#Check presentations master slides | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

maroonshirt81 · 14 days ago

Note

hey! did you see that post going around with drunk!Oscar looking completely out of it, some guy's hand around his waist? I remember you mentioned somewhere you like writing drunk scenes. could you write something carcar with this kind of dummy!drunk Oscar? that would make my day ❤️

You are completely right about my tendency to write fics where the characters are drunk. After this one, there are at least 3 more coming up. Clocked! And I don't even drink alcohol, hah! (also write a lot of porn for an asexual, so... make of that what you will.)

I didn't find the exact post you're referring to, but I'm guessing you meant this flavor of Oscar:

I've already postet a snippet of this, but here's the full, almost 6k of dummy!drunk carcar, rated M

----

Carlos let his gaze wander across the opulent, marble-columned room. It was the kind of space that belonged in a palace, but was in fact just the banquet hall of a local luxury hotel.

He wrinkled his nose, finding it all a bit tacky. This was a fundraiser for a school, for fuck’s sake! Granted, a fancy private school, but still. Not the goddamn royal wedding. Yet the board had spared no expense to impress the parents and grandparents of their future students.

The hall was lined on both sides with tables, overflowing with canapés and champagne flutes, from which an army of waiters continuously filled their trays, gliding from guest to guest to ensure not a single throat went dry.

Clearly, the master plan was to get everyone drunk enough to leave a generous check with their signature on it before the night was over.

Carlos had no idea why the teachers had to be part of this farce. They stood out in their ill-fitting suits like ducklings at a swan convention, clearly out of place.

His eyes landed on Charles, surrounded by a group of older ladies, his gaze silently screaming for help. A bit farther off stood Max, sulking in a corner with his arms crossed, shooting death glares at anyone who dared approach him. And in the opposite corner, Carlos spotted his least favorite colleague, Oscar – who he’d bet was having the worst time of all, trapped among privileged older people, forced to make small talk about what blessings their spoiled children were.

Instead, he found Oscar with a big, dopey smile on his face, eyes narrower than Carlos had ever seen them, a deep flush on his cheeks. He held an empty champagne flute in his hand, and there... there was an arm, slung low around his waist. Far too low. It belonged to some older man whose face was way too close to Oscar’s to be appropriate. Especially considering Oscar was clearly drunk out of his mind.

Before Carlos had even formed a proper plan, he was already striding across the hall, setting his empty glass on a passing tray.

Just because he didn’t like Oscar didn’t mean he’d let him get groped in the middle of a work function. As private school teachers, they already gave up enough dignity to these kinds of parents, money often speaking louder than real effort or basic decency.

“Good evening,” Carlos said politely once he reached the group of older men surrounding Oscar. “I’m terribly sorry, but I need to steal Mr. Piastri for a moment – we’re supposed to prepare the presentation later and he’s the only one who knows the password for the file.”

Oscar turned to him, that big, stupid smile still plastered on his face. “Wot?”

It took serious effort to keep his own fake smile in place, especially since the massive hand resting at the curve of Oscar’s ass didn’t even twitch.

“The presentation, Oscar,” Carlos repeated, enunciating pointedly. “I sent you an email about it earlier today.” When Oscar just gave a slow blink in response, Carlos turned to the men with exaggerated exasperation. “Math guys,” he sighed. “Famously terrible communicators.”

The overly hands-on man beside Oscar broke into loud, boisterous laughter, and Carlos swore he saw that giant hand slide even lower in his peripheral vision. He might’ve blacked out for a second. Abandoning the high road, Carlos grabbed the stranger’s hand and pulled it off Oscar’s ass, slipping an arm around his colleague’s back instead to steer him away from the predatory crowd. There was a chorus of surprised gasps and awkward chuckles behind him, and Carlos could only hope the guy wasn’t going to file a complaint with the higher-ups.

Oscar stumbled along with him, his side easily melting into Carlos’s, which was strange, because Oscar was usually stiff as a board, groaning like he was seventy every time he stood up from a chair. Now, he felt like liquid, easily guided across the room and out a side door. Carlos paused for a moment, getting his bearings. They’d ended up in a dim corridor, but there was light to the left, so he followed it, rounding the corner and finding an entrance to a long sunroom that opened into the hotel’s rear gardens.

He maneuvered Oscar’s boneless body through two sliding doors until they stood outside on the terrace, the summer evening breeze brushing soothingly against their skin.

Oscar made no attempt to free himself from Carlos’s arm. He probably needed the support. His head tilted as he looked around with slow, confused blinks.

“Is your laptop out here?” he asked.

“Oh my god!” Carlos took the empty champagