’s coming home at 7am.”

You yawn and stretch your neck to the side. “… I have to come back before three hits. I still have class later."

At that moment, Miles admires the way the moonlight prances around your figure, illuminating you like a light.

"... Now that I'm looking at you like this, you look like my mama's favorite actress."

"Which one?" You query, deeming this as praise. Miles steps back a bit, folding his arms before his chest while trying to remember who it was. "I forgot her name, but she was in that movie 'bout that whole Valencia thing. Mama used to watch it all the time. I think she's still got the poster."

"Valencia? The city in Spain?"

"Yeah." Miles fishes out his phone from the pocket of his pants. ".. What was it? Love in Valencia or sum like that."

Oh no.

"Oh, it's Love, Valencia." Scrolling through his screen, Miles spots the actress in the list of cast members and gasps. "Oh, here she is!"

Placing the phone next to your face, Miles is stunned by the comparison— finding similarities in almost every detail. You feel your breath clog your throat, eyes wavering as you turn to look at his screen.

Lo and behold, it was your mother.

Everyone told you and told you, over and over, that you were the spitting image of your mother. You never heard the end of it. You had her pretty face, her beautiful hair, her skin, and this sort of dark charisma she weaponized and abused— a talent you also endowed, but chose not to use.

"Yeah, I get that a lot." You grumbled lowly. "It's kind of fucking annoying."

"Oh," He takes his phone away. "Sorry, then."

Seeing as how quick he was to apologize, you immediately interjected. "No- no, it's annoying when people constantly tease me about it, but I like it as a compliment. I mean, she is pretty famous."

"But in a way, you're still you." Miles smiled. "You might look similar, but you're not her, and in the end, your own face is something completely different and that's what makes you even prettier."

Oh, that sounded so different to most of the compliments you got.

"… I like that. I really like that." You couldn't help but admit.

Shrugging his shoulders, Miles kneels down to pick your wet hoodie off the floor. "I'm gonna put this over the electric fan, and you can get it when it's dryer." As he stands up to leave, you instinctively follow him, fingers grasping the hem of his tank top. With the softest steps you had, you followed the boy to the kitchen.

Eventually, he placed your hoodie over the fan, soon finding your fingers clinging onto his shirt like some lost cat. He holds back a snicker, head traveling to look at you.

“What?”

You let go of him. “Nothin.”

“It don’t look like nothin.” He cocks his head, towering over you. “What is it?”

“… When’s our date?”

“Saturday. I’ll pick you up down the block at five.”

You thoughtlessly nod. “Okay,” You gulp. “Where to, though?”

With a hand over his lips, he hushes. “That’s a surprise.”

And yet even after asking your question, you find yourself following him almost everywhere he went. Miles mused at this, finally deciding to sit by the couch where he drags you by his side.

“[Y/n], what do you want?”

“Ion want nothing!”

“It don’t look like you don’t want nothing.” He grits. “If you want something, use your damn words.”

“I want an essential oil bath bomb.” You laugh, swatting his shoulder. “I’m being for real, Miles, Ion want nothing.”

Miles raised a brow, disbelief written across his pretty face. “It’s called communication, ma. Use those pretty lips of yours for somethin else other than complaining.”

“Oh, I’m the one doing all the complaining?” You snapped. “You know what else these pretty lips can do? Verbal abuse— so—“

“Tsk. There you go again.”

“Don’t go around saying I’m always complaining–“

“Ma, if all you want’s a kiss, I can give you allat.”

And you’re silenced with that alone.

Silenced, but not in the way that Miles thought.

“You don’t need to be all whiny about it, you could j—“

“Whiny?” Your voice deepens, back straightening. You take your knee and place it beside his hip, mounting his lap with a firm grip on his collar. He watches your figure rise above him, head dipping forward.

"I'll fucking show you whiny."

And without another whisper, you crash your lips against his, leaving him without time to breathe. His hands trickle up your waist, beneath your jacket, but never under your shirt. He was too afraid of touching your skin, in a way. Feared he'd disappear into the wind if he ever did, but when your hands pulled him closer and closer, Miles found his own gripping onto your waist, with the other lightly tugging on your hair.

Like in his dream, you nibble at the mauve and paint it with your saliva. Your tongue a little too invasive in the way it dampens his lip.

You're too good at that. Too good at this.

And in his haze, when you two part, a lingering string connects your brims. He heaves, a tiny whine rolling off his tongue with the harsh way you pulled off. "W-wait, I—" He catches his breath, expectantly waiting for the taste of your lips again. But when it doesn't arrive, he looks up expectantly, only to find you licking the corner of your mouth, savoring the taste. He desperately leans in for another, but you grasp his shoulder, forcing him down.

"I have to go home."

[all-mirth-no-matter]

Time After Time | Chapter Eight

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: Chapters two through seven from Tommy’s POV.

Warning: language, smoking, war mention(ish), PTSD mention(ish), suicide thought, ethnic slur

Side Note: Taking some liberties with some of the back and pre-pilot stories, as well as some of the stuff we just don’t know (Harry’s backstory and involvement in the war, as an example). Just go with it lol.

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter Eight: Devil Inside Me

There’s a devil inside of me, and he’s holding on. And I don’t know if he’s staying, or for how long.  Pulling at my heart-strings, kicking in my mind. And I’m sad to say he’s got me thinking, about the bad parts of my life.  — Devil Inside Me, Frank Carter & The Rattlesnakes

Tommy was a dead man, walking through a life he knew he shouldn’t be walking, breathing an air that he shouldn’t be breathing. The realization that he hadn’t in fact died, or that he was actually going to go home, hadn’t even set in until hours after he stepped out of the train station the day they all came home. 

Well, not all of them came home. The faces of those he left with, who he fought with, who hadn’t been “as lucky” as him were always there, flashing just behind his eyelids with each blink. 

Ghosts of a fate that should have been his. 

He knew he wasn’t the same Tommy Shelby who’d left those handful of years ago. None of the men who were returning with him were. He could see it in Polly’s eyes the moment she saw them — a relief that was immediately replaced with a new coat of worry. 

Looking around as he stepped off the train, he was surrounded by men of all ages embracing their loved ones, crying, weeping. He watched John cradle his wife’s face as he kiss her, his children surrounding his legs. He watched Ada hug Arthur, then Freddie, before pulling him in for an extra tight hug. Tommy should have felt that same level of relief that he could see on his brothers and best mate’s faces, to be walking on English soil. 

But he still felt like a dead man. And it was all because of her. 

The first face Tommy saw as he stepped off the train was hers — the same face he saw while he laid in the mud. Another ghost, standing amongst the sea of people. 

The girl seemed just as surprised to see him as he’d been, and in a moment she was dropping her head and turning to leave. Tommy started to move forward faster, determined to reach her before she disappeared again. But by the time he breached the crowd in front of him, she was gone, and the cries of welcome from Polly, Ada, Finn, Martha, and John’s kids pulled him out of his odd trance. But still, in the back of his mind he wrestled with whether she’d really been there in the flesh this time, or if she were just another vision. 

Riding back into Birmingham, into Small Heath, and then walking down Watery Lane felt like a dream. His brothers and mates wanted to go to the Garrison first thing, but Tommy just wasn’t ready. After years of living in the trenches, the world around him felt very loud, very crowded, and he just needed a moment of peace in his old bedroom. 

Polly had kept his room the same as when he left. The clothes and sheets were recently washed, she’d told them on their way in. Tommy wondered if he could even fit in those old clothes of his anymore, instead choosing to pull out a shirt to sleep in from his luggage, breathing in the familiar scent. 

As he dug around further in his bag, he found the medals they’d given him. Acts of heroism and gallantry, the voices of those who’d presented them to him echoed through his mind as he scoffed. He picked them up and threw them in a drawer, then laid down on his bed. A few minutes later, he sat up and dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. He could hear the cheers outside, the music, the merriment and excitement of the war end, of husbands and fathers and sons returning home. 

Suddenly furious, he tore the drawer open and grabbed the medals and his coat, barreling out of his room and into the streets. 

“Tommy!” A female voice he barely recognized called out to him from the outside of the Garrison. 

He turned in time to Lizzie Stark wave a handkerchief at him, starting to walk his way. Ignoring her, he turned away and continued to walk, knowing that would be enough response to keep her from following as he walked down to the bridge. He waited at the ledge for a moment to see if anyone had followed him, but the music and merriment remained behind him as he pulled out a cigarette and looked down into the watery darkness of the Cut. 

The canal always made him think about his mother — another ghost in his life — and he wondered for a moment how much better it would be if he joined her. He wasn’t supposed to be here anyway, how easy would it be to just lean his weight forward. 

Right now, he reasoned that there were only two futures at play for him. He already saw the effects the war had on some of the other survivors, some of his comrades — the Flanders Blues. 

Danny had nightmares, and now it was starting to effect his waking hours, taking him ages to come back even after he’d already awoken. And there were others who were suffering far worse — like Barney, who had what they were now referring to as shell-shock, and Tommy feared would never be able to shake it and wondered if he’d ever leave the institution they’d admitted him in. 

Even now, Tommy could close his eyes and still hear the guns, the shouts, of shovels and picks breaking into the earth. He could feel the ever looming threat of breaking through the mud and finding the enemy — of always being so close to death.

He couldn’t even imagine a world where the things he’d seen would ever fade from his memory. The gore, the blood, the flesh. The smell of burning, of gas, of fire, of dirt, of blood. 

Whether those who’d died had found their way to a better place, Tommy no longer believed such a place existed. There was only a hell, and he’d volunteered to enter. 

The medals burned in his hand as he thought about all those ghosts — his friends, his comrades, even his enemies. They were gone, and he was here. 

He thought back to what he’d said to his brothers and comrades after they found out the war had officially ended. That this was their second life, their bonus life. Even then, Tommy wasn’t sure if he actually believed what he’d said in the throws of victory, of finding out that they weren’t going to die after accepting their fates. But now, standing over the Cut, Tommy knew that the only option for him was the second option. 

No one was ever going to put him or his family in the mud again. That one day, he’d build his family up so high that not even the King himself would be able to touch them. That was the only way they’d ever truly be able to find safety and peace. 

Lifting the medals into the street light, he read the engraving one final time before letting them slip through his fingers. He closed his eyes until he heard the expected splash. 

What he hadn’t expected to hear was a person exclaiming below the bridge. 

“Oi!” Tommy shouted, suspicion that he’d been followed creeping into his paranoid mind. “Someone down there?” 

Not waiting for a response, Tommy was already off the bridge and walking toward the underpass when he heard a woman respond. 

“You almost took me out,” the voice quipped, the body still leaning over the waters edge near where the waves were still bouncing. 

When the body straightened and turned toward him, he instantly recognized it. 

It was her — it was you. 

He breathed in deep, remembering his lit cigarette, and for a moment he had the thought that he’d actually jumped. 

Tommy could tell by the look on your face that you recognized him as well, and that the fact that you were standing there together was just as a surprise to you as it was for him.

“You were at the train station,” he tested, moving closer to the street light to get a better view and hope that it would prompt you to follow suit. Which, you did. 

The last two times he’d seen you felt different than this. Where before, even at the train station, you’d felt ethereal, otherworldly. Now, in this moment, you felt real, your body fidgeting uncomfortably as your eyes moved everywhere but refused to meet his own. He took the opportunity to get a better look at the mystery woman. 

The first thing he noticed was how different you looked now than you had in his vision. You were dressed in something similar to what his sister had been wearing earlier that evening. And while your hair seemed slightly in disarray and face looked flushed, you looked just as beautiful as you had the first time he’d seen you. 

His vision flashed before him, and he recalled the different version of you he’d seen. In his vision, you had on considerably less clothes, the recollection of your long, bare legs had him moving his eyes down your body. 

When his eyes reached back up to your face, your eyes finally met his again and a blush crept across your cheeks. Part of him wondered if you could read his thoughts. 

“I was,” you finally replied, your voice a little stronger than he’d expected. You motioned toward the water. “And you were throwing some medals into the river, yeah?” 

Sobering up, Tommy felt his back straighten a little at the notion. He hadn’t expected you to notice what exactly he’d thrown into the water. He narrowed his eyes, took a long drag of his cigarette, and made some comment about how the fish could have them. 

“Don’t think the fish’ll have much use for them,” you replied back, and he didn’t miss the way your eyes wrinkled and mouth flinched, as if holding back a smile at your own joke. 

Despite himself, the sight actually amused him enough to breathe out a shrug. “Seems we have that in common, then.” 

Not prompted at all by the thought of your legs from his vision, Tommy began to wonder how difficult it would be to persuade you to join his bed. It’d been a while since the last time he’d slept with someone. 

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he realized you’d indicated that you were leaving. He didn’t want you to leave though.

“You a whore?” He asked, reasoning that if he could pay you to stay with him, it’d be the easiest way to keep you from disappearing again. 

It wasn’t a crazy question. There weren’t many women walking around alone, at night, in Birmingham, who weren’t offering some intimate services. He knew it was where his unmarried brother and mates would be ending their nights tonight. Hell, one of them was probably giving Lizzie the attention he’d denied her at this very moment. 

He didn’t have anything against prostitutes, it was just another business transaction in his opinion. Plus, it was an easy way to have sex without the mess of feelings. 

But the way you’d rounded on him, planting your feet just a step away from him as your face contorted into something different than the one he’d just seen, his opinion on the question changed. 

You dove into a rant asking what the hell was wrong with him. 

“No, I’m not a whore!” You’d finally said. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t support a woman’s choice to sell her services to men who will pay if it means making enough to survive in this God awful existence!”

Tommy chuckled, realizing that the two of you felt the same way about the profession. “So, you aren’t a whore, but you respect ‘em, is that it?”

You rolled your eyes and the sight made him want to smile again. He reasoned that this woman before him had no idea who he was — no person in Small Heath outside of his own family dared to talk to him like this, much less roll their eyes at him without the fear of his blade cutting through them, male or female. You were fearless, it seemed — or stupid. Either way, for the moment it intrigued him.

“Everyone sells part of themselves for something eventually. Sometimes it’s a woman laying on her back for a man. Sometimes it’s a man crawling through the mud for a King.” 

Your comment made Tommy shift immediately from amused and intrigued to angry. 

No, you weren’t afraid of him, but you should be. 

His eyes narrowed as he took a step closer to you, straightening his back and shoulders, expecting you to flinch. But you didn’t, and he couldn’t figure out why the refusal to back away or even break eye contact made him want to kiss you rather than punish you. 

“You should go home,” he decided to say, choosing to soften his voice instead of raise it. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop himself from scanning down your face to your lips. “The next man you meet alone, under a bridge, at night, might not be as accepting to your ideologies as I am.” He darted his tongue out to lick his own lips when you pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth. While he was willing to let you get away with what you said to him this time, he still wanted to make you realize the vulnerable state you were in, how much power he really had. “If he says you’re a whore, he might treat you like one in spite of your pretty words.” 

He watched you finally react, a shiver running through you as your eyes met his again. He noticed the blush on your cheeks deepen as you took a step back, telling him you appreciated the advice before a strong breeze caused you to wrap your arms around your body. 

Tommy hadn’t even felt the cold since the minute he laid eyes on you, the adrenaline from marching down to the Cut and then finally getting to speak to you had his blood boiling. Without even realizing it, Tommy was shrugging his coat off his own shoulders and offering it to you, who hesitated slightly before accepting it. The sight of the oversized coat hanging around your shoulders made his chest tighten. He couldn’t figure out why it looked so right on you. 

Before he realized it, you were stepping away from him toward the steps of the bridge. His eyes met yours again, and something shifted behind them. Before he could ask, you welcomed him home and turned to finally disappear into the darkness, leaving him alone by the water’s edge again. 

Tommy didn’t know why he’d had a vision of you months ago. He didn’t know why he had met you tonight, or how it seemed you also knew about him. But he did know one thing — he was going to find out. 

——

Despite his initial internal promise to find out more about the mystery woman, Tommy found his attention otherwise occupied as he threw his energy into building back up the family name and reputation. And despite Polly’s insistence that they take a few days to get back in the swing of things, Tommy spent all his free time reacquainting himself with the family books, starting with the furthest back and moving his way forward. He was happy to discover that true to her letters, Polly had been keeping the betting business going with no qualms. Even with the amount of men in the war, there was enough steady flow of cash to keep everything afloat. 

The family business side of things hadn’t been as lucky. While still viable thanks in part to members of their gang who hadn’t enlisted, there had definitely been a drop in income. Tommy made a note of all the people he was going to need to visit. 

He could feel Polly hovering as he read through the books throughout the days. Having grown up with his aunt practically raising him, he knew how overprotective she was over her kin, so part of him thought nothing of it at first. 

He was nearly done with all the books, finally getting halfway through this year’s ledgers, when he discovered the real reason for Polly’s hovering. 

“Polly!” he shouted from his office, standing up and grabbing both books he’d been looking at before moving into the kitchen. He threw the first book open on the table in front of his aunt and pointed to the margins. “Who the fuck’s handwriting is this?” 

“Tommy—“ Polly began, moving quickly to close the doors to the bustling betting den. 

“Who the fuck’s handwriting is this, hmm?” He tapped against the book pages harder, leaning against the table as Polly closed the other doors, concealing them from any eyes or ears that may have followed Tommy’s tirade. “Fuckin’ answer me, Pol.” 

“I hired someone, alright Thomas?” her voice answered softly in contrast to his volume as she shook her head, waving him off. “You didn’t expect after all this time that we wouldn’t bring in new help.” 

Tommy threw a second book on top of the first and pointed again at the same handwriting in the margins. “And what is the same fucking handwriting doin’ in the family book, eh?”

Polly held his gaze. 

“Did an estranged family member show up while we were away? Perhaps a bastard looking for a father, or a long lost brother?”

She didn’t answer, her eyes narrowing at her nephew’s condescending questions as he went on, taking her silence as a no. 

“Okay then, how ‘bout a new uncle? Did you get married and you just forgot to bloody mention it, Pol? Is there a new last name we should be calling ‘ya?”

“No,” Polly answered straight, crossing her arms defensively as Tommy rose up. 

“No,” Tommy repeated as a mock and his body mirrored hers, crossing his own arms. “So, there is a non-family member auditing our family books then, yeah?” 

“Yes,” Polly answered again. 

Tommy took a deep breath, trying not to let his aunt’s stubbornness rile him up. There was information she was keeping from him, that she’d been keeping from him, and he wanted to know everything immediately. 

“Go on, Pol,” he went on, his voice still even despite its rise a few moments ago. “Tell me what you were thinking.” 

Polly held Tommy’s gaze for a moment before finally relenting, taking a deep breath that matched his own. 

“She’s a friend of Ada’s—“

“Fucking hell—“ Tommy’s eyes shot upward as he felt his entire body groan at the mention of his sister. 

He loved Ada, but the girl had never shown any interest in their business, either business, her entire life. In fact, the girl had never taken anything serious, so he couldn’t imagine the kind of company she chose. 

“She’s smart, Thomas,” Polly insisted, the use of his full name showing her seriousness. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, handing it to him. “Here, see for yourself. That’s a list of everyone who has tried to steal or skim money from us since she started.”

Tommy opened the paper, and immediately recognized most of the names. Two had been men he’d hired himself years ago. 

“It started with the betting books. Then I gave her one of our books just to see if she could spot anything. She didn’t know what it meant, just told her to cross check names and numbers.”

Tommy took another deep breath, “If she’s so smart, how do you know she didn’t know what it meant, eh? How do you know you can trust her?”

“Ask around,” she offered. “You’ll come to the same conclusion I did.”

“Where is she now?”

“I told her to stay away until you made your decision.”

“What decision is that? Whether to invite her back or kill her?” Polly’s eyes narrowed, and the reaction actually surprised him. He scoffed, “Really, ‘ave you gone soft on us now, Pol?”

She held her glare before raising her hand. “Just— just look into her first. Do that, and I’ll tell you everything I’ve learned. But, be discreet. Her employment was and still is a secret. Plenty of men were angry when we started taking care of that list.”

Tommy noticed some of the names next to the list had symbols next to them, understanding the meaning behind them. The two men he’d brought in both had black stars next to theirs. 

“Any threats?” Without realizing, Tommy began to take a closer look at Polly, searching for any new cuts, scars, or faded bruises. 

She scoffed, smiling as she shook her head. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Tommy took a deep breath, taking another look at the list. This really was impressive, and he was curious how exactly the girl had come to discover all of this. He’d paid close attention to her notes in the margins of the books and could already believe Polly’s insistence of her intelligence. 

But that didn’t mean she was trustworthy. This wouldn’t be the first time they’d been double crossed or infiltrated by an enemy or copper. 

“Fine. You’ve got a deal,” he finally said, folding the list up and putting it in his own pocket. “Just tell me her name.”

“Y/N.”

——

It didn’t take long for Tommy to find out where this Y/N lived and worked. Not only was the number of people moving into Small Heath minimal, but especially young women. 

Tommy had been avoiding the pubs since he came home, he still wasn’t ready to dive back into the crowds. But he heard the rumors of a pretty, out-of-town barmaid at the Garrison, and his curiosity finally won over. 

He thought his chances would be better if he went over early, and despite being gone for a few years, the old pub hadn’t changed a bit. Which meant, he knew exactly which nook and cranny to hide inconspicuously while the afternoon bustle began to ramp up. 

So far, it was just Harry tending the bar, the sitting area still sparse enough for one person to manage. Tommy watched as a couple men filtered in and out of the snug, and an idea began to formulate as he waited. 

He’d always liked the Garrison — it was conveniently closer to the house than any of the other pubs in the area, and it was slowly becoming the heart of the town for the everyday man. Presumably, all were welcome, even the men who preferred pubs that catered more toward the commies or Fenians. 

And he liked Harry. The man had never treated he or his family any different for being gypsies — Tommy chalked that up to him coming from Irish travelers himself. Even after Harry began to pay the Shelbys for their protection, he’d still treated them without some of the passive aggressive bitterness that some other patrons held. There was always a layer of respect, of common sense, and even a hint of humor that Tommy always appreciated. 

Even now, when Harry found him sitting in the dark corner of the bar with his paper raised like a shield, he hadn’t questioned and didn’t bring attention, an unspoken understanding it seemed and instead simply dropped a tumbler down in front of him and kept an eye on its fill level. And as if the man needed any more of a reason, Harry had fought in the war, up until he was sent home, and Tommy respected any man who fought for his country.

Yes, Tommy liked Harry, and decided in that moment to make the Garrison the Shelbys official pub.

He was beginning to formulate the deal proposal when the office door to his right opened and a body emerged. He pulled back up his racing paper, lowering it just enough so he could take in the backside form of a young woman as the door closed behind her and she walked toward the bar. He tried to listen as the women sat a book on the counter in front of Harry. The owner scratched his head as he looked at the page and shrugged. Tommy could read Harry’s lips as he shoved the book back toward the woman and told her he trusted her. She grabbed it and practically skipped away from the counter, obviously happy with the outcome of the exchange, and turned back toward the office door. 

It was you. 

The girl from his vision, from the train station, from the Cut. 

You were Y/N. 

Tommy felt his blood run cold at the realization and froze as you continued to look down at the book and walked right back into the office. You hadn’t seen him this time, and for that he was grateful. 

Because right now, he was angry. 

Who the hell were you, and what right did you have invading his space like this? First his mind, then his home, and now his business? Who the hell did you think you were? 

His blood turned from ice to a boil as he stood up and stormed out of the front door. Tommy could feel Harry’s gaze follow him with a silent question that he knew better than to ask. 

Tommy’s feet took him to the person who led him there: his aunt. 

Polly was near the fire, stacking some of the logs from the shed in preparation for a cold night. It was mid-December now, and the days were growing shorter than ever. All outdoor chores had to be done before supper and Polly always liked to get everything squared up and out of the way before she had to begin.

She heard Tommy storm in through the front door, she could always identify the sound of his footsteps over his brothers, even at a young age. He was heavy in the heels and he was always in a hurry, walking with his shoulders forward. Polly took it as a sign that he would be a leader one day, always firm in his resolve and destined to forever chase a dream bigger than himself. 

“Welcome back,” she said evenly, already feeling his attitude before he even made it through the doorway. 

Tommy didn’t answer her, only moved to close the door behind him, and then the betting doors, despite the house being quiet at the moment. 

Polly wiped her hands on her skirt and rose to look at her nephew, the sight bringing a crease to her brow. 

Tommy was always composed, the number of times she hadn’t seen him so could be counted on one hand. But now, in front of her, she could add another count to her list as she reached for him. 

“Tommy,” she started calmly, urging him to sit before taking the seat next to him. She was trying to decipher if his expression was one of anger, shock, or something worse. “Tell me, what is it?”

His eyes finally flicked up to his aunt, and the anger returned. “Y/N.”

Polly took in a deep breath, more of the picture starting to fall in place as her back straightened. “You saw her?”

He nodded. 

“You talked to her?”

He shook his head. 

Polly licked her lips and tightened them. “Why not?”

Tommy ran a hand over his face and assessed his aunt. He was contemplating whether he should tell her his vision. Polly was more in tune to visions and spirits than he was. And despite his outward skepticism of most things religious or religious adjacent, there was something deep within him that was never able to fully dismiss some of the mysteries that came from the Romani people. That’s why he was always respectful toward old gypsy women, and took extra caution to his aunt’s warnings. Same with Curly, his Uncle Charlie, and even his mother back in the day. Whether it was real or just something familiar from his upbringing, he knew without a doubt his aunt could have some insight into all this. 

Hell, she probably already had some insight. It wasn’t lost on him that his aunt often knew things that he didn’t. And while usually that was something he trusted to use to the family’s advantage, right now he wanted to know everything. 

“We’ve already met,” he decided to begin there, not totally lying but not divulging the whole truth yet. “The night we returned, down by the Cut. It wasn’t exactly the best of introductions.”

“Oh Thomas, tell me you didn’t —“

His brow creased at her response, noticing the look on her face and realizing what she must have thought. He breathed out of his nose, “Nothing like that, Pol. We just talked. I did ask if she was a whore and she nearly pushed me in the water.”

The corner of Polly’s lips flew into a smirk as she tried to refrain from chuckling. It was difficult though, she could only imagine what that must have looked like. 

“Tell me what you know,” he continued, back to business. “This girl keeps showing up in my life and I want to know why.”

Polly took a deep breath, her smile turning serious as she leaned back in her chair. He wondered if she caught his use of the word ‘keeps’ and would push on it. 

She didn’t, for now at least. “I told you I would tell you once you found out more for yourself.”

“I’ll keep looking into her — discreetly,” he added when he saw she was about to remind him of her secrecy. “But right now I know enough and if I don’t hear what you have to say it might make things worse.”

The anger he was feeling before crept back up. He thought about facing you again in this state, and truly he wasn’t sure how he’d react. Part of him believed he’d just torture you into telling what you wanted from him, who you were working for, what your game was. The other part of him believed he’d fling you over his shoulder and bring you to his bedroom. Both of which would be unhelpful to his current situation. 

Something bigger was going on here. He could feel it. And he wanted to know what. 

Polly was watching him during his internal battle and could sense his edge. She took a deep breath before nodding. “I believe she’s gypsy,” she stated simply. “Maybe not bred, but by blood.”

Tommy hadn’t expected Polly’s big insight to be this. He restrained himself from scoffing. “That’s it? Just because she might be gypsy you think she’s trustworthy to be privy to our family books?”

Yes, Tommy and his family came from a long line of Romani blood. But that didn’t mean it held any stock with him. Outside of his own family and extended family, other gypsies would be some of the last people Tommy would trust. 

“I think she has a gift, Thomas,” Polly continued seriously. “The first day I saw her, the day she met Ada, she predicted the end of the war months before it happened. To the day.”

Tommy’s brow creased. “One correct guess and suddenly she’s a fortune teller?”

“It’s not just that. There was gossip when she first arrived. Mrs. Tully was chirping about a batty new tenant who finally arrived in the empty lodgings they’d been keeping. Said she acted like she’d been living under a rock all her life — didn’t even act like she knew there was a war going on. Strange that a girl who barely knew about the war could guess the exact date of its end, isn’t it?”

Tommy made a mental note to add Mrs. Tully to his list of people to question. “I suppose. But still doesn’t sound concrete to me.”

“Perhaps, but there’s one piece that solidified my guess,” Polly replied, straightening in her seat. “She has a tattoo on her back — I only caught a glimpse but I’m sure of what I saw. I’ve seen the symbol before, once, when I was a girl. The crest of the Delphi family.”

Tommy’s shoulders squared at the name. He, like most gypsies, were familiar with the name and the crest. It was one of the oldest Romani families still around, and there was a reason for that. Their age and their affinity for fortune telling deepened their pockets enough to provide them with muscle and protection. They were ruthless when wronged, and their leader was said to unleash unimaginable curses on her enemies. 

And according to Polly — you, his mystery woman, had their symbol branded on your back. 

He ran through the possibilities of what this could mean in his head. You could have been a family member who ran away, or a slave to one of the leaders. Polly had mentioned she didn’t think you were brought up in the gypsy life, and from the little bit of interaction he had with you, he was inclined to agree. There had to be a connection between this woman, this family, and his dream. Which was beginning to feel more and more like a curse, or an omen to stay away. 

But then, why did every instinct fuel him to get closer, to find out more?

He got up from the kitchen table and began walking back toward the pub. He ignored Polly’s call behind him, obviously worried he’d do something irrational. 

But Tommy was beginning to form a plan, a battle strategy, if you will. To defeat the enemy, you had to know the enemy. And whether Y/N fell in that definition for him or not, he needed to gather as much as he could before he made any call. 

Over the next day, he managed to speak with Harry while avoiding you. It was easier to ask about you in the pretense of dangling a business proposal, claiming that he needed to trust his employees as much as the owner when it came to matters like this. 

“Oh, ‘ya shouldn’t ‘ave a problem there,” Harry had told him. 

“Forgive me for askin’, Harry, it’s just you don’t normally give jobs to women. Especially pretty women.” 

Harry breathed out of his nose before waving his hand dismissively. “Findin’ anyone to work when I got back was bloody impossible, mate. And when I finally could find help, even if they was a girl, they’d end up spending more time makin’ their own money on the side, if’ya know what I mean.” Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “But let me tell ‘ya, Y/N’s been a dream since she showed up.” 

Tommy’s back tightened at the use of phrase. 

“She came in with all these ideas and improvements, ‘processes’ she calls ‘em. I tell ‘ya, I ‘aven’t met a more educated woman before in my life. I fought the changes at first, but dammit I can’t fight against less waste and more money. Oh, and don’t worry — I made sure she wasn’t a prostitute. Asked her ‘for I hired her.”

The corner of Tommy’s cheek rose slightly at the comment, curious if he’d been the latest of a long line of people asking her the same question. 

“And you’re sure?” Tommy asked, just to scratch a curiosity. “Not even recreationally?”

Despite himself, Tommy couldn’t keep out the thought of your blushed cheeks down at the Cut, the way you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, and the bareness of your legs in his vision. He adjusted in his seat before forcing his mind to stop before it went too far, noting to make an appointment with Lizzie the next time he saw her. 

Harry shrugged, oblivious to Tommy’s internal struggle. “She’s nice to the men at the bar, enough to keep the place calm and in good spirits. But I’ve ‘eard her turn down enough of ‘em to know she’s not interested in making an extra bob like that. Only once did I ‘ave to throw a man out for trying anything on her, and that was after she’d already damaged his boys herself. After that, the men seemed to get the message. She’s pretty though, and a good barmaid — think that’s why they keep comin’ back.” 

Tommy breathed a short breath of amusement out of his nose at the thought of you fighting. Granted, he’d seen enough fights between Ada and John to know that women would hit where ever they could to get the upper hand in combat, and he didn’t blame her. 

“I promise ‘ya, Tom,” Harry had continued talking. “You can trust her. Whatever business you want to do with me, Y/N could only make it better.” 

“Give me a week to make my own assessment,” Tommy replied. They ironed out the stipulations of how Tommy could make such an assessment and agreed to keep it secret. He could sense Harry’s hesitation, and he wondered if it was out of protectiveness or something else. 

But eventually, a handshake sealed the agreement and Tommy promised to have the deal finalized and ready by the time he finished.

A little more than a week later, and Tommy came to three absolute conclusions about you. 

First: you had a secret. He could tell predominately by the way you talked to people and by the way you carried yourself when you thought people were looking. It wasn’t obvious — in fact, it’s subtlety was one of the more glaring identifiers to someone who was looking as closely as Tommy was. 

Second: you weren’t a threat. At least, not to his family or their operation. Aside from the Garrison, your lodgings, the local grocer, and the bath house that he knew Ada frequented, you didn’t have any odd routes that previous coppers narcs had taken in the past. Y/N hardly had a life outside of the pub, Tommy realized, and found it strange. You didn’t go out with any men or friends, the way other women your age did. Hell, even Ada managed to leave the house at least twice a week to go out with her friends. But not you. 

You were especially less threatening when he caught you on the first night you were closing up the pub since he began his investigation. Everything was going as expected, until about an hour into the clean up when you began to sing. From his spot (which he’d managed to obtain permission from Harry to watch from with the promise that he wouldn’t do anything unsavory or harmful) he could see and watch as you sang some foreign song and danced around frivolously with your broomstick. 

It was hard to imagine you as some nefarious mastermind after watching you slip on a spot of tobacco spit on the floor while extending your arm in front of you and clasping your hand together, then jumping in the air as you shook your fist while singing some repetitive salutations to an invisible audience. 

That had actually caused him to laugh, something he hadn’t done genuinely and wholeheartedly since returning to Birmingham. 

The last conclusion Tommy made while watching you was the oddest, he thought. 

You didn’t smoke. At all. 

He didn’t know anyone who didn’t smoke. Hell, even Finn had been caught smoking a handful of times since the brothers returned. And he was ten years old. 

Tommy chalked the last observation up to the air of posh-ness he sensed you possessed. He felt strangely drawn to it, and after your odd drinking game after he finally approached you did it only increase. 

He still couldn’t quite get a read on you. There was an innocence he could see about you, especially when it came to your understanding of who he was and his place in this world. On the other hand, your eyes held a heavy weight to them that warned him not to underestimate you. That there was wisdom mixed with the innocence that he couldn’t quite detangle. 

He’d gauged your reaction to his reveal that he’d dreamed about you. You’d been genuinely surprised, though that hadn’t brought him much reassurance. If anything, it made him more frustrated by the series of events, especially when he had to use every ounce of resistance not to kiss you.

You'd given him all the signs — hell, he probably could have bed you that night if he’d asked to walk you to your bedroom. But you weren’t just some random woman or a prostitute. He’d asked you to officially work again for their company, for their family. He couldn’t be flippant with his more primitive instincts with you.

Plus, if there was something more going on here, something deeper, he wanted to make sure he had all the answers before he made himself too vulnerable. He had not only himself, but his family to think about.

After he left you at Mrs. Tully’s, he began his search for Johnny Dogs, determined that some kind of explanation had to be found in the Delphi camp. 

But now, you and him were here. And Tommy felt just as confused and frustrated as he had when they first met. 

Just get through the night, Tommy told himself as he led a freaked out you toward the jovial crowd of gypsies dancing around the bon fire. The time for secrets must end. 

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

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I tried to tag everyone who requested, but if I missed you, let me know and I’ll add you! Also, I’m not sure why it doesn’t link everyone, but idk how to fix that. Next chapter will be published right after this one!

[i-smoke-chapstick]

Okay I think I’ve finally come up with a plot for that jervis story I was telling you about. This is pretty long- I’m sorry 😭

Basically could follow the same plots as the ‘come on Eileen’ story with an age gap but obv themed for Jervis’s character. For the sake of everything, since this could be already dark-ish, instead of Alice being his sister, she’s his coworker. Very similar story tied with the btas version. Anyways continuing that, let’s say reader is Jim and Barbara’s kid all the way from episode 1 when they were still in there couple era (I miss it 😔). Jim had custody over reader when Barbara was sent to Arkham but once she’s out and running the sirens club, her and Jim come to an agreement for the sake of the reader to co-parent. Reader is about 10-13 during that time and then jumping to like season 3 with jervis being introduced, reader is around 17-19 (I’m not sure if this is the realistic time jump but whatever). During the first episode with how Barbara introduces tabby to jervis, imagine that same scenario but with reader also present. Jervis realizes how much reader reminds him of the book version of Alice with their curiosity, ambition, etc. I’d like to imagine Barbara finds it cute in a way similar with that one fix you did when jervis was leaving stuff for the reader while tabby is like “Stay away from the baby 😡”.

Now when Alice gets killed, we know jervis makes him go through all these games of killing and stuff and then he has to choose the one he loves. Instead of Val, it’s reader. As much as Jervis doesn’t want to hurt his current crush, he tries to be nicer about it and shoots them where the bullet won’t damage them as bad?? Idk where else I’m goin with this lol. I’ll let you come up with whatever else you wanna do. Be creative if you’d like.

I’d say basically it follows the plot of season 3 but without Alice and reader is present.

Thank you Cupid 🙏🖤

'DON'T BLAME ME, [PART ONE]

-GOTHAM!JERVIS TETCH X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; Everything's always the same in Gotham. Hard to imagine things changing.

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!jervis x female reader. SLOW BURN!!! Not sure how many chapters this will be yet! LOTS OF PLOT SET-UP!! AGE GAP ROMANCE! (reader is Jim and Barbara's daughter) Readers got trauma. Reader's also a cynic and dissociating. She fell first, he fell harder. Writing this kind of artistically and as character studies for everyone. Jervis being an obsessive freak, per usual. Jervis and reader are soulmates, not just in his head but in real life! More about reader is revealed as the story goes on. I'm taking canon out back and beating it with a stick until it stops twitching.

⋆ tag list (tell me if you want to be removed!) @adalwolfgang @jervis-tetch-my-beloved @honestmrdual @moonlightnyx

⋆ 'PART ONE, - 'PART TWO, - ‘PART THREE, - ‘PART FOUR, - ‘PART FIVE, - ‘PART SIX, - 'PART SEVEN, - 'PART EIGHT, - 'PART NINE, -'PART TEN, - 'PART ELEVEN, - 'PART TWELVE, - 'PART THIRTEEN, - 'PART FOURTEEN,

Special thanks to @adalwolfgang for giving me the idea for this fic <3 really really excited to make this multichapter !!

♫ “Echoes of your name inside my mind / Halo, hiding my obsession.” Don't Blame Me by Taylor Swift

You feel like your ten again, staring into space, watching the passerby's from inside a Gala. You're mother used to take you there, when you're dad wasn't available.

You sometimes miss it, even though you used to complain. You hated just sitting there, hours on end, seeing rich people dance; like there weren't people being murdered on the street two blocks down. Maybe you took after your father in that aspect. It was a curse.

Your mom used to do your hair. You remember the way she finger-twirled your curls, gasping as she looked in the mirror. Eyes wide, she always said the same thing.

"Look at you, you're gorgeous!" You'd laugh and hit her on the shoulder, young and innocent. Sometimes, you'd make a mess of her lipsticks and bronzer. You'd try on her dresses which were far too tall for your young stature.

The sound of yelling rips you away from your thoughts.

This place isn't a gala. It's a club. And you didn't get ready with your mom, you got ready in the morning, waking up alone in your dads house.

You watch the two men argue from across the bar. You're cradling a drink; unsure what to do with it. Selina had stole it for you, somehow. You didn't ask questions anymore. You'd known her since you were eleven and she was eight. You didn't really like to drink. She knew that. You don't know where she ran off too.

Mindlessly stirring your glass in your palm, you can't help but squint under the bright blue lights. This place...it's not your first choice of where you'd like to be right now. Never is.

You hear a feminine voice calling you to the front of the club, and you can already guess who it is. You haven't seen her in a little over a week, not that it matters.

You decide to down your drink anyway. Who cares.

Pushing your way through the crowds of Gothamites, you notice the stage light up. Your mother and Tabitha stand in grand dresses. Tabitha's resting, one arm on the bar, looking effectively bored out of her mind. Your mother, on the contrary, looks utterly pleased. You fight the urge to snort.

There's a man on the stage. Long hair, cat-like smile. Your eyes follow the contours of his cheek bones. He's spouting something about waking up from an animal-identity. You're frankly lost, staring into his dark eyes. They look pitch black.

Sounds of clapping arise from the back. You simply suck your teeth. Someone new comes into the club everyday with a different act. This guy certainly wasn't any different.

"A magician? Really?" Tabitha asks, interrupting your thoughts. She sounds displeased and confounded, unsure what to make of Barbara's smile.

"Hypnotist." Your mom answers, correcting her. Ah, so thats what he is. You think. Couldn't hypnotize himself to have a better act? You almost make yourself laugh. Barbara mistakes it for agreeance.

"See! I like him! Y/N likes him!" Barbara chimes, smile lighting up to be a bit more genuine at your laugh. "Like mother like daughter. Plus, the place is packed. Be happy." She waves her drink around. Tabitha still looks peeved.

You want to correct her, but the words 'like mother like daughter' make bile rise in your throat. You don't speak.

"Just a taste, ladies and gentlemen." The man purrs, pulling your attention to him. That dark stare of his never once leaves the crowd. "But now...let us venture into something more arcane."

His eyes drift to you in the crowd, and it feels like a jolt of electricity. You wonder if he feels it too. He must have, since he cocks his head, pausing in his words for a little too long. His brows furrow, until the crowd begins to murmur. It's awfully intense.

You tear your gaze away to look at your mom, wondering if she was who he was looking at instead. It would certainly make more sense, given they must've been around the same age. But as soon as your gaze leaves his, the man clears his throat, and goes right back to speaking.

"The hell was that?" Tabitha whispers to me, and my mind goes blank.

"...No clue."

We watch the rest of the act, intrigued. He makes a man stand on the back of a chair, which definitely does not obey the laws of physics whatsoever. I can see why some people might find this amusing.

Your mom does bring up a good question though.

"So you could get him to do anything you wanted?" She asks, abet too excitedly. You want to roll your eyes. When you were younger, she would've made fun of this guy with you.

The man looks between the two of us, and you squint your eyes.

"Did you have something in mind, Ms. Kean?" He asks, and her gaze darkens. You feel a little sick.

As the act finishes, the man takes one too many bows, but the crowd eats it up. That blinding blue light still bounces off his face. Something about it is...unsettling. You notice it more as he stalks towards the three of you.

"Very impressive, Mr. Tetch." Your mom compliments. Mr. Tetch, huh. Well, you finally have a name for the man. "You have quite the gift. But you didn't answer my question. Can you make people do anything you tell them to do?" She speaks, slowly. Mr. Tetch looks flattered at the praise.

He clicks his tongue. "Only things they secretly wish to do," he remarks, eyes falling on me once more. "It's surprising what people will wish for," His eye contact remains on you, voice getting quieter. "Secretly. Deep down." He repeats.

Your mother makes a sound akin to a pleased hum. Tabitha looks between the man and you, and she looks less than amused.

"True," Tabitha speaks, pushing you to the side a bit. You watch as his gaze leaves yours, and snaps up to her. There's a ghost of a scowl on both of their faces that suddenly makes you confused. "You must be a very popular man."

She takes a swig out of her drink as she says the words, a bit sarcastically. Mr. Tetch, or whatever his name is, doesn't falter in his resolve. He instead offers a polite chuckle.

"Oh, I wish. Parties like this help pave my way, so, thank you."

"And you're new to Gotham?" Your mom asks.

"Yes...just arrived from up north."

"You have a place to stay?" Tabitha asks, head cocked. You begin to feel a bit embarrassed, heat rising in your clothes. They're asking the guy way too many questions. And he's a new comer. Poor man probably doesn't know a thing.

Before the man can answer, you butt in.

"Let the man breathe." You huff, and all three of them look at you in unison. Eyes-narrowed on you, the man blinks. Barbara looks at you, surprised, and Tabitha glares daggers.

Silence surrounds the four of you, and you shiver uncomfortably.

"Just saying." You mumble. Barbara raises an eyebrow.

"You'll have to excuse her. This is my daughter, Y/N."

Jervis's face lights up in realization.

"Ah, I see." He remarks, taking your hand. Tabitha instinctively steps close, watching the way he takes it. He presses a soft kiss to your knuckles. "Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Y/N."

"Thank you," You say, softly, looking into his eyes. It really does feel like time stops. You can understand why people are hypnotized by him.

Tabitha finally steps in between you two, as Barbara watches the interaction with vague intrigue. He drops your hand with some reluctance. You don't blame him.

"I think you should get going." Tabitha says, firm. The man simply nods.

"Very well. Enjoy your night." He speaks. "Ms. Kean, Ms. Y/N." He bids one last nod of goodbye, before turning on his heel.

[dw-writes]

66 for the Spotify thing 💖

Song: Blow by Atreyu Fandom: American Gods lol okay so this song is actually from an anime rage playlist that i listen to at work a LOT because people get on my nerves. it's not exactly sticking to the song, but i think it's close. I hope you like it!! in terms of where this sits, it's somewhere during their travels. I'm not 100% sure where as of right now, but I'll figure it out later! :D Chapters:Chapter One || Chapter Two || Chapter Three || Chapter Four  || Chapter Five || Chapter Six || Chapter Seven || Chapter Eight || Chapter Nine || Chapter Ten || Chapter Eleven || Chapter Twelve || Chapter Thirteen || Chapter Fourteen || Chapter Fourteen-ish || Chapter Fifteen || Chapter Sixteen || Chapter Seventeen || Chapter Eighteen || Chapter Nineteen || Chapter Twenty || Chapter Twenty-One || Chapter Twenty-Two Requests:Mad Sweeney and The Holidays || The Invasion and the Stressful Blows One Shots:The Invasion and That One Thankful Holiday || The Invasion and the Weight of Change || Eyes On You

The Invasion and the Stressful Blows

There was something that was itching at Sweeney, making him irritable. It was easy to tell, after knowing him for so long – there was a hunch to his shoulders, a tightness that coiled down his neck and around his spine until it held him tight. It reminded you of something, something saw days or months or years ago, it was hard to remember, but you were sure he reminded you of himself, of the things you saw while learning his name. He paced back and forth and you saw a war brewing across his shoulders that made your own ache.

“Hey,” you gently called, voice falling flat in the empty hotel room.

He turned on the ball of his foot, old carpet protesting under his boot.

It was far too early, you thought, for him to be withdrawn and angry and you couldn’t even pinpoint what happened to put him in a mood. You’d just woken up to see him pacing, muttering to himself, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side.

You shifted on the bed, curling your legs under you and pulling the blanket over them as he stalked past again.

“Sweeney,” you called through a yawn.

He twisted again at the door, breathing in harshly through his nose as his eyes flitted over you without seeing you. You wondered if he even heard you. You swallowed and rose from the bed, letting the blanket pool around your feet as you carefully padded to him.

“Sweeney,” you whispered, reaching out to brush your hands over his arms.

He flinched, squeezing his eyes shut, muscles tensing beneath your fingers.

“Where are you?” you gently asked.

He exhaled slowly, keeping his eyes closed. “Field,” he muttered after a long moment, “War.” His body went limp as you gave him another squeeze, leaning into you until you both crumbled to the floor. His arms wrapped around your back and held you there.

“Wanna talk about it?” you murmured against his shoulder.

He grunted, huffed, and finally sighed. “No,” he mumbled. He dropped his head against your shoulder, curling around you. You held him tight, rubbing your fingers up and down his back. You could feel the rage easing out of him one pass at a time, until he melted around you with a sigh.

“Now that you’re a little more relaxed,” you said, leaning back to look up into his face, “You wanna blow off some steam?”

Sweeney was on his feet before you finished your sentence, yanking the dingy mattress to the floor with a grunt. “Been a bit, luv,” he grunted as he flung his denim shirt to the side, “Hope you’re ready.”

“I’ll be fine,” you argued as you stood. You rolled your shoulders. “Ready?”

He lunged.

The two of you ended up paying for another night and some damage to the box spring, but at least Sweeney looked lighter when the two of you finally left.

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[instructionsnotincluded]

Into the Mist

Chapter II

Excerpt:

The siblings wandered over to one of the downed tree logs on the edge of the beach, taking a moment to steady their breathing and regroup before they went through the motions of selecting coconuts that were still good. They’d found fairly quickly after cutting into some that just because it was firm, didn’t mean it wasn’t rotten. As they sat, Audrey hoped John B would be the first to break the silence, but her brother seemed to be lost in thought, staring out at the ocean, watching the waves roll in before going back out. 

“Where do you think we are?” Audrey asked him softly, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. 

“Dunno,” John B shifted, rolling his shoulders back as he yawned softly, “somewhere in the Caribbean? Sarah said Rafe mentioned Guadeloupe, but I don’t know if we were making a stop somewhere first or not.”

“Guadeloupe,” Audrey repeated, racking her brain for any memory of where that might be, “I just wonder if we’re close enough to one of the islands that we’d be able to make it.”

“If we swam?” John B shook his head, “I doubt it. Let’s say we spent…what…five-ish hours on the container ship? Seven if we’re being generous? That would put us closer to the states than the Caribbean, right? And we spent another few hours in the lifeboat…so I mean—we’re lucky if we’re even remotely close to the Bahamas.”

“How long would it take to get to Guadeloupe? A few days?”

“Have to ask JJ,” John B shook his head, “he knows the distance better than I do, but my guess is at least three, maybe four or five.”

Audrey sighed, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, “I think we need to try to get off the island.”

“Why?” John B turned his head towards her, “of all people, I thought you’d be the last one to want to get off.”

While that may have been true forty-eight hours ago, Audrey only shook her head no. “I think things are going to get rough sooner than later. We can’t stay here forever—we’ll die before that happens. What happens if there’s a hurricane? Or one of us comes down with an illness? Fever? Like…it’s nice in theory, but I’m getting worried.”

John B hummed, eyes shifting back to the ocean as he thought over her concerns, “is this about the rock?”

“I mean…a little,” Audrey shrugged, “what if I bled out? There’s literally nothing any of you could’ve done. Except watch.”

John B exhaled slowly, nodding as he glanced down at his hands, fiddling with the string on his bracelet, “yeah—I get what you’re saying. I just don’t know how we’re going to get off. Aside from waiting for a miracle to fly by…”

“I don’t know,” Audrey shook her head, “I haven’t gotten that far yet. We could try to build a raft.”

“But what happens if we’re lost at sea?” John B wrinkled his face, “that’s worse than here, right?”

“At least it’s an attempt,” Audrey said, “and we tried.”

“I don’t think JJ’ll gamble with your life like that,” John B shook his head firmly, “there’s no way. I think our best bet is to just wait it out and use Pope’s fires when we can.”

[bluestar22x]

Chapter 8

Baby Fever - Chapter 8

Series Summary: It all started with a classic case of baby fever

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!(Wife)Reader

Rating: 18+ Series

Warnings: Slight angst/anxiety, some fowl language, plenty of fluff

Word Count: 2,000 (ish)

Author's Note: This one took a lot of pondering to figure out what to write, but it came to me all at once so I got this typed up pretty fast. It's another slightly angsty but later fluffy chapter.

xxx

You'd never been big on parties, at least not ones centered around you. Even as a child, you'd found yourself blushing when your family sang you happy birthday or when they made a big deal out of your graduations (8th grade, high school, and college). You weren't a super shy person, but you didn't like being the center of attention when in a large group.

It wasn't any different with your baby shower. If anything it was worst. At twenty-eight weeks pregnant, the beginning of your third trimester, you were starting to feel huge, and that day you were feeling particularly achy and moody. You loved your family, but you spent most of the party grinning and baring it, putting on a show for their sakes.

It didn't help your mother and sister had surprised you with it, only telling Marcus to bring you and drop you off at your mother's house at nine in the morning on that day. If you'd had a say you'd have made it so everyone could be there, including Marcus, but since your mom had taken a large roll in the planning of it the celebration was traditional in every sense of the word - meaning no boys allowed.

Normally you wouldn't have been too bothered by being separated from Marcus for a few hours, you still worked full time after all, but the mood swings you'd been having recently meant that sometimes you were really clingy to him, and that was the feeling you had that day. You just wanted to go home and curl up in his arms.

On top of that, getting baby gifts from your family really brought home that you were just a few months away from having your baby, already. Despite the roller coaster ride that your pregnancy had been at times, it had flown by, and you felt overwhelmed by how much you still had left to do before the baby arrived.

You'd survived your baby shower, but by the time your aunts and cousins left you were exhausted and more than a little anxious to get home.

Your sister offered to bring you home after your last aunt left at three, and helped you load your parents' car up with all the gifts you'd gotten. Once everything was packed in you shared a final hug with your mom who told you, knowingly, to get some rest.

"When are you going back home?" you asked your sister on the way out of your parents' driveway.

"I'm going to be on an early flight tomorrow morning," Emily replied.

"How's Aaron doing alone with Henry?"

Emily had come to Washington D.C. without her little family this time.

"Henry just started potty training so I can imagine it's been an interesting couple of days," she said with a chuckle, "But Aaron's been an amazing dad so I don't think I'll be walking into a horror show when I get back, hopefully."

"Was it hard leaving Henry for two days?" you inquired curiously.

She sighed. "More than you could imagine. He's growing up so fast. I'm afraid when I get back I'll find a teenager in my house."

You snorted. "That's a little dramatic, Em. But I think I can kind of relate on that part. It feels like just weeks ago, not months, that I found out I was pregnant."

"How are you feeling about that?" she quizzed. "You seemed kind of off today."

It was your turn to sigh. "I'm just in a mood today, and you know how much I love parties -"

"Sorry -"

"It's okay," you assured her. "I appreciate you and mom throwing it for me. I promise, I do. And the gifts will really help out. There's so much to buy for a new baby, you know that, and now I can cross off like ninety-nine percent of the items off my list. It'll be less stressful in the long run."

"The thing is, it reminded me how close I am to being a mother and how I don't feel as prepared as I thought I'd feel by now," you admitted.

"Oh, sis," Emily said with a sympathetic tone, "They say no one's ready for a reason. You can only prepare for parenthood so much. Most of it is learn as you go, especially since each baby is unique. You probably won't understand her at all at the beginning, and that's going to be tiring and stressful, but it gets better, and you will get there."

You curled an arm around the underneath of your swollen belly and nodded, feeling a little better at her honesty. "Thanks, I needed to hear that. There's still a part of me that's going to continue fret about all I need to do before though."

"That's only natural," she told you. "Just remember you aren't alone. Aaron was a big help. I'm sure Marcus has and will be as well. That man's always stuck to your side whenever I see you together; I'm surprised he didn't insist on staying."

You laughed. "Yeah. He's been great. I couldn't ask for a better partner. I never thought a man could be so attentive before him."

Emily smiled warmly. "I'm so happy you found him, sis. Especially since that led to my little niece."

You rubbed your baby bump as a smile also graced your face. "I am too."

x

Marcus was approaching the car even before your sister had it in park in your driveway, having probably been watching out for it.

He stood by your door as you got out and gave you a peck on the cheek before shutting it behind you.

"Did you enjoy the party?" he questioned.

"It wasn't bad," you answered honestly. "I wish you could've been there though."

"I was banned from entering the house," he told you.

You rolled your eyes. "That's my mother for you." You loved her, but she was a stickler for traditions, whether they were outdated or not.

His eyes registered the stuffed back seat and his eyebrows shot up. "We might need a bigger room for the baby."

You chuckled. "My family has never been stingy on gifts. Especially for babies. I don't think we'll have to buy much. There's some stuff in there I'd never even thought about getting. Never saw them on any of the essentials-to-buy lists online."

"Those are never complete," Emily huffed as she glanced over to you both. "Trust me, you'll need it all."

She made her way to the trunk and started filling her arms with items, handing you some lighter ones as she did so, while Marcus took on the heavier objects. Between the three of you the car was unpacked in fifteen minutes and all the gifts were cluttered in the center of what used to be the spare guest room.

Marcus had been busy while you were at the baby shower evidently, having put a layer of fresh paint on the walls - a lovely shade of yellow you had chosen out with him a week before at the nearest hardware store. It reminded you of the sun at sunrise.

"The paint looks great," you told him after your sister had left to return to your parents' house. "I thought you were going to wait until my dad could help you though?"

"I had nothing else to do today, and I figured hey, I have an art degree, I should be able to paint a few damn walls by myself," he explained.

"In art history," you pointed out with a laugh.

He shrugged. "No matter."

You grinned. "You're right. It doesn't matter. And thank you."

"No need to thank me," he said, pulling you into his embrace and kissing your temple. "I want to do whatever I can for you and the baby, which really isn't all that much. This feels like the least I can do."

"You help more than you think," you told him, resting your head against his expansive shoulder. "But I know how you can contribute more."

He gave you his full attention and you smiled at him before gesturing at the closet. "Get in there and clear it out. We're going to need the storage space."

"So bossy," he teased as he parted from you to follow the order.

"You like that."

"True."

x

An hour later the nursery's closet had gone from being filled with random items you and Marcus rarely used to being stuffed with baby clothes, toys, and diapers. Lots of diapers.

Most of the stuff he'd taken out you decided could go in the basement, but there was one item you'd insisted you would find space upstairs for - Marcus' old bass guitar.

He'd once been in a band with his college buddies, had played bass and even sang back up vocals a little, but once he'd graduated he had all but retired from playing. He'd played for you a few times while you were dating, but most days it sat around collecting dust.

Despite this, there was no way you were going to have him get rid of it or hide it in an even easier spot to forget about it. You loved that Marcus could play an instrument. Having a boyfriend who was in a band would've been your dream come true as a teen. You were still kinda bummed you hadn't met him back when his band was active.

At least you could still have a private show on occasion.

"Play something for me," you demanded, shoving the instrument at him after the nursery was mostly organized.

He obliged you without any protest, setting up everything he needed to get the bass guitar in working order, and sat down in the rocking chair your mother had gifted you last month.

He began to pluck at the strings with his thick fingers and you leaned against the wall as you listened carefully to the music he was making. The beat sounded familiar and you wanted to take a guess at what song he was covering.

After thirty seconds or so, you were pretty sure you'd figured it out, but you waited until the end of the song to guess, beaming at him as he gently placed the guitar on the floor beside his leg. "Was that Everything Little Thing She Does Is Magic?"

He smiled back up at you. "It is, though I slowed it down a bit."

"The Police," you hummed, stepping towards him. "My man has great tastes."

"That's what you say every time I play," he said with a smirk.

"It's true every time." Marcus was a classics kind of guy, and you were good with that.

Your knees brushed his and he spread his legs so you could stand between them. He met your eyes as you did so, and his hands traveled up your blue maternity jeans to your waist, where he fanned his right one out over your firm swell. He soothed the area then bent forward to kiss the center of it, and your heart soared watching him make the soft gesture. You raked a hand through the hair at the back of his head, basking in the moment.

When he lifted his head again he gently guided you away from him so he could stand and kiss you sweetly on the lips. "I'll go start dinner."

"You don't have to do that," you protested. "You've worked all day."

"You've been busy too," he pointed out before kissing you again, "And you know I like to make a fuss."

That he did, and you were too tired to argue against something that was deeply embedded in his nature.

"Fine, but I'm making tomorrow's meals."

"Deal."

And with that, he led you down the hall to the couch before setting to his cooking task.

It wasn't until he called for you to come eat (pancakes of course) that it occurred to you how fitting the lyrics of the song he'd chosen to play was for him.

xxx

Tagged: @amyispxnk, @harriedandharassed

xxx

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

xxx

[scottie-writes]

Under the Influence (Pt.1) (Harrington!reader)(Cousin AU)

CH. 1 How it all began.

Summary: After some life choices that don't exactly meet with your parent's approval they send you to spend the summer with your cousin in Hawkins. They're convinced he'll be a good influence and set you back on the right path.

Tags: Fem!reader, cousin!reader, Harrington!reader, slight AU,

w/c : 2k(ish)

A/N: Hello! Welcome to my first Stranger Things fanfic and the first fanfic I've written in about 10 years. I have this set around s3 but I'm not fully committed to cannon. I fully intend for this to become an Eddie x reader piece, so if that's not for you now, you know. I'm not sure if I'm going to keep in all the supernatural stuff from the show but either way, Eddie will remain alive and well, and the duffer brothers can bite me.

This is a reader insert fic but I'll be keeping use of y/n to a minimum just as a personal preference.

Feedback is very much welcome, but please be kind, I am old and fragile. Enjoy!

Chapter 1 - A step too far? 

Your parents were good people.   They both held down steady jobs, working long hours, it had taken them quite some time and a few different tries, but eventually, life started working out for them the way they planned. Which made them good people, according to society. You didn’t see much of them, especially as you reached the age when they felt it was okay for you to make your own way home from school, around eight years old, as it meant your mother no longer needed to request half days. Whilst their hard work benefited the family, you lived in a nice home and never wanted anything; you were painfully lonely.  Growing up an only child, you had grown used to quiet and the peace that could come with solitude.  Something your peers did not appreciate.  Sure, you had some friends; however, those friendships were limited to school grounds and birthday parties. For the most part, you were content to be by yourself. The only time you remember enjoying the company of others was when you would spend your summers in Hawkins. 

Summer in Hawkins; a staple of your youth. For a few weeks every summer, when your parents were either: so swamped with work they couldn’t think about you or wanted a holiday together, to allow them some ‘quality time’ with one another.  They would ship you off to stay with your Aunt and Uncle, ‘quality time’ with you be damned. They did their best to make it seem fun, like Hawkins was your holiday, a treat just for you.   

“It’s a special time for you to get to know the family”, your dad would say.  

“ Think about how happy your Aunt and Uncle will be to see you.” 

“you and Steve are the same age; I’m sure you have lots in common”.

You were happy enough with the arrangement for a time.  Your Aunt was always delighted to see you - “It’s so good to have another girl around”, she would say - and she made the most amazing dinners.  Your Uncle was pleasant enough but was usually too busy with work to care what you got up to.  Then there was Steve.  You guys had been close in your younger years, eagerly anticipating how many weeks you would have to play and adventure together.  He was the only kid your age who seemed to understand when you needed that alone space. For a few years, it was the best part of your year, bar Christmas - the only time your parents seemed content to have you in their presence. As you had grown, though, the summers dragged.  You longed for your room, for your city, for the autonomy you had grown so accustomed to.  Steve, too, changed; he had friends of his own and summer plans concocted in school hallways, and the time you spent together each summer lessened.  He would still make the obligatory effort the first few days, ensuring you got unpacked okay and had everything you needed.  But it would never take long for him to become restless, your changing personalities no longer meshing. He just wanted to play with his friends, run around in the heat and the mud, and generally cause a little chaos, the way young boys want to do.  You would rather sit with a good book, either by the pool or in the library - they were the only places in town that held any interest to you. 

As the years dragged on, you found yourself bristling each time Hawkins was mentioned.  You questioned the need to be shipped off every summer.  After all, you were fourteen, and your parents had left you alone for extended weekends before - business trips always taking precedence. You fought them the whole spring on the arrangements; eventually, they caved—no more summers in Hawkins.  

-⌘-

The new arrangement meant you were alone most of the time.  You learned to take care of yourself, learned how to cook, how to navigate the city streets and keep yourself out of trouble.  Things took a turn around your 16th birthday.  Your parents had noticed that you had been lashing out more, the argument about Hawkins a few years prior being the beginning of a downward spiral, according to your mother.  You went to school, came home, then shuffled out again, not to be seen until your 10 pm curfew.  They never knew where you went and were beginning to get concerned. Hypocrites - you hardly ever knew where they were.  The comments started coming when you no longer would wear the dresses your mother bought for you—opting instead for jeans that slowly became more ripped and bedraggled as the years went on. “Darling, I wish you wouldn’t dress like that” “It’s not becoming of a young lady”  Then it was your taste in music.  You went from listening to the radio with pleasure to tutting and rolling your eyes whenever you caught wind of bubbly pop music.  Your preferences now revolved solidly around music that your parents claimed would “make your ears bleed”.  

  Your first grounding lasted a week.  It was the longest week you had ever known.  The grounding, of course, did not dissuade you from your rebellion but instead pushed you further into it.  You stopped caring about the consequences and went where you liked with whomever you wanted.  Often returning home a mere minutes before curfew - a strategic choice to mitigate the grounding as much as possible.  Your parents tried to crack the proverbial whip a few more times, but as history had proven, their jobs took precedence.  You were grounded in name alone, with no one at home to enforce it.  And so you fell into a life of relative chaos. Frequently skipping classes or, on an odd day, skipping school altogether.  Your choices of recreational activities becoming more ‘unsavoury’.  

The nail in the coffin was parent-teacher conferences during Junior year.  Your parents actually decided to attend this one - what with high school drawing to a close and college looming, they needed to know what to expect of you.  You knew exactly what to expect; you weren't precisely valedictorian material due to your frequent day trips around the city that often lacked permission.  And you hadn’t exactly kept your parents appraised of the situation.  ‘They’re never home anyway’, you had reasoned while forging signatures on the failed assignments that were becoming a regular occurrence.

The evening was a symphony of “If this continues, she won’t graduate”, “she’s a bright girl; if only she would try”, and “Maybe if she attended class once in a while, it would be better”. This culminated in a meeting with your principal, the man collaring your family as they finished their rounds with the disapproving educators you had come to know and loathe. His office was stuffy; windows shut tight despite the growing evening heat that heralded the start of summer.   Everything you had endured so far started to pile onto your shoulders. The sympathetic look he gave your parents and talked like you weren’t even in the room. The accelerant spilled on your already lit fuse was the ‘concern’ that spilled from your parents’ mouths.  You were tutting and rolling your eyes as they spoke about you like you were a problem requiring a solution, not their daughter.  “We just want what’s best for her” is the phrase that sets loose your growing frustrations. 

“Fucking liars”, you scoffed, venom dripping from each word.  The three adults turned to you as if suddenly remembering your presence, shock painted across their faces.  You took their stunned silence as an opportunity to tell your parents what you thought.  “If you cared, you would be at home more.” Your voice raised, heart pounding with adrenalin “the truth is you care about your jobs more than you ever cared about me” your chest was heaving now with the weight of your anger. “I’M NOT EVEN A PERSON TO YOU; I’M A BOX TO CHECK.  YOU DON’T FUCKING CARE” from there on; the words are all a blur; the only memory was the white-hot anger burning your throat as you screamed.  And then the sound of the clock that broke as you smashed it to the ground.  Never had your rage and bitterness been so pronounced.  With rushed apologised and fervent glares, your parents all but ran you out of the principles office.  

“I just don’t know what else to do for you”, your dad bristled in the car on the way home. “We’ve done everything for you, this life; it was all for you!” He was close to yelling, and you could see the flush creeping up his neck.  Your mom patted his arm. “We just want what’s best for you, sweetheart, but you have to work with us," her tone cloying as she eyed you in the rearview mirror. You said nothing; arms crossed, glare fixed out the window.  

The punishment came swiftly, suspension from the last few weeks of school, no prom, no attending school fixtures, no admittance to school property  - oh no, what a nightmare!-you rolled your eyes as your dad laid out the terms set out by your school.  Then there were your parent's terms.  Grounded, obviously, for the whole summer.  That’s what would fix it, they decided.  You had been sent to your room and told to pack up all your books, comics and music. You tried to resist until your dad informed you that if you didn’t pack it up - neatly and respectfully- he’d come back with trash bags, and you would never see any of your precious things again.  So you spent your night putting the only things that brought joy into your life in boxes.  They were placed in the attic, which was always locked.  “You’ll get them back when you can show us the little girl we raised,” your mom said as you cried silently, watching your lifelines slip away.  You scoffed at that “that they raised”?  They didn’t even really know you.   

-⌘-

You sequestered yourself in your room for three days.  You only came out for meals when your dad screamed at you from the bottom of the stairs, threatening your beloved things over and over.  The silent treatment was your crowning glory; not even grunts of acknowledgement passed your lips—glares from your bloodshot eyes were the only conveyer of your displeasure. 

It was on day four that your dad finally broke.  They had taken it in turns to stay home, ensuring you stuck to the terms of your grounding, and your ever gloomy presence was wearing on their nerves. I mean, really, how could they ever be expected to put up with a whole summer of this?  “I’VE HAD ENOUGH”, your dad bellowed that evening at dinner, “Jim dear, please don’t shout,” your mom cooed, “No, Mary, I’m done.  I won’t have someone under my roof that doesn’t want to be here.  Who can’t even acknowledge her parents when they speak to her.  I’ve had it! This is not what Harringtons do!” You knew it was bad when dad brought up the family name.  He rarely did, and you knew why.  He felt inferior to his brother, who, as far as you were all aware, never had any trouble. Not finding a job, not with his family, not with his town.  You knew your dad was jealous of the life that came so easily to your Uncle.  “It’s time you learned what it is to be a family”, he continued. “You need some better examples in your life; these peers of yours have filled your head with rocks.” His face was approaching a dangerous shade of purple as he continued to rant and rave about how disappointing you were. 

You seethed silently, glaring at your mashed potatoes -As he started muttering.  “ they never had these sorts of problems with Steve; hell, the kid even graduated despite having a concussion most of last year”. The family is very proud of Steve, the basketball player.  No one blamed him he missed out on a scholarship because of his mystery concussions.  No one even questioned why he’d been beaten up so many times.  You had tuned out your dad's ramblings for a minute, thinking about how different you and your cousin had become.  

“It's decided.  She’s going to Hawkins.”

[whumpnovice]

Sicktember 2022 "Do you know how to take care of a sick person?" Original Story

This is my first post ever. I love the hurt/comfort fics and I decided to try myself" I'm a non native english speaker, so please feel free to correct me if there's any mistake. I'm still learning to use Tumblr, so I'm sorry if I'm doing something wrong. This story is part of a steampunk-ish story I've been writing since a few years ago and this chapter was written using Dreamily ai as help, mainly with english phrases.

Summary: A young couple, a noble lady and her personal servant were forced to move to a small cold town due to political reasons. She's been feeling down the weather, but with no doctors or nurses near to help, he'll have to figure out how to help and comfort her.

"Do You Know How To Take Care of a Sick Person?"

No. Actually, he had no idea.

Len looked at Terry, the person lying on the bed. She seemed to be sleeping, but her breathing was fast and shallow, and her skin was covered in sweat, making her hair stick to her cheeks and forehead.

Len sat on a chair at her bedside, watching her closely. That morning she said she was feeling "tired" so she would take a nap. That was around eight hours ago, and she hadn't come out of her room. He grew worried so he went to check on her and found her lying on the bed with her everyday clothes still on. He could hear her breathing and the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall, which made him a little nervous. He got up and touched her forehead just to confirm what he feared: she had a fever.

He sighed in frustration. What was he supposed to do? They had not medicines at the house, and they lived alone. Besides, since they arrived to that little town their neighbors seemed to be wary of them and avoided them actively. It would take a while to gain their trust, so probably it was not a good idea to ask for help.

There was a time when they were not alone, back at her family's manor, where doctors and other servants were there to take care of her when she got sick. Since Terry was a child, she was somewhat prone to respiratory diseases, so it was not that unusual for her to be sick in bed. When that happened, it usually meant that her parents had already called a medic and two nurses to take care of her, day and night, so he would be temporarily removed from his duty, sometimes only being there to keep her company. So, he had never taken care of a sick person, and now he was at a complete loss.

He sighed in frustration once again and tried to relax. He looked at the place they had ended up at. An abandoned house in a small and cold town. They had fixed the wooden house best they could, but that was far from being decent. The lost everything in a single day and since then, they knew what being cold and hungry meant. Len shook his head trying to erase the anxiety, and got up. He went to the kitchen and brought an old rag along with some cold water and put it on the night stand. He put a pillow underneath Terry's head and gently laid the wet cloth over her forehead. She moved a little, and the cold sensation on her face made her wake up.

She turned to look at Len, who was sitting by the side of her bed.

"How long did I sleep?" she asked while sitting up, making the wet rag fall on her legs."

"Around eight hours." He answered emotionless.

"Oh..." she said, rubbing her eyes.

"Milady, are you feeling sick?" he asked with concern.

She shook her head and smiled. "No, no. I'm fine."

He looked her right at the eyes and gave her a serious stare. "Are you sure, milady?" he demanded.

"Y-yes," she said, trying to get up, but as soon as she stood up the dizziness hit her. She fell back on the bed, holding her chest with one hand. Len looked at her worriedly.

"How long have you been feeling like this?" He asked as he helped her lie down again. She closed her eyes.

"I think two or three days... " She said weakly.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I'm sorry... I.... I thought I was just tired and... I thought I just had to sleep it off"

He placed the damp rag back on her forehead.

"Lady Terry... have you been...?"

Terry groaned. He knew what he was going to ask. She had been working at the basement fixing an abandoned machine she found in the nearby forest. It was a huge war machine that ran on steam. And to produce steam, it needed coal. Several years ago, when she was a child, she spent many, many hours with her father, working on steam machines, learning from him everything there was to know about them. The workshop was always full of all kind of machines. Usually big projects needed huge amounts of coal to work, and when it was loaded into them it produced coal dust. Being there, she couldn't avoid breathing some of it, which turned out to be specially harmful for her lungs, and she had been really sick at least two times when she was around six and nine years old.

Len looked at her, waiting for her response.

"Just a little..." she replied, somewhat angry" Len, listen... I don't think..."

"Why weren't you careful? Lady Terry, you know your lungs are...

"My lungs aren't weak!" Terry interrupted him. Her voice sounded angry. Her mother and her grandmother had asthma, and everyone back at the manor said that she would probably have it too. She had never had an attack in her life, but she hated that everyone at the manor treated her like she had "weak lungs" as her mother used to say, and tried to keep her away from her father workshop. She knew that the real reason was because her mothe hated that Terry couldn't be a proper lady, and instead of wearing a dress and behave like the noble lady she was, she would prefer working with machines and get her hands dirty with coal and lubricant oil. It was like her mother was trying to curse her with this condition.

Len kept looking at her. She let the anger fade. She didn't want to hurt his feelings. Behind Len's serious look, there was genuine concern for her. They only had each other in that faraway town, and they could only trust each other.

"I'm sorry." she said with a weak voice, and relaxed over the bed. "I really tried not to breathe a lot of coal. I swear. And I'm sure I didn't... at least not as much as when I worked with... my father..." she sighed "I'm sure this is just a cold" she added after a few seconds.

"Does your chest hurt?" he asked, checking the way she breathed. It seemed normal, but a little fast.

She shook her head in response. "My throat is a little sore, but that's all"

"Are you sure?" He asked with an even more serious expression. Back in the manor, she usually didn't tell anyone how ill she felt, she used to hide her symptoms and she was really good at it. Almost no one would notice if she was sick until she collapsed. He looked right into her eyes, but she seemed to be saying the truth.

Terry nodded and smiled. "Don't worry. I'm sure I'll be fine in a few days"

"Ok" Len tried to smile back, but it faltered a little "I'll bring you some hot tea"

Len headed to the kitchen to make the tea. He put water to boil and took one cup out of the drawer. It was a metal cup. Plain. Old. Even had a dent near the base. Not anything like the fancy ceramic ones they used back at the manor. Expensive tea cups made specially for the Gwynfred family, decorated by the best artisans of the entire nation. He then served the boiling water from the pot, but he was careless and he touched the hot metal with his bare hand. In pain, he dropped the tea cup and let a gasp out. The metal cup made a loud sound when it hit the floor spilling the hot liquid everywhere; but luckily, the hot water only touched part of his clothes.

Len put his hurt finger in his mouth. He was so upset at himself for being careless, not only this time, but his entire life. Terry's mother had always scolded him for breaking expensive tableware or sculptures, messing up the cutlery, and for forgetting important schedules for the family. Perhaps if he wasn't so clumsy, he would be able to take good care of Terry now that she was sick. What would his father think? His Father, Maxwell Hagen, a butler from a well known lineage that had served the Gwynfred family for generations, would surely be disappointed. He wasn't even able to take proper care of his sick master. He took deep breaths to calm his mind, and started cleaning the mess with a towel.

He didn't notice that a few teardrops were running down his cheeks. Then he felt a cold sensation on his hand. He looked up to find Terry grabbing his hand to put in cold water.

"Milady, what are you doing here? You should be in bed. You are sick!" he said, putting his hand over hers.

"I know, but I couldn't just ignore the fact that you hurt your finger. Here, let me see it." She said as she pulled his hand away from the water and looked at his fingers.

She noticed a small red mark, where the hot metal had touched his finger.

"It's nothing serious" said Len.

"I know, but I'm sure it hurts" she said, remembering when she burn her fingers when touching a hot metal steam pipe.

Len was saying the truth, it wasn't serious and most likely it wouldn't even leave a scar. She took a piece of the same wet rag Len had put on her forehead, and made an improvised bandage for his finger. Meanwhile, Len looked at her. She seemed to be dizzy and she looked kind of pale. Her skin was still covered in a layer of sweat, and her hair stuck to her sweaty forehead. She was even breathing heavily as though she was exhausted from running a marathon. He touched her forehead with the back of his palm, feeling the heat coming from her feverish skin, perhaps even higher than a while ago.

"You're still burning up..." he whispered. "Go back to bed.

She nodded and walked slowly towards her room, dragging her feet.

Len followed behind her. After a few steps, she suddenly stopped, feeling her legs weak and almost falling. He rushed forward to support her, placing both his arms around her waist, but she managed to steady herself before completely collapsing.

"I'm ok... I just..." she began to say, but couldn't continue.

Len put her arm over his shoulder and tried to pick her up, but he wasn't strong enough. Even though Terry had a rather petit body, he was even smaller and he wasn't strong enough to carry her back to her room. He let her lean part of her weight on him, and helped her to the bedroom.

"Len, I can walk" she insisted.

He didn't answer, and helped her sit down on the bed carefully. She was shaking and breathing heavily. "Lie down, lady Terry." He said putting the blanket over her body, covering only the lower part of her body to keep her comfortable and fresh.

"Len?" she said looking at her.

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For taking care of me."she said weakly trying to draw a smile.

Len felt a lump on his throat that didn't allow him to say a word.

"You always worry about me... " she continued. "Maybe a little too much. And even though I'm selfish and constantly get absorbed into my work, you are there to take care of me. So don't worry now. I promise I'll be better soon"

Her words made him feel strange inside. He stood beside the bed watching her lying there, shivering and breathing fast, looking at him with her gray eyes. She had a small and vulnerable appearance. She looked like she was barely holding together under that horrible fever.

"Rest now, lady Terry"

She smiled slightly. "I will. Good night, Len"

"Good night, milady."

[bonnyskies]

come back to me [thirteen] ⇢ jjk

you’re willing to do anything to save your marriage, even if that meant you’d have to sacrifice your own happiness to do so.

pairing — husband!jungkook x malereader, ft. ceo!jaehyun

genre — angst, sexual themes, idol au, exes to lovers-ish au, open relationship au, marriage au, parents au

series warnings — infidelity (kinda?), swearing, bisexual!jungkook, jealous!jungkook, insecure!reader, unhealthy relationship, unrequited love-ish, slow burn, use of alcohol, mentions of divorce problems, (more could be added in future chapters)

word count — 4.2k

author’s note: it’s finally here, ladies and gentlemen. sorry that it took so long to release.

masterlist

Jungkook didn’t a get a single ounce of sleep.

Last night, he was too busy being constantly haunted by your mother’s words for him to even close his eyes for a second.

You better not screw this up.

The words echoed inside his mind for hours, keeping him wide awake and staring up at his bedroom’s blank ceiling. He didn’t know what she meant by that.

She doesn’t know about your guys’ divorce. The only people that knew were his hyungs and Aerum, and they all swore not to tell anyone. So what else could she be talking about?

Jungkook didn’t realize how long he spent laying awake, thinking and wondering until the sound of small and loud footsteps could heard from outside his door—it was you and Minho. If you two were up and running around already, then it must be morning.

Jungkook got out of bed and before leaving his room he took a glance at himself in the mirror. He looked so sleep deprived—which he was. His eyes were slightly red, bags were evident underneath them and his hair was messy and skin pale.

When entering the kitchen, Jungkook couldn’t help but feel his heart ache at the sight in front of him for some reason. Seeing you already making breakfast with Minho on top of the counter, playing with your phone. It reminded him of back then, when he’d wake up and come downstairs to find you cooking breakfast while Minho ‘pretended’ to help you prepare. He’d greet you with a good morning kiss and a pinch on the cheek for his son.

Now, he couldn’t do that. The only thing he could do is watch from a distance, and it was nobody’s fault but his.

“Hey,” the sound of your soft, yet raspy voice broke Jungkook out of his thoughts, eyes wide and staring right at you. “Are you hungry? Minho and I are making pancakes,” you said, smiling at your son who gave you a toothy grin in return.

“Y-Yeah, sure.” Jungkook’s voice cracked, which he tried to hide by clearing his throat. “Do you need help with anything?”

You shook your head, eyes trained on the stove. “No, I’m okay. We’re just about done.”

Jungkook nodded and sat down at the table, eyes following you as you carried the plates of freshly made pancakes to the table. The sweet scent of the cooked batter filled Jungkook’s nostrils, bringing an instant smile on his lips. You were—still are a fantastic cook.

The three of you didn’t waste any time before consuming the food.

Most the meal was spent in silence.

It didn’t take long for you three to finish eating.

With you and Jungkook cleaning up the dishes, Minho was now in the living room watching his cartoons—and still, neither of you have spoken a word to each other since before breakfast.

But then, you were the first to break the silence. “So what do you want to do today?”

Jungkook froze, the question surprising him. He hasn’t put much thought into it. He was too busy being anxious about today instead of actually planning something. “I-I don’t know. What do you want to do today?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I’m not sure. How about we go to the mall, or the beach and just walk around? We have to whole day to kill. My eomma is picking Minho up any minute and won’t come back with him until tonight at ten.”

“Yeah, that sounds good—” the sound of someone knocking on the door cut Jungkook off.

It was your mother.

Jungkook glanced up at the clock that hung above the door and his heart quickened when seeing that it was only half past eight. If your mother was here to pick up Minho already, that meant you two would be spending more than twelve hours together, alone.

You walked past a stunned Jungkook and opened the door for your mother, greeting her with a warm smile. “Hey eomma, Minho is in the living room watching cartoons.”

“Great,” she clapped her hands excitingly, stepping inside so that you were able to close the door behind her. “We’re going to go do some shopping, get some ice cream, and take him to the Waikiki park.”

“That sounds fun.” Jungkook commented, and you couldn’t help but notice the hard stare your mother briefly sent him.

“So what do you two have planned for today?”

You and Jungkook both glanced at each other. “We aren’t really sure on what we’re going to do today,” you answered. “We might just walk around Ala Moana or the beach.”

You could hear your mother sigh. “Well, it’s good that you’ll be there then because I happen to have made a reservation for the both of you at this really nice restaurant—I’ll send you the information.”

Before you had the chance even say anything your mother was already taking Minho and rushing out of the door. And not even a second later your phone vibrated in your pocket, and when checking you could see that it was the reservations your mother was talking about.

You and Jungkook had reservations at a restaurant called Akasaka inside the Ala Moana center at six o’clock tonight. That means you two have about ten hours to kill, alone. The only problem is that neither of you know what to do.

It’s been almost a year since you two have spent time alone together—like real time alone.

Once you two were alone, you and Jungkook only shared glances at one another in silence before going your separate ways—you going to your room while he stayed in the living room.

Now, the only thing you two would do is wait for the time to arrive—very anxiously.

Jungkook stood in his room, staring at himself in the mirror and taking in his appearance.

He was dressed in a nice gray collared shirt with a couple buttons unbuttoned, revealing his sharp collarbone and a pair of black jeans. He couldn’t stop shaking as he would occasionally glance down at his phone, watching as the time changed and slowly approach five.

You two were about to leave soon for dinner.

Jungkook wondered if you were just as nervous as he was right now. Yes, you were.

On the other side of the door, in your own room you were trembling from anxiety just as bad as he was, hands shaking and sweat forming on your forehead.

It felt like a first date all over again—no! This wasn’t like it at all. Your first date with Jungkook wasn’t nerve wracking, it was easy. There wasn’t no awkward silence or a tensed atmosphere, conversation flowed smoothly between you two as if you both have known each other for years.

Instead, it felt like you were meeting a stranger for the first time instead an actual first date.

That’s when realization struck you. You were going on a date with Jungkook—a real one. The first real one in almost a year and you two were going to be alone, without Minho to help clear the tensed atmosphere between you two.

The sound of a gentle knock on your door broke you out of your thoughts, heart stammering before speaking in a low voice, “Yes?”

“Are you ready?” Even without seeing his face, you could already tell he was just as nervous judging from the sound of his uneasy voice on the other side of the door. “Our reservation is in less than hour, and if we want to make it we have to leave now.”

“Y-Yeah,” you quickly spewed out. “I’m ready.”

When opening the door, you and Jungkook were both left stunned and speechless at the sight of each other. Even though the both of you were dressed in such simple outfits—you being in a dark red and black flannel long sleeve and a pair of denim skinny jeans, you two still managed to take the other’s breath away.

That’s how it’s always been between you two. No matter how simple something is, you both never failed to leave the other breathless.

“Y-You—” Jungkook paused, his wide eyes briefly scanning your figure. “You look nice.”

You couldn’t hide the blush creeping on your cheeks, even by lowering your head to conceal your face. “Thanks, you too.”

“Are you ready to go?” You only nodded.

When leaving the leaving the hotel, you and Jungkook didn’t dare touch each other, regardless that you two were still believed to be a happy couple to the public. It’s not that the thought of it disgust either of you, but you both didn’t know what the other wanted. So, the two of you settled with the simple gesture of your shoulders just barely brushing against each other.

But still—it was enough.

The journey to the restaurant was tense.

Throughout the entire drive to Ala Moana, walking through the large outdoor mall, neither of you spoke to the other.

It’s not that you didn’t want to—it was just that neither of you knew what to say to each other.

When arriving at the restaurant, you couldn’t help but feel your heart drop into your stomach. Before it almost felt like a normal day, but now as you stood inside a fancy restaurant beside Jungkook—it all now felt real. You were here, with him, on a date.

“Reservation for—” Jungkook suddenly paused, voice stumbling. You noticed how he glanced at you a brief moment before continuing, “—for the Jeons.”

Your heart clenched inside your chest.

“Oh, yes.” The hostess nodded her head, grabbing two menus with a smile on her face. “Follow me, please.”

As you and Jungkook followed the hostess, multiple whispers could be heard by the other guests of the restaurant, their words making your heart ache even more.

“Is that Jeon Jungkook?”

“He’s here with his husband, they must be on a date right now.”

“Is it true that they have been together for more than ten years?”

“Yeah, they’ve been dating ever since they were teenagers.”

“I remember back then some ARMY didn’t trust {Name}, accusing him for using Jungkook for money and fame. But look at them now, they’re happily married and even have a kid.”

“They’re so in love—true soulmates!”

That last one hurt.

“Your table, gentlemen.” The hostess stopped, gesturing towards the neatly prepared table meant for only two people.

“Thank you,” you and Jungkook both said at the same time, briefly eyeing each other. The hostess bowed her head in reply before leaving.

Before you had the chance to sit down, you were shock to see Jungkook step forward and pull your chair out for you, your heart fluttering when seeing the tiny smile on his lips. But nonetheless, you thanked him with a small nod before sitting down.

“This place is nice,” Jungkook commented as he then took his own seat across from you after pushing you in.

“Yeah, eomma did great choosing this place.” You agreed, opening the menu with your still trembling hands, still shaking from the anxiety you were currently feeling.

Jungkook also opened up his menu, but his attention wasn’t on it. Instead, he was more focused on you, watching as your eyes repeatedly scanned the menu’s pages while nibbling on your bottom lip and nose scrunching, a habit that you do whenever you were trying to concentrate.

He always found it adorable. “See anything you like?”

You raised your head up to meet his eyes, “Nothing yet. What about you?”

Jungkook hasn’t taken a single glance at it yet. “Yeah, me neither. How about we get some miso soup as an appetizer, so that we have at least something to eat while we continue to think?”

You nodded, “That sounds good.”

That was the only time you two spoke.

Dinner was long over, and the tensed atmosphere that surround you and Jungkook never went away.

Now, as you two walked through Ala Moana, the distance you both shared between was greater than before, not daring to brush your shoulders against one another.

While your mind remained nearly silent, Jungkook’s was being constantly haunted by your mother’s words echoing inside his head. “You better not screw this up.”

Did he screw it up?

Yes, even though neither of you weren’t really expecting to have a day for each other, he also didn’t want it be like this—awkward and tense. Jungkook couldn’t help but think back to the many nights you two would share with one another, how the both of you could start and hold a conversation with each other so easily.

But now, neither of you couldn’t even form a single word without stuttering.

As you two continued to walk through the mall, Jungkook couldn’t stop himself from glancing at you every now and then, eyes scanning and taking in the emotionless expression on your face as your own gaze remained in front of you.

That’s when Jungkook began to notice the small changes in you once again. Ever since the fallout between you two, he hasn’t had much of a chance to actually look at you. But now, as you stood right beside him he couldn’t help but notice how much you’ve changed.

The once happy, welcoming smile that was always accompaning your face was replaced with lips formed in a cold, passionless straight line. And the heartwarming glint that used to always shine in your eyes was gone and instead filled with an empty void of nothing but darkness. And lastly your neck—the place that Jungkook used to picture as an artist’s beautiful canvas, one that he always used to covered with marks, both loving and intimate marks. But now, it was nothing but an artist’s empty canvas, one that hasn’t been touched or painted on in so long.

As Jungkook’s eyes continued to observe you, he then made one last shocking discovery that made his heart ache inside his chest. Down on your left hand, a certain piece of small jewelry was missing—your wedding ring.

Jungkook then glanced down at his own hand, staring at the metal band that remained around his finger for the past ten years. To this day, he still hasn’t take his off even though your guys’ relationship ended long ago—and nobody was to blame but himself. A part of him thought it was just him being a forgetful person, always forgetting remove the wedding band but he knew that deep down, he just couldn’t. He always thought there was a small chance for your guys’ marriage to be fixed, but as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, he just gave up—and again, nobody was at fault except for him.

The thought your relationship officially ending struck a nerve inside Jungkook. Tonight can’t end this way, not if this might be the last time you two would ever be alone together.

Just the thought of it made his heart ache.

He had to make this night memorable—for you, and for him.

“Do you want to get some ice cream?” Jungkook spoke up for the first time since the start of dinner, making you turn your head and raise a brow at him confusingly.

You followed the direction where he nodded, eyes falling on a Dippin Dots cart, creating an instant smile on your lips. You turned back towards him and nodded your head eagerly, “Yes, please!”

Jungkook grinned. Dippin Dots is your favorite.

You couldn’t help but release a small gasp when sudddenly feeling his fingers lace with yours and started to pull you towards the small cart.

“Hello, kind gentlemen.” The woman behind the counter greeted. “What would you two like?”

You opened your mouth speak, but Jungkook answered before you could. “Yes, can we get one medium cotton candy and one medium chocolate, please?”

You were left speechless. He still remembered your favorite flavor—cotten candy? You can’t even remember the last you two went out for ice cream, usually you’d already have some at home but it would be Minho’s favorite flavor instead, oreo.

The cashier nodded her head and began to make your orders. And at the same time, both you and Jungkook reached for your wallets.

“No, I can pay—” you tried speak at the same time Jungkook also said, “I’ve got it.”

You opened your mouth to argue but Jungkook interrupted, repeating in a more serious tone. “I’ve got it, {Name}. It’s date night remember?”

Your heart clenched inside your chest when date night came out of his mouth, taking your breath away. It wasn’t him saying that that made your chest tighten and breath quicken, but the way he said it. How smoothly it came out.

You could only bow your head gratefully, scared that if opened your mouth only incoherent words would come out.

Jungkook grinned down at you, noticing your flushed expression. After paying for your guys’ desert he thanked the cashier and handed you your cup before leaving, you following after.

The moment the sweet taste of Dippin Dots touched your lips a large smile instantly formed on your face, which only made Jungkook’s one grow even wider.

After that, you and Jungkook continued to walk through Ala Moana, but this time was different. You didn’t know whether it was the sweet taste distracting your mind or not, but conversations now carried on so smoothly between you two, along with cheerful smiles and playful laughter. Like the tensed atmosphere that surrounded you two at the start of tonight simply vanished.

It almost felt like a real date.

“—and I’m telling you,” releasing a chuckle, you shoved another spoonful of your ice cream into your mouth. “She’s been out for me long before I introduced you to my family, and I don’t even know why.”

“Okay, okay.” Jungkook snickered, taking another scoop of his ice cream into his mouth. “I believe you—I was just wondering, that’s all. Maybe she’s just jealous of you.”

That made you instantly choke on your food. “Jealous of me? You’re insane, there’s no way. Why in the world of she be jealous of me?”

Your words left Jungkook stunned in place. “Are you serious? Have you seen yourself?”

You could feel your cheeks become flushed by his words. “What do you mean?”

Jungkook sighed, feeling his own cheeks begin to heat up at the sight of your flustering face. “What I’m trying to say is, is that you two are polar opposites. She’s jealous that you’re constantly praised by others while she isn’t.”

“T-That’s not true—”

“Yes, it is!” Jungkook exclaimed vigorously. “You managed to get a job at one of the most successful companies in South Korea without anyone’s help. And not just any job, but as the CEO’s personal assistant. You also helped organize the business agreement between Jung Enterpise and BigHit Entertainment—one of the best partnerships known in the twentieth century. You already made a name for yourself in the business world and you’re not even thirty yet, {Name}.”

“Jiyoo’s jealous that everybody recognizes your accomplishments and doesn’t mentions hers,” Jungkook continued to add. “But can you really blame them? Everything she has was practically handed to her while you worked hard through your blood, sweat and tears—of course everybody is going to praise you on that.”

You lowered your head, trying to hide the evident heat on your cheeks. It was like your entire face was on fire now from hearing all those compliments spewing out of Jungkook’s mouth.

“Seriously, {Name}—” you froze when feeling his hand grasping onto your wrist. “She has no right treating you this way when you have been nothing but kind to her.”

“Passively aggressive, you should say.” You corrected him, earning a small chuckle.

“I’m just saying, {Name}.” Jungkook shook his head playfully. “She should be grateful, instead of treating you so negatively. If it weren’t for you, then she wouldn’t be where she is now. The only reason she’s a model is because you managed to get your eomeoni to make her one her company’s models. And—” a small, teasing smirk then grew on Jungkook’s lips. “—I even persuaded BigHit to make her one the extras in our music video just to get a certain guy’s attention...”

Your eyes instantly widened. “So that’s why she suddenly got a temporary job at BigHit!” You exclaimed, jabbing your finger accusingly at Jungkook’s chest. “You needed to make a reason for me to approach you and ask how she got one there.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Jungkook smiled proudly.

You just rolled your eyes. “You told me that she auditioned to be an extra in your music video. So you lied to me then?”

“Of course I did,” instantly spewed out of him. “I couldn’t tell you my plan, could I?”

“Jeon Jeongguk,” you spoke with such seriousness in your voice but still had a small grin on your lips. “You’re quite the strategist, aren’t you? How did you know that was going to work on me?”

“Because I could just tell you’re a family man.” Jungkook answered, smiling. “And I knew that if I got your cousin a job you’d have to come and ask me about it.”

You couldn’t help yourself from chuckling and shaking your head. “Oh my god, you’re insane.” You knew exactly when and what music video he was talking about too. “I’ve heard that it took nearly triple the amount of takes to film that music video than usually does for a normal one and that Jiyoo was the reason for it,” you mentioned. “Was it worth it? To go through all that trouble just to get my attention?”

“For you,” Jungkook’s voice softened, making your heart skip a beat. “Of course.”

And that’s when your heart completely bursted. “You know you could’ve just come up and talk to me, right?”

“Yeah, but what’s the fun in that.” Jungkook shrugged, smirking and heart fluttering at the sight of your laughing expression. “It’s all about that first impression, and there’s nothing better than being known as the guy that secretly got your family member a job at one of the most well-known companies in South Korea.”

You just shook your head again playfully. “Alright, stupid.”

Jungkook pouted, “Hey, you were happy when you found out, weren’t you?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing and nudging his shoulder, “Yes, I was happy. Thank you, Kookie.”

Jungkook’s heart stopped and felt himself freeze in his spot, causing you turn to face him with a confused expression. You didn’t realize what you just said—and, he hasn’t heard you call him by that in a long long time.

“Are you alright?”

Jungkook instantly nodded, clearing his throat. “Y-Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Let’s go.”

As you two continued to walk through the mall, Jungkook would now always glance your way even when you two weren’t conversing. And he couldn’t help but stare at the wide smile that accompanied your face and the bright glint in your eyes.

You looked truly stunning.

He couldn’t remember the last time you were actually genuinely happy, and it pained him that he was reason for that.

Noticing the puzzled look on Jungkook’s face, you stopped. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I-I am.” No, he wasn’t. “Actually, there’s something I need to tell you.”

You raised a brow, urging him to continue.

“Listen,” Jungkook’s voice was trembling, hands shaking as well. “I’m sorry—” the sound of his phone suddenly ringing interrupted him, and when he went to check on it, the name that flashed on the screen left you both speechless.

incoming call: babygirl

Jungkook glanced back at you, heart clenching when seeing the smile on your face and glint in your eyes instantly vanish. “{Name}—”

“We should head back, it’s almost ten.”

“No, {Name} wait—” Jungkook tried to call you out but you were already walking away, leaving him behind.

“Fuck!” Jungkook cursed loudly, glancing back down at his phone and staring at the name that flashed brightly on his screen before pressing the ‘decline’ button and rushing after you.

“So, how was the date?”

That was the first thing your mother said when Jungkook opened the door for her, allowing her to step inside and taking a sleeping Minho from her arms.

You were busy taking a shower.

“It went...alright,” was Jungkook’s answer and your mother could instantly hear the hesitation in his voice.

“Just alright? So nothing happened then?” Jungkook nodded, and her smile dropped. “Why?”

“It’s not easy, eomeoni.” Jungkook started, “{Name} and I have baggage that we haven’t really talked about yet and—”

“—and this was the perfect opportunity to talk and fix everything,” your mother interrupted. “Listen, Jungkook. I don’t think you want your marriage to end. I just think you’re scared that you messed up so bad that it’s unfixable, so you won’t even try.”

Jungkook opened his mouth, but no words came out so he just slowly nodded.

“Then this is your chance, honey.” Your mother was always fond of Jungkook, and she refused to believe that your guys’ marriage was failing. “Tomorrow, make some plans for a family day. You know how much {Name} love those type of days.”

Jungkook nodded. “It’ll be a way for you three to reconnect, because I know this whole thing has been tough for Minho too.”

The sound of Jungkook’s phone ringing again made him tense, and judging from the sudden change of his demeanor your mother instantly knew who was calling him. “And you also need to make a decision.”

Again, Jungkook nodded. “Yes, eomeoni.”

“Alright, well I should get going.” With his free hand, Jungkook reached over and opened the door for your mother. But before she left, she said one last thing that left him speechless and heart dropping.

“This is your last chance to fix your relationship, Jungkook. Because once this trip is over—so will be your marriage.”

“I-I understand, eomeoni.”

After your mother left and putting Minho to bed, Jungkook found himself pacing around anxiously in his room with his phone in hand. Glancing down on at the screen, he then called the person that has been running through his mind for past half-hour.

“Hey, baby.” Yeonha voice rang through his ear. “I’ve been trying to call you—”

“We need to talk, Yeonha.”

this is just the beginning... ;)

TAGLIST:

@xworldwidecutieguyx, @yoongis-soulmate, @jikookvfans, @heartfeltscribblings,@chrissfuk, @blazedprince, @btsfaris, @sonderkook, @angel-moni, @http-je0n, @magic-fox-555, @moonfairyjoon, @taozibun1, @ephemeralkookie, @thesquiglybumblebee, @httpjazel, @justqueerandhereforthetea, @dreamer95, @singabon-roll, @its-your-dreamworld, @fancykoos, @galaxyeyedjungkook, @nlnkm, @you-need-namjesus, @teuteusstuff, @moon-asia, @julia-pacheco-blog, @0minabean0, @pjmislovely, @polly-wifu, @jinsonaz, @unsolvetheheckoutofit

[antipodeanpineapplelump]

Dear Starshot, I recently saw your latest artwork for #Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura and I am DYING to learn more about this AU. If you're comfortable sharing, is there anything you can disclose about it?? Is this related to the ItaShi Indiana Jones AU you mentioned before?!!?!?!?!!

Hi Birk, thank you so much for dropping by with this ask! Are you really voluntarily asking me to talk about my current obsession and fanfic baby though? Because I warn you, you may live to regret that!!!

"Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura" is now the official title of my ItaShi Indiana Jones AU. I realise it’s been over a year since I first mentioned it, and it’s still a WIP! Pretty sure that says absolutely nothing good about the speed of my writing, but a lot about how busy my life outside of fandom is. Anyhow, it’s definitely one of those AUs that’s got away on me. I was planning one story initially, but now it’s kind of turned into three (plus a cracky oneshot), and this is just the first.

I’ve planned nine chapters total so far, but the bane of my life is currently number four. It’s sitting at 16,000 words and counting. Succinct writing? I’ve certainly never heard of it… So anyway, I kind of hit a wall there and decided to take a little break to come back with fresh eyes. That’s how I ended up working on the art instead. But I’d say I’m probably about halfway through the first draft (47,000-ish words).

I recently shared the opening scene and my draft cover artwork here. Ummm… what else can I tell you? Madara is the main bad guy, and he’s definitely a few sandwiches short of a picnic. Shisui is an agent of disaster and chaos. Itachi is really… not. So their initial interactions go about as well as you could expect.

All the main characters have extensive back stories. I’m pretty sure you’re already familiar with my Machiavellian worldbuilding tendencies from reading Red Dawn, so it goes without saying I have just as many notes and plans, and as much fleshed out worldbuilding for this story too. And it will take a long time for all of that to be revealed! But the overarching theme is probably found family, which is different to anything I’ve done before.

At this risk of revealing too much, or boring you to tears, I’ll finish with another sneak peek, this time from Itachi’s POV:

When Itachi wakes, there’s nothing to suggest his day is going to be anything but routine.

He gets up at dawn as per usual, eating breakfast at the dining table alone, legs tucked beneath him on a comfortable zabuton. The solitude at this hour of day is something he prefers. It’s the only time the family home is quiet anymore—lacking the cold disapproval of his father’s increasingly judgemental lectures, the anger of his younger brother’s rebellion, or the resigned acquiescence of his mother.

By now, Fugaku should have left for work, and it’s still too early for Sasuke to be awake, given how late he’s been staying out at night. Either to irritate their father, or just avoid him entirely, he’s taken to frequenting the clubs and bars in Osaka. Mostly, he comes home. Some nights, he doesn’t.

More often than not, even when he is home his door is closed, the thumping bass line of some song or another seeping out from beneath it. Likely because he knows this angers their father even more than the leather jackets and spiked punk-rock hair style he now sports.

Part of Itachi has been glad to discover his brother possesses more of a spine than he ever has. But at the same time, Sasuke’s rejection of every last one of their father’s rules has only brought more unwanted scrutiny to Itachi’s far more minor transgressions. It’s as though, having decided his younger child is a lost cause, Fugaku now wants to be absolutely certain his eldest son and heir to the Uchiha family fortune is beyond reproach. To smother him with expectations until he emerges, a diamond from beneath the pressure.

But unbeknownst to Fugaku, Itachi has one flaw he can’t change. And it means that, no matter what, he’ll always be a failure in his father’s eyes.

Sighing, he swallows a mouthful of rice and fish, washing it down with the sweetened barley tea he favours. Pulling this month’s edition of Modern Archaeology across the table, he inspects its glossy cover and promptly chokes on his drink.

The face that smiles up from the page stokes a knot of hot irritation in his gut. Furiously, he skips to the article, skim-reading the text, despite the fact he knows it will only annoy him further.

"An up-and-coming star in the field of archaeology, particularly specialising in South-American cultures, Shisui Uchiha is an increasingly well-known fixture of the San Diego research scene. Curiously for someone so entrenched in the study of history, he is famously reticent when it comes to his own. ‘I did spend my early years in Japan,’ he confirms when pressed. ‘But I haven’t been back in a long time. The United States is my home now.’ Asked about his connection to the famous Uchiha family, he merely winks enigmatically. ‘Never heard of them,’ he says, before asking if we’d like a one-on-one tour of the dig site.

Equally at home in dusty ruins as surfing the palm-lined SoCal beaches, or scaling the cliffs of his native Joshua Tree National Park, he nonetheless shines in group settings too. At the party we attend that evening, to celebrate the opening of a new Aztec exhibit at the Museo Nacional de Antropología in Mexico City, he easily charms the crowd, finishing the night with at least half a dozen new admirers. It’s not hard to see why they like him. A conversation with Shisui is exercise in passion and obscure historical knowledge. Even so, much like the dig sites he frequents, it’s hard to say just how much of what he presents to the world runs more than surface-deep.

His motto in life? ‘Fall seven times, stand up eight,’ Shisui says with a charismatic smile. Where did he learn it? Chuckling, he brushes us off. ‘The school of hard knocks.’

Love him or hate him, one thing is certain—we haven’t seen the last of Shisui Uchiha’s brand of archaeology.”

Hate him, Itachi thinks, sipping his tea viciously enough to scald his tongue and immediately regretting it. Definitely hate. Hate how he’s reckless, impulsive, irresponsible, and doesn’t seem to take a single thing seriously. Hate that it looks like he’s never had to work hard for anything a day in his life—people only too happy to hand him whatever he wants on a silver platter, charmed by a pretty smile. Hate the fact that, despite their shared family name, he’s free to do whatever he likes. Hate the way people flock to him, falling into his orbit—and by all accounts, bed—like it’s somehow inevitable. And hate, most of all, that there’s a small part of Itachi which understands why.

Because hate or love him—and it’s definitely hate—there’s no denying that Shisui Uchiha is, objectively, a very attractive man.

Coming back to his senses and realising he’s been leaning over the magazine, frowning so hard his forehead hurts, Itachi straightens, closing his eyes and massaging the knot of tension out from between his eyebrows.

“Itachi—”

The tension sinks in even deeper. He opens his eyes. “Father.”

Fugaku takes in magazine, then his son, and Itachi really hopes his cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel. It’s stupid, but merely knowing he feels the way he does about the man on the page makes him fear being caught. As though his father might somehow divine his deepest darkest secret, just by looking. Truthfully, Itachi sometimes wonders if he might not already know, or at least suspect. But if he does, it’s clearly a truth he’s chosen not to acknowledge.

“I take it you’re prepared for our meeting this evening?” Fugaku asks, grim as ever.

Attempting a composed sip of his tea, Itachi nods. “Yes. Of course.”

Mouth a hard, unyielding line, Fugaku makes some indiscernible noise of disapproval, sweeping an appraising glance over Itachi. “Well, I suppose it’s too much to hope that anything can be done about your hair between then and now. But they’re a modern family. New money. Perhaps it won’t matter so much.”

Fingers tightening into the flesh of his thigh, Itachi has to remind himself to breathe. “I will do my best to make a good impression,” he says, inclining his head towards his father, penitence for his innumerable shortcomings—not least of all the choice to grow his hair out. It’s a small act of rebellion compared to Sasuke’s effort, but one his father seems determined to curtail as promptly as possible.

Poker face easing ever so slightly, Fugaku’s brows trend downwards, though their slant is still severe. “I know. You are my son, after all. And it is high time you were married with a family of your own. Perhaps then you will see the value in giving up these frivolous academic pursuits, and taking your rightful place at the head of the family business.”

He might as well build a box and stuff Itachi into it. Mold him to fit his own vision of the future. But Itachi has long since learnt that what he wishes he could have from life, and what he can have, are two very different things. So, just like his infrequent clandestine trips to the less desirable areas of Osaka’s nightlife, this too, he realises he will have to sacrifice. Duty before self.

“Yes Father, I’m certain you’re right,” he says, bowing once more as Fugaku leaves for work, closing the front door behind him with a click that reeks of finality.

As his footsteps crunch away on the gravel path outside, Itachi can’t help clenching his fists, until long after his knuckles turn white.

Theoretically, it’s a good match. From a family of good standing, his potential bride is quiet and well spoken—the perfect future housewife and mother. Their marriage would kill two birds with one stone, giving her father the son he never had, and Itachi—and therefore by extension Fugaku—control of their biggest competitor’s business.

All it requires is for Itachi spend the rest of his life pretending to be something he’s not.

The weight of it burns tight in his throat, threatening to break free on a rising tide of bile. He longs to cast off his gilded shackles, take a leaf from Sasuke’s book and do something completely crazy.

With a sigh, he rises from the table, collecting his dishes and depositing them circumspectly into the sink. Another day of work awaits.

[smol-and-grumpy]

Good Morning - Chapter 2

Coffee shop!AU

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, owner of Dean’s Beans is living a humble and quiet life. Roasting beans and selling coffee in his little shop is what makes him happy. When she walked into his shop four months ago, his life changed, but is it for better or worse?

Chapter Warnings: None. Just Dean being adorable and flustered.

WC: 1804

Beta’d by: @deanwanddamons​ <3

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Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

Tuesday, September 1st

 Dean’s working the front again like he always does in the mornings. Mainly, because he lives just above the shop and secondly, he wants to spare Benny the travel time. If someone would ask Benny why Dean never lets him work the early shift, the dude would say that the arguments Dean’s bringing up are all lies. Benny would say that it was because Dean doesn’t want to share preparing coffee for her with anyone else. 

He thinks his friend is exaggerating. But maybe, yeah, there’s some truth to it. She never comes in during the day. Not at night either. They’re open till eight, but he’s never seen her coming in apart from the mornings.

While Dean works the machine, his phone starts to vibrate in his pants. With one free hand, he fishes it out.

Liz.

He’s got no patience for the woman, at least not when he’s working, but maybe it’s about Ben. It usually is about Ben when she calls. 

Dean picks up, wedges his phone between his shoulder and head to be able to still work with both hands. 

“Liz,” He breathes out.

“Dean, you’ve got to talk to him,” Liz says meekly.

He knows exactly who she means by him.

“What about?”

“He’s not happy. He’s closed up and we have a fight every morning before he has to go to school. It’s draining my energy!”

“Why can’t Gordon talk to him?” Dean asks, and he thinks it isn’t too much of him to ask to get Gordon to talk to Ben. Gordon is Ben’s stepdad after all and he and Liz have been married for quite some time now. The dude has spent more time in the house with Ben than Dean ever had. 

“It will only make it worse.” 

Dean’s putting the lid on the cup and hands it out, taking the money in exchange, and letting it slip into the register. He only nods at the customer, but the man understands, nodding back at him.

“You know that you’re the only one he listens to,” Liz continues and adds, “We had a fight this morning. Every morning actually since the school year started.”

The bell chimes and Dean’s still trying to find a polite way to talk to Liz. It’s hard to form words sometimes without sounding too rude. While he’s still thinking about what to say, he looks up and sees her walking in. 

“‘K, Liz, have him call me, alright? I got work to do, bye.” He hangs up before Liz could say anything and lets the phone slip back into his pant pocket before taking another order, “Good Morning, what can I get you?”

While Dean prepares the order for the man in the front, he can’t help but take quick glances at her every now and then. 

She has a backpack strapped around her shoulder instead of the usual laptop bag. He shouldn’t notice these little things, yet here he is and it’s weird, isn’t it? The way he already knows her habits, the way he knows that when it’s warm enough, she wears a shirt or a blouse, combines it with some kind of a jacket when the mornings are cool. Sometimes, leather, which makes his head spin. Sometimes it’s a jeans jacket, which is really cute and it suits her. Sometimes, she’d wear a cardigan that makes her look so innocent and pure, it almost gets his heart to explode from all the clenching that it does.

There were times when she would wear a long-sleeved shirt for three or four days in a row and Dean kept wondering why. It was not exactly cold out. 

Now, when the mornings start to get cooler, he notices that she wears a thick jumper that’s way too big for her. It makes her look more fragile. Makes her look like someone that needs protection. Maybe she does? Dean doesn’t know. Didn’t allow himself to go there and question it. All he knows is that it makes him want to protect her.

What he also knows is that when she’s running late to his shop, she’d show up bare-faced and her hair’s usually in knots or a ponytail because she probably overslept. There’s no make up on her face whatsoever, but there’s always a glint of lip gloss on her lips. Which is not really fucking fair to him because he’d like to kiss those glistening lips. 

Right now, Dean’s serving the customer before her, but he feels her eyes on him. It doesn’t make him work on the order any faster, though. Almost spilling hot milk over his own goddamn clumsy hands as he does. Finally, he manages to put the lid on the cup and hands it over, “Thank you, and have a good day!”

With a grin, she steps closer to the counter and he turns into a stupid teen again. His face is tilted down a little, his cheeks are flushed because they feel like they are burning up big time, and there’s a smirk on his stupid face, can’t really help it.

“Good morning,” He mumbles, can’t really bring it out louder, “The same as usual?” He manages to ask, is a little proud of himself to push the word over his lips without a stutter.

She nods with a smile, “Hi, Dean. Please,” 

Oh, she’s greeting him by name now. That’s progress, right? He absolutely loves how his name sounds rolling off her tongue. Smooth like fucking honey, and he absolutely wouldn’t mind to hear it more often.

“Double?” Dean asks, just to make sure. 

Double is her go-to when she needs to wake up. A One-shot is normally only reserved for a couple of days a month, he guesses that it’s when she’s on her period. It’s absolutely stalker-ish of him to know these facts, and Dean knows that he shouldn’t even notice but he does.

“Uh, do you do triple?”

He chuckles, “I don’t think that would do you any good if you have to work, you might be shaking the whole morning and your eyes are going to cross.”

“Good thing I’m not working in the office today, then.”

He lifts his eyebrows, wants to ask more, but he knows that it’s not his fucking place, “Right,” He says, “Just this one time, okay?”

Smiling, she nods, “Thank you.”

As Dean prepares the three shots of espresso, he risks a glance, sees her watching him with a small smile.

“So, no office today?” He blurts out and he feels absolutely stupid. She’d think he’s weird for asking about her personal life, won’t she?

“Nope, my office has maxed out on capacity and I’m working mostly from home unless I do have to go in for meetings.”

He lifts one eyebrow, “And why aren’t you home now when you don’t have to be anywhere?”

Dean can feel her change in demeanor. Her shoulders are tensing and she bites on her bottom lip. It’s just really quick and she probably thinks that he didn’t notice, but he did. 

He pours the three shots into a big cup, proceeds to pour some milk into the jug and he doesn’t look at her, because he’s afraid that she’ll close up to him now that he has gotten her to talk some more. 

“I don’t really have good wifi at home.” She says simply and Dean believes her, although he has the feeling that there’s something else she doesn’t tell him. But he takes that explanation because it’s a valid one. 

He knows himself how wifis can be a pain in the ass in the city. The wifi in his apartment above the shop does the same sometimes and he should really buy a new router, but he just doesn’t seem to spend enough time in there and the wifi in the shop is good enough for him to do his administrative work. 

Dean is warming up the milk, the sound is noisy and he can’t concentrate on her because he has to be careful not to make too much foam and spill it over his own hands again. 

When he pours the milk into the cup, he has a sudden lightbulb moment. And he looks up, sees her staring. 

Dean grins.

“What?” She asks with clear irritation on her face. 

“I was just thinking,” He says, as he picks up the cocoa powder and sprinkles it over the foam of milk, “You can work in here. We have a pretty good wifi connection and you’re right at the coffee source.” He shrugs nonchalantly, doesn’t want her to see that he’s excited about the prospect of her doing her work in his shop. At least he doesn’t want to seem like he’s more excited than he should be.

“Oh, I can’t,” She says and pauses, “Or can I?” 

Dean raises an eyebrow as he finishes putting the lid onto her triple espresso beverage, “Yeah, you can. There are a couple of people coming in to work from here, some stay a couple of hours, some the whole day.” He shrugs and it’s not even a full lie. He really has people working out of his shop, he doesn’t have people who stay the whole day, though. The most that someone stays is about three hours, so it’s not really a lie. He’s just twisting the truth a little. 

“Okay, I might take you up on that. But this week I’ve rented out an office desk space downtown already, so maybe I’ll be here next week?”

“Sounds great,” Dean smiles, couldn’t not smile because there’s a sudden feeling of joy logged in his chest. 

She hands him a five-dollar bill this time and Dean actually doesn’t want to take it. She notices the irritation on his face.

“For the muffin last time, Dean.”

“I can’t take it.” 

“Do it.” 

“Fine, but here,” He grabs the little paper bag packed with a muffin and holds it out for her, “Another one.” He hopes she doesn’t see how much he’s blushing. 

She grins, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dean answers with a sincere smile, “Oh, and do I get to know your name?” 

His heart is thumping fast in his chest and his throat feels dry. God, he definitely feels like a teen again. 

“My name?” She asks, her grin grows cocky, he likes that a lot.

“Yeah,” Dean huffs out a breath, “You know mine. It’s only fair.”

She actually laughs, god what a nice sound. It’s indeed a good morning.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s only fair. I’m Y/N.” She’s still chuckling. 

“Alright, Y/N, have a nice day and thank you,” He holds up the five-dollar bill. 

“I’ll see you, Dean.” She nods before she leaves and hell, yeah, he hopes that he’ll see her soon.

Chapter 3

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

[jj-bxby]

Where Do We Go? |Chapter One| JJ Maybank x Reader

Summary - Y/N is a Mainlander who has just moved to The Cut. When she meets her new neighbor, she just may have found the family she’s been searching for, and more.

gif credit @toesure

Warnings - None

Word count - 1.8k

A/N - This is the first fanfic I’ve written in about 3 years, so I genuinely hope you all like it! Gimme all of the three C’s: comments, concerns... cuestions. This is only the first part of the series, so if you would like to be tagged, just ask!

It’s never easy to start something over, especially when that ‘something’ happens to be your entire life. 

If given the option, you would have left your home a long time ago, but there's only so much that a 17-year-old can do on her own. You smile drunkenly as you feel the summer sun shining on your skin, wind whipping your hair around your face wildly. The scent of the briny sea lingering in your nostrils as you pull into the road leading to your new home. 

Outer Banks is supposed to be Paradise On Earth, and you can see why. After only being here for a few hours, you have already decided that you wouldn't really mind if you never leave this island again. A life on your own is what you’d always dreamed of, and you’re still a little dazed at the fact that it's finally your reality. After all of the sleepless nights consisting of fights, double shifts at the hotel near your house, and what seemed like an entirety of planning, you can finally go off on your own adventure.

You pull your car into the drive of the new home. Your new home. Cutting the ignition, you hop out of the beat-up Jeep and begin unloading your suitcases to bring inside. Off in the distance, you spot a group of kids that seemed to be around your age, all dancing to a beat blaring from one of their speakers. Beer cans were seized in each of their hands, and a joint was fixed between the lips of one boy. They all were giggling and chanting as a brunette boy tried to chug his drink, the booze dribbling out of the sides of his mouth and onto the grass. The happy sight made you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. You were such a straight-edge compared to these teenagers, never having had more than a sip of your mother’s wine while she wasn’t looking. Seeing them all with broad smiles plastered on their faces made you anxious, but yet something within you yearned to join them. To spin and howl and beam with all of them until the day turned into night, and the night turned into dawn. Maybe you would be able to fit in here after all, even if it takes some smoothing of your rough edges.

The group all looked in your direction after the dark-haired girl pointed you out, all of them pausing their twirling and jumping to acknowledge the new girl. They all give you a look of friendliness once your eyes meet, but the blonde with the joint flashed you a big smile and waved his entire arm at you, clearly wanting to be the center of attention. You felt your cheeks turn a shade crimson when you realized they were looking at you, but you give them a grin as you wave back before returning to pull all of your bags up to the front porch. You turned back to get one last look at the teenagers before you had to set foot in your house. The set seemed to have realized that the new neighbor may not want to hear their noisiness, as they had pulled their speaker and cooler a little ways away to the dock near a house, which you assumed had to belong to at least one of them. 

Turning back to face your new front door, you took a deep breath to still your mind. This is it, this is your new beginning. 

•

Okay, so unpacking is pretty damn boring as it turns out. And honestly, with weather this nice, how can I be expected to stay focused on a task that’s just so dull? I, at least, got my bags inside and some clothes placed in drawers, but it didn’t take long before my mind wandered and I step out into the backyard. This house may have seen some better days, but the view is to die for. Living life on a lake may not be ideal for everyone, but it is for me. Fishing, hammocks, and laying on a boat on a sunny day are all I could ever ask for. Even though I may not have a boat yet, I do have a hammock, and I’ll be damned if those aren’t good for some afternoon and I-have-a-lot-of-shit-to-do naps! I spot a couple of trees a few yards away from my new home to set up my new napping spot. After I finish tying off the support ropes into sturdy(ish) knots, I crawl into the netted bed, only needing steadying myself by flinging my arms around once (which, might I add, is quite good by my standards). Finally being able to rest my body after all of the moving and anxiety of the day feels so lovely. With the glow of the soft evening sun warming my skin in small beams through the tree leaves, I hardly notice how heavy my eyelids become, and definitely don’t mind when I drift off into sleep. 

My dream is filled with the small party of teens from earlier today, but this time I’ve joined them. Now, I’m jumping and cackling with all of them while sneakily stealing the snapback off of one of the boy’s heads. I’m giggling as I toss my arm around the dark-haired girl and blonde boy, turning to give him a cheeky smile as he looks to me. Suddenly, his face is all I see. 

“Hi… Uh, hey? You awake?”

I rush to stand up and immediately regret it. As I try to get up, I end up flailing like a fish and tumbling out of the hammock, falling onto my back and groaning. I look up to see where the voice came from, and find blue eyes piercing into my own.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you like that. Here, can I help you up?” The boy asks, extending his hand to me. I gladly accept the help and get to my feet. I see that it’s now dark out and the stars are lighting up the night sky. “Again, I’m really sorry I scared you. But maybe be more careful next time getting outta that hammock, yeah? You kinda looked like a fish flopping out of water,” the boy chuckled, running his hand through his hair. Is it me being tired or… is he being extremely cute? 

I gave him a little smile as my cheeks flush with color. “It’s alright, I’m not broken or anything. But, I do think that the least you can do for so rudely interrupting my nap is telling me your name.”

“Oh right,” the blonde chuckles, ”I’m JJ. My friends and I are actually throwing a kegger tonight at the boneyard, and I was trying to be neighborly and invite you. You know, make friends and all? You seem about our age, sixteen or seventeen, right? Life here is much easier with friends, you know. Oh!” JJ exclaims, “Do you know where the boneyard is?” He questions. When I shake my head at him, he grins at me mischievously. “Shame. Guess I’ll have to drag you there so you can join in. But first, I’ve gotta get your name.” 

“Y/N,” I respond while smoothing down my hair and picking a few pieces of dirt from it. “But ‘The Boneyard’ sounds pretty ominous, what kinda place are you taking me to? And I don’t even know you or your friends, really. So how do I know you’re not just kidnapping me?”

JJ reaches over and pulls a small twig out of my hair. “Well, Y/N, I don’t know you. How do I know you aren’t some kind of axe murderer? Besides, do I look like I need to kidnap a girl just to get her attention?” JJ asks me with a smug look on his face.

“Touché, JJ. I guess I can come to this ‘boneyard’ with you.” JJ holds his hand out to me for a high-five, grinning wildly. I roll my eyes and slap his hand weakly.

“Wow, I literally just felt myself become depressed from that high-five.”

I give him a little shove on the shoulder and start to walk ahead of him. “So, ya gonna take me to this “Boneyard,” or what?”

“Yes, however, you are going the exact wrong way.”

“Oh.”

“C’mon, doll.” JJ takes my small hand into his and starts off towards the Boneyard. From being a few steps behind him, I can just make out the outlines of JJ’s shoulder blades peeking through the sides of his cut-off tee. The heat rose to my cheeks, realizing that this incredibly attractive boy is now taking me to meet his – likely – equally attractive friends, and he’s a major flirt. How in the hell am I going to keep up with this man? Figuratively and literally, his legs are way longer than mine, and I’m practically stumbling over my own two feet just trying to keep the same pace as him.

“So, Y/N, you’re from the mainland, yeah?” The boy questioned, looking over his shoulder to check on me as I nodded to him. “What in the hell made you move to The Cut?”

“Um, well, that’s a bit of a long story as to why I moved. But, what’s The Cut? Is that what you call it here?”

“Well, The Cut is the south side of the island, its where all of us who’re in the working class live, The Pogues, if you will. Figure Eight is where all of the Kooks come from. Y’know, the ones who sit around and play with Daddy’s Money all goddamned day,” JJ spat out the last part. “I’m just wondering why you would choose to move to our side, especially when you had a choice in the matter. I grew up in The Cut — All of the pogues did. Why not go full Kook?”

“Well, back on the mainland I was from a working-class family. I dunno, I wouldn’t have fit in with all of the mansions, and country clubs, and board shorts, I don’t think.” I shrugged my shoulders at him, “I wasn’t made for that kind of life.”

JJ nodded understandingly before beaming at me, “Well, I think you’re going to fit in quite well here, Y/N.” The boy stopped walking and I came to stand at his side, our shoulders brushing against each other. “Welcome to the Boneyard, babe.”

It truly was a sight to see. Teens were sat on fallen driftwood, all huddled around different bonfires, red solo cups in hands. Odd mixes of sunburned kids, girls dressed in oversized tees and jean shorts, preppy-clothed boys all mingled together, seeming to put aside any inequalities just for the night. People drifted from group to group, some gathered at the keg, and some simply standing and chatting as they drank. I grinned at the view ahead, knowing this was only the first of many parties to attend. I look to my side to see JJ’s blue eyes focused on me, and I tried to swallow down the fluttering feeling in my chest.

“Let’s go warm up, yeah?”

•

@midnightmagicmusings

[eyeofthedrgn]

A Heavy Battle Symphony Chapter 10

TW: language, mental abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, violence, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, self harm, self-esteem issues, sexual abuse (only alluded to briefly in future chapters), drinking (comes up late in the story) just a lot of trauma, angst, smut - ish

Notes: Things get a little steamy in this one.

Word Count: 2971

Chapter 10 - The Messenger

When you suffered it all

And your spirit is breaking

You're growing desperate from the fight

Remember your love

Lorcan had been living at the Whitethorn residence for a few months now. He had managed to get his GED through online courses, having not graduated because he was being beaten within an inch of his life. Rowan was at the University of Terrasen with most of their friends. Barb, Rowan’s mother, took care of Lorcan as if he were her own.

He quickly started to care for her. She was an amazing lady. And an amazing baker. Lorcan had put on a lot of weight because of her, he was almost to the weight he was last time he was here. With the weight gain, he became a little more comfortable with his body and his self-esteem slowly started to grow.

It was still a long road to be completely healed. If he ever got there. His mental health was still very poor. Nightmares almost every night. Panic attacks. Anxiety. Even a little bit of paranoia, worried that this was all a dream that he was going to wake up from and the nightmares were real life. Rowan's mother helped him find a therapist and paid for it. Which he was overly thankful for, he promised he would pay her back when he could. It felt so strange to feel cared for.

The therapy was helping. Slowly. He did have a whole life of trauma to work through after all. There was no way Lorcan could hold a job with his anxiety and chronic fatigue, so Rowan's mother just made him do things around the house for now.

But he missed Rowan. They talked and texted often, on the phone Barb had gotten Lorcan, another thing he would pay her back for. But he just wanted to hold Rowan's hand. Thankfully, the winter holidays were coming and Rowan would be home for a couple weeks.

Rowan had been a big part of Lorcan's initial recovery before going off to university. They had gotten close even though Lorcan hardly talked, hardly wanted to be touched, but he had become accustomed to his presence. There was an unspoken connection between them, both gained a lot just by being together.

++++

Rowan loved University, but gods above, he missed Lorcan. It took a long time to convince Lorcan that he was deserving of all the good things in the world, happiness and love, but there were still too many days when he felt unworthy.

He was excited to go home for Solstice. He couldn't wait to kiss that onyx eyed man again, he hoped Lorcan wanted to be kissed. If not, that was okay, they would get to spend time together and that would be enough.

Rowan was unsure if Lorcan had ever celebrated Solstice or if he had ever received a gift of any kind. It made the man stress about what to get him. The gift needed to be good if this really was his first ever Solstice gift. But he couldn't figure out what to get Lorcan. He honestly didn’t know him that well, he just knew that they needed to be together.

"Elide! Help!" He was lying on the couch in the apartment he shared with Aelin and Elide. "I need to get a present for Lorcan!" Rowan whined.

"You know him better than anyone else, Roro!" He sighed at that because he knew that wasn’t much. She was lying on the floor, her eyes closed. They were both exhausted. The final they had today had been brutal.

"I know, but," Rowan sighed again. "I don't think he's ever gotten a gift before.” That thought made him sad, Lorcan had never had a fair life. No one ever loved him enough or really at all. “It has to be good!"

"You should make him something. Or.. Oh!" She rolled over to face Rowan, eyes bright with excitement at her idea. "Print out and frame that photo I took of you two before you left!" Elide was excited now. "That's it! Do that! He'll love it!"

Rowan smiled remembering how Lorcan clung to him on the sidewalk, not wanting him to leave. And then, when Elide showed him the edited photo on her laptop, he fell in love with it and made his desktop wallpaper. "I think that's a great idea."

---

Rowan had gotten home after Lorcan went to bed. He tried to stay awake, but life and his cocktail of medications made him so tired. And he never slept a full eight hours. The nightmares made sure of that.

Tonight was no different. In this nightmare, he was back in Morath, in the basement. Being beaten to death again. He was panting and sweaty when he awoke. Sheets wrapped around his legs from his thrashing.

Guess it's time for another 3am shower. This was his new normal, early morning showers to try and wash the nightmare away before trying to get some more sleep and usually failing.

When he was done, he put on a fresh pair of boxer briefs and a plain black hoodie. Hellas, it was nice to have new clothes and ones that fit. He went to cross the hall to his room and then remembered Rowan should be home. His stomach fluttering at the thought.

Without thinking of what he was doing, he padded his way to Rowan's door. He knocked quietly, he heard a groan. His breath quickened and his heart raced. Lorcan cracked the door.

"Rowan?" His voice barely more than a whisper.

"Lor'an?" Rowan was still half asleep.

"Can I come in?"

"Mmm, yeah. Come 'ere." He patted his bed in his sleepy haze. Lorcan sat on the bed. "You 'kay?" He held the blanket up and arms out.

"Not really." He cuddled into Rowan's chest and twined their legs together without a second thought. It just felt so natural. They hadn’t really cuddled like this before, but Lorcan just needed to feel close.

"I gotchu." His arms curled around Lorcan's form and snuggled against him, placing a lazy kiss to the top of his head. And sleep claimed them both.

++++

The sun was shining through the blinds on the window when Rowan finally woke up. He went to stretch, but found a Lorcan attached to him which made him smile wide. After giving him a light squeeze, he started caressing Lorcan's back.

Lorcan stirred, a soft content sound escaping his lips. Rowan kissed his hair. He felt so privileged that Lorcan let him hold him. After the life that Lorcan had lived, Rowan was surprised he let anyone touch him.

Before Rowan left for University, they barely touched besides chaste kisses and hand holding. Cuddling had been rare. Lorcan's past made it hard for him to be touched without flinching. It broke his heart every time Lorcan flinched at his touch. Now, their limbs were tangled and Rowan’s heart was soaring. In Rowan's sleepy stupor early this morning, he hadn't even realized how big of a deal it was that Lorcan willingly curled up in his arms. It felt so right holding the dark haired man to his chest. He wanted to wake up like this every morning, for the rest of their lives.

"Mmm," Lorcan nuzzled Rowan's chest and leaned against the caress of Rowan's hand on his back. The silver haired man smiled. "Thank you." The sleep was heavy in his voice.

"For what?"

"For holding me," the words were quiet and vulnerable. They pulled on Rowan's heart strings.

"Of course." He placed another kiss on Lorcan's head. "Do you want to talk?" The slight tension beneath his arm told him they probably weren't going to talk. And that was fine. At least Lorcan felt comfortable enough to seek comfort rather than suffer alone.

"Nightmare."

"I'm sorry, love. What was it?"

Lorcan just shrugged.

"Well, I'm here if you want to talk. I'll do whatever I can to help, okay?" Rowan brushed the black silky strands off Lorcan's face and looked into those gorgeous onyx eyes. They bumped noses and Lorcan hummed his acknowledgment.

"Kiss me?"

Rowan smiled, heart pattering, and leaned in to press his lips to his forehead. Lorcan huffed, Rowan chuckled. Another kiss was pressed to his temple. A sigh.

His cheek was next.

Humph.

Next, his nose.

Then Rowan teased his love once more, kissing the corner of his mouth. Lorcan whined, the corner of his mouth turned up at Rowan’s tomfoolery. Rowan touched their noses together and smiled. Another whine.

Finally, he put the man out of his misery and pressed his lips to the soft luscious lips of his favorite person. He was greeted with a soft moan. That's new.

Rowan wasn't expecting Lorcan's body to react as it did. He arched against him and Rowan felt a hardness against his thigh. For all that was good in this world, save him.

"Rowan," Lorcan breathed against his lips.

Fuck.

They hadn't even made out yet. Rowan had never felt Lorcan's body like this, they hadn’t been physically close enough to be able to feel any need from Lorcan’s body. He had never observed him wanting more than soft courting touches.

And the way he said his name. He wanted to melt into Lorcan.

Lorcan's hand swept down his sides, rested on his hip and gave it a squeeze. Rowan let out a soft moan.

"What do you want, Lorcan?" Rowan cupped his love's cheek with his other hand.

Lorcan ground his hips against Rowan's thigh. A groan left his lips.

"I need you to say what you want, love."

His love released a breath, "I want to feel good with you. I missed you." His words were quiet and vulnerable.

But holy gods above. Rowan made a note to thank Lorcan's therapist. He knew the sessions were helping, but he didn't realize there would be such a shift in the physicality of their relationship. He wondered if Lorcan touched himself now and what he thought about while doing it.

Now wasn't the time for those thoughts. Now was the time for deciding if they should really do this. Rowan really wanted to, it seemed like Lorcan really wanted to as well. Maybe they should just make out and see where it goes.

"I think we should start with making out first. And if you still feel strongly about continuing, we can." After seeing the hurt on Lorcan's face. Was he wrong? Maybe he should have just not said anything and just encouraged going slow with his actions. Fuck. "Oh, love, I want to make you come for me more than anything. Don't doubt that." He ran his fingers through his midnight hair. "We just haven't done a lot and I don't want to push you or have you push yourself farther than you want. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes." Rowan felt Lorcan start to pull away, rolling off Rowan and onto his side.

"Hey. Don't pull away. I didn't mean to hurt you or disappoint you. I just- I know you've been through a lot." He placed a gentle kiss on the corner of Lorcan's mouth. "Can I kiss you?"

His thumb caressed Lorcan's jaw. Those onyx eyes held a sadness, but also something else that Rowan couldn’t place.

Lorcan nodded. Though he seemed hesitant, Rowan hoped he was reading him wrong.

Rowan pressed his body against Lorcan's as he captured Lorcan's mouth, doing his best to show his emotions. Trying to show Lorcan that he was wanted. After a few sensual kisses, Rowan ran his tongue over the seam of his lover's lips. Lorcan whined as he opened his mouth. His tongue swept in and claimed Lorcan's mouth.

It seemed Lorcan's body wasn't sure what to do with the sensation of Rowan’s tongue in his mouth. He pressed into Rowan's chest, arched into every touch, and ground his hips against his thigh. It was as if the man’s brain had shut off and just needed a pressure release. Gods above, it was setting Rowan on fire. Their hands were everywhere, touching whatever they could.

It was heaven, until he made the mistake of putting his hand up Lorcan's hoodie to touch the skin of his back. He had just wanted to be closer, he hadn't thought it would have been an issue. But Lorcan broke away in an instant. And being lost in the moment, his mind was slow to catch up on what was happening. He had wanted to do this for months.

But when he went to pull Lorcan back to him, Lorcan was gone. Damn, he was fast.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuck!

"Lorcan!" He untangled himself from the sheets and jogged to Lorcan's room. He knocked. "I'm sorry. Please let me in." Silence. "Please. I'm sorry." He rested his forehead on the door. Gods, he felt like shit. That was his second fuck up of the day and he’d only been awake for an hour.

After a couple minutes, he sighed, "I'm sorry.." He went back to his room to get dressed. He felt like crap. He had always been so careful before. Why did he let his body take control? He was just hoping he didn't ruin the progress that Lorcan had made over the last few months.

---

Hellas below, that had felt amazing. Lorcan had never wanted pleasure before. He had never cared before about the pleasures of the body. But something about being in Rowan's arms this morning, he felt the need to express himself. And Rowan's tongue in his mouth. Hel, it felt like he was melting, like their bodies would become one. His body was over stimulated and it just did whatever it could to touch Rowan.

Then, he had to panic. Why did he panic? He wanted Rowan's hands on his skin. His skin was burning to be touched, but he freaked out. Lorcan figured that was a product of some of the punishments Perrington gave him. There were light scars as proof of them. And then Rowan was too far gone to notice. The primal part of him to survive took over. So, he bailed. He ran. He wasn’t even sure how he managed to move so fast.

Now, he sat on the floor in the corner of his room, Rowan was at his door apologizing. But he couldn't move. He felt bad, but his body was still betraying him. He wanted to explain. Then, there was one last soft "I'm sorry" at the door before he heard footprints shuffle away.

Lorcan desperately wanted to cut himself. How could he have thought he was ready? Especially after Rowan turned him down, he hadn't actually wanted Rowan to kiss him after that, the rejection stung, but he felt like he couldn't say no. He should have said no. He pulled up his sleeve and ran his fingertips over the dozens and dozens of scars. He resisted the urge to grab the razor blade out of the spine of his journal. Instead, he let the voice of his therapist in his head take over as his fingers continued over the scarring.

His therapist had given him different techniques to help him in different situations. Lorcan started grounding himself. He wanted to be able to see Rowan and apologize for panicking before Rowan hated him again, if he didn't already.

Deep breath in..

Deep breath out...

---

It took several hours for his body to cooperate, but he finally got dressed and went downstairs. Lorcan was starving. It was just about dinner time. Rowan was in the living room, helping with putting up the Solstice decorations. His mother was making a shepherd's pie. Festive music was playing quietly in the background.

It wasn't unusual for Lorcan to make a first appearance so late in the day. Barb knew Lorcan had problems to work through and his meds made him fatigued. She didn't judge him, thankfully. He helped out when he could.

"Hello, dear. Rowan is in the living room. Dinner will be ready soon."

"Thanks." He used his finger to scoop up some mashed potatoes. She laughed and batted his hand away.

Lorcan moaned as he tasted the potatoes and knew dinner was going to be delicious. It had taken him several weeks before he could eat a full serving for a man his size. He loves food now. Which meant he loved everything Rowan's mother made.

Rowan was bending over, going through a box and Lorcan just stared at his ass. He felt his stomach flutter. He swallowed. Hellas, he wanted Rowan. Why did he have to panic earlier? He had really thought he was ready.

After a deep breath, he sat on the couch and said, "What are you looking for?"

Rowan jumped. "Shit!" He put a hand on his chest. Lorcan chuckled. "I, uh, shit. My heart is going crazy!"

There was a small playful smile on Lorcan's face. "Sorry, I didn't mean to.." His eyes drifted to the floor. Smile fading and Lorcan dropped his head. He took a deep breath. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.. to panic." The last word was quiet.

Rowan just knelt in front of him and grabbed his hands. His face was open and understanding.

"I'm sorry for not thinking with my brain. And don't apologize for panicking. Don't ever apologize for that, please. It's not your fault." He brought a hand up to cup Lorcan's cheek. His thumb brushed across his cheekbone.

He nodded, but Rowan could see the self deprecation churning in his thoughts. Rowan just rubbed his thumb over his cheek again.

After a few moments that look faded, Lorcan gestured to the box, "Can I help?"

"Yeah." The smile Lorcan received made his heart skip. They were going to be okay.

___

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

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[sunsinrinn]

Secrets Part 9.

Bakugo x reader, Bakugo x Uraraka, Kirishima x Reader

Fluff- ish, language, angst

Word Count: 1,487

Idea: Y/n has a secret to share with bakugo not expecting a secret from him. She leaves heart broken and attempts to move on. But how will she move on if her secret can no longer be hidden? She fakes a relationship hoping its enough to not expose the true origin of the secret. (This is a terrible summary but I cant say much without spoiling future parts. 🙃)

‘It’s my child...’ he kept thinking after he rushes to his room. He was a dad! He was quick to be happy but it disappears when he remembers you hid it from him for almost eight fucking months. Honestly how no one else but him was suspicious about you being bigger than what a normal 5 month pregnant woman looks like.

“Can’t fucking believe she lied for that long” he says out loud to himself.

You and kiri are finished talking and walk to your room. Before you go to your room you knock softly on Bakugo’s door and wait for his response.

He freezes when he hears the knock and stays quiet still pissed at you. You don’t hear a response so you say loud enough, “Good night Bakugo...” You look at the door a bit sadly but walk away to find kirishima waiting for you in bed smiling softly at you.

“Come on baby, lets go to bed so you and my baby can rest.” He says and you smile.

“Alright kiri-babe” You walk over to him.

“Kiri...”

He shifts to face you once your in bed.

“Yes?”

“Do you think I should tell Bakugo he is the baby’s real dad?”

Kiri stays quiet thinking about it for a while before finally answering,

“I don’t know babe, the answer is honestly up to you because after all you are the one carrying the baby.”

You chew you lip thinking about it. “I just- just don’t want that to change anything between us.”

“It won’t baby, we will just have to adjust to having Bakugo as a part of our family we are creating. I won’t rob him from being a father. No, I can be a second dad” he looks at you and gives you the most loving smile you’ve ever seen.

You look at him and smile. “I am so lucky to have you Kiri.”

Bakugo lays there in the dark unable to sleep. How will he fucking confirm that the baby you are carrying is his? Why did you lie? Then he remembers the day you caught him with the girl we shall not name, he remembers seeing a gift bag that was white but had blue and pink tissue.. No- you were going to tell him then! He cannot believe he did that on that day. The day was supposed to be special to you, but he ruined it with his infidelity. Without realizing it hot and angry tears spill.

The next morning he avoids the both of you by leaving early to work.

As you finish making breakfast you ask Kirishima to wake Bakugo up so he goes but returns a while after empty handed.

“Where’s Bakugo?” You ask him

“He wasn’t in the room. I think he may have gone early to work.” He says unsure so he texts him just in case.

Both of you sit down and eat when Kirishima finally gets a short answer back

‘At work. Left early.’

You frown and finish your food, “Do you think he will get hungry?”

Kirishima nods, “Yeah... he will probably forget to eat.”

And as if it were a silent agreement, a couple of hours after breakfast you both begin to pack him a bento box for lunch and find yourself heading to his agency.

None of you speak about what you do and it seems like a natural thing to do. You confuse yourself because, ‘Why DF are you packing his lunch and walking over to his agency like a wife and why the hell is your boyfriend helping you.’

You stop thinking to much into it, because honestly? You were afraid of the answer.

When you find yourself at the entrance of Bakugo’s agency you stop along with Kirishima and both take a breath in before entering. It had been a really long time since you last went in there. You look around and tighten your grip on Bakugo’s bento and kirishima’s hand when the secretary asks you in a cheery voice,

“Hi! How can I Help you today?”

Kirishima speaks up since you are unable to speak,

“Hey, we are looking for Ground Zero?”

“Ah yes! He is currently in his office doing some paper work. Would you like me to tell him to come down?”

“No, we can walk up there” He smiles at her and leads you to the elevator.

“You okay y/n?”

You nod, “Y-yeah, its been a while since I was last here.”

He nods, “I understand”

As the elevator makes it to Bakugo’s floor you both get out and walk to his door. Kirishima and you knock at the same time and wait for his response.

“WHAT DO YOU EXTRAS WANT?”

“Um. Its Y/N and I” Kirishima answers.

You hear shuffling and step back when the door flies open.

“What are you both doing here?” He asks suspiciously.

You raise the bento box up and say,

“We brought you a bento, we were afraid you might not eat so we made one for you” You smile shyly. ‘WHY DF are you acting shy’ you think

Bakugo looks taken aback but grabs the box mumbling, “Thank you”

“What was that?” Kirishima asks with a grin on his face

“I said thank you shitty hair!” He says louder and annoyed

Kirishima just laughs and pushes past Bakugo to lounge on his couch he has in his office.

You blush at Kirishima’s actions and quickly say,

“I’m so sorry about Kirishima... Kirishima! Get up-“

“No, no its fine... Do you want to come in as well?” Bakugo says looking at the floor blushing.

You stammer, “Y-yeah, sure.” You walk inside as Bakugo moves out the way and stand there awkwardly. Bakugo walks back to his desk and sees you standing.

“Kirishima- move out the way and let Y/N sit you dumbass!” Kirishima looks at you and instantly sits up so you can sit and pats on the empty space.

“Come on baby, sit down”

You continue to blush and quietly shuffle to Kirishima.

Bakugo is about to eat when he notices neither of you have food.

“You guys didn’t bring any for yourselves?” He asks startling you.

“UH- no we didn’t...”

He grunts before pushing it towards both of you.

“Bakugo, we brought the food for you!” Kirishima says

“No, you guys will share with me then.”

“Bakugo, seriously we made it for you. So you wouldn’t get hungry, not to share.”

“Y/N.” He says in a stern voice, “You’re pregnant. You have to eat.”

You gulp and lie, “Kirishima and I already ate,”

“No we-“ you interrupt kirishima by pinching his side, “No, we really did eat before we came here” he rubs his side and glares at you and you glare back.

“You’re both lying.” He says and puches the box further.

You sigh and grab a small bite and push it towards Kirishima. He also eats a small bite and pushes it to Bakugo.

After swallowing the food you speak up, “There we ate. Now you eat.”

“Fine.” He grumbles, “But next time you guys come bring food for yourselves too.”

Kirishima has a big grin when Bakugo says next time and you just blush.

Deep down you begin to feel your heart flutter at his words and freeze. No no no no no. Oh god please no...

Kirishima looks at you and notices you look conflicted, “Is everything okay, babe?”

You jump and nod, “yeah, yeah” oh no. You can’t be falling for Bakugo.... No you love Kirishima! There is no way you like both.

Bakugo looks at the interaction you both have and frowns slightly. The two people he loves are together and he should be happy they are happy with each other but he isn’t.

‘Well shit, look at you in love with two people who don’t love you, just pity you.’ He thinks to himself as he remembers you lying about the baby and looks at his bento box while eating it in order to avoid anymore of your interactions.

After Bakugo finishes his lunch, you and kirishima say good bye to him and head out. You Both are silent on the way home knowing there was something you both needed to talk about. Once you get home you grab something small to eat and sit down in the living room. Kirishima sits beside you in an uncomfortable silence. That lunch with Bakugo really changed something.

You stay in silence before taking a deep breath

“We should talk” you both say in unison.

You look at each other and chuckle nervously.

“You go first” you both say again.

You take a deep breath.

“We should talk about this Bakugo situation... and I have something to say about that...”

“I was going to say the same thing. You tell me first.” He says shakily.

You look sad and take another deep breath.

“I think I still love Bakugo.”

SERIES MASTERLIST — Part 10

A/N- sorry I didn’t post yesterday lol, I was busy procrastinating on tiktok avoiding my college work. Hehe. Anyways I hope you guys enjoy this new chapter and tell me what you think.

If you’d like to be tagged in future parts or future works dont hesitate to dm, ask, or comment! I hope you guys had a lovely day today! Also if you asked to be tagged and I didnt tag you send me a dm so I can fix it :)

Secrets taglist- @hero-ink-pillar , @silentw-lkr , @ushiwakatrash , @purple-rabanito , @chaelysian , @puppycat714 , @fake-id-69 , @adaydreaminganon , @jessie9008 , @sam-i-am-1025 , @purple--nebula , @curiouslilbeast , @httpswwwtbhkcom , @setup-the-ace , @kit-kat428 , @thatonefangirl722 , @fxirylightsx , @katsuki-bakubae , @sakurakatsuki

[hateswifi]

No More Second Chances: Chapter Three

So not even all hell breaking loose (cough adrichat) will stop me from posting. (Just ignore that I haven’t posted in like a week). Without further ado.

No More Second Chances 

The Master: Master List

———————————-

After collecting the little she has from her locker, they meet Jon outside. “Did you call your parents to let them know?”

“Yep! Ready to go?”

“Yes,” Damian grumbles, following the energetic boy.

“So how are you two even friends? Damian you’re super grumpy and Jon is just like a ball of energy and sunshine,” Marinette asks, walking in between the boys. (Yes, somehow the sidewalk fit three people, idk just imagine it ok?)

“Our fathers’ are friends.”

“But! He’s grown to love me,” Jon taunts in a sing-song voice.

“You’re bearable,” Damian corrects. The train ride back to Metropolis was quiet, or as quiet as a ride can be with Jon. She blocked out the world and just let her thoughts fly on the page. She was brought back to reality by Jon tugging her arm.

“Woah! That’s awesome!” Jon says, looking at the drawing. It was her, well Ladybug, and Chat Noir first bumping in front of the Eiffel Tower. “Who are they?” 

She slammed the sketchbook closed and looked at her phone, March 21st. “Umm not important, I have to call someone,” Marinette says, rushing in front of the boys a bit. She dials a number, one neither boys can see, before speaking in rapid French. “Adrien did you realize it’s been a year since we finished the war?”

“Um yeah earlier today Aunt Emelie took me to visit him,” Adrien responds.

“How’d that go?”

“It was rough, but in other news I convinced Aunt Emelie to let me go to college in America.”

“That’s fantastic! I was thinking about staying here as well, cause well ya know Sabine and Tom,” Marinette shrugs, opening the lobby door.

“Makes sense, by the way, watch out Aunt Emelie adores you and she heard about your parents, she may or may not be trying to get adoption papers,” Adrien chuckles.

“I’ll decline the nicest way possible,” Marinette giggles, pressing the elevator button. “Well I’m almost home, and I have a project to work on, so I’ll talk to you sometime soon, bye love you!”

“Sooooooo, who was that?” Jon asks, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

“That was Adrien,” Marinette said, stepping out of the elevator.

“Your boyfriend?” Jon asks, drawing out the words, teasingly.

“Nope, my best friend,” Marinette clarifies. Before turning to Damian to say, “I’m going to get changed, I’ll be out in a minute.” When she came back out her hair was pulled into a messy bun, she was wearing her favorite fuzzy cropped cat sweatshirt that had cat ears on the hood and the string had pom poms on the end. She was also wearing light skinny ripped jeans.

“Mari, why didn’t you just get dressed into something comfortable?” Jon asks, pulling out the juice from the fridge.

“Because, I haven’t seen a lot of the city yet so whenever we finish making progress for today, I’m going to go out for a walk,” Marinette explained, opening her backpack.

“You should be careful, this may not be Gotham, but it’s still dangerous,” Damian says, finally looking up from his phone. He would never admit it, but his face tinted a light color of pink.

“I’ll be fine, I’ve learned self defense when I was living in Paris,” Marinette said, brushing off their worries. “Ok for this project…” (i don’t take business as an elective, so imma just gonna skip it).

It was two hours when Clark and Lois walked in, they were surprised to see Damian get along with someone so well. Marinette isn’t just anyone though, she was a sunshine.

“Hey, Damian it’s nice to see you again,” Clark said, placing a hand on his back.

“Likewise, Clark,” he responded, not looking up from their work.

“Are you staying for dinner?”

“No I should be getting home, father is strict about curfew,” Damian said, picking up his stuff.

“We have to talk about plans for tomorrow, so I’ll walk you outside,” Marinette said, standing. They walk in a tense silence for a moment before she starts speaking again. “So I think tomorrow we should work on question five through eight.”

“Where do you want to work?”

“It doesn’t really matter, but if you want, because we worked here today, we can work at your place,” Marinette suggests.

“That would be adequate,” Damian sighs, pressing the elevator button. “Good night, Marinette.”

“Good night, Damian,” she responds as the elevator’s doors close. She pads back to the apartament  and is about to open the door when he hears Jon scream. “He blushed!”

“I literally step out for a minute, and you are all talking about my nonexistent love life,” Marinette said, crossing her arms across her chest, she was leaning up against the door frame, watching the scene unfold in front of her.

“He blushed though! Trust me that’s the closest he’s ever been to having a crush,” Jon defends.

“Doubt it, it was warm in here and he was still wearing his uniform, which may I remind you is long sleeves and pants,” Marinette said, pushing herself off the doorway. “So on a different topic, what’s for dinner?”

“We were just going to order pizza,” Lois answered. (Totally forgot that Superman is vegetarian, so like ignore that.)

“Cool, I’m going to go out for a walk before dinner if that’s fine with you,” Marinette asked, moving towards her room to grab a windbreaker.

“Yes, just take your phone with you, dinner will probably be here in twenty-ish minutes,” Clark said towards her room. She grabbed what she needed, put on her shoes, and ran out the door. She had a peaceful walk, the cool air calming her down, leaving her with her thoughts. As much as her parents’ hurt her, she couldn’t help but miss them, even if it was just a bit. She missed how everything use to be before the drama that Lila brought, but it helped her realize who actually care about her for her. Time flies when lost in her thought, apparently, because the ten minute timer, she set to make sure she would be back in time, went off. She sighs before walking back the way she came. 

Dinner was filled with light chatter about the day, more getting to know you things, and an explanation about how their weekly schedule is. After dinner, Jon and Marinette work on homework with Lois watching T.V. Superman had just stopped a train from crashing. Both Lois and Jon clapped and smiled right before Superman flew off the scene. Not too long after that, Clark ran back into the apartment holding a bag of groceries. Marinette shrugged and chalked it up to them being Americans

When she finished her homework, she said goodnight, did her nightly routine before falling asleep, oblivious the chaos happening in Paris that was unleashed by Sabine and Tom.

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

CLIFFHANGEEEER! but like foreshadowing for salt! and getting what they deserve

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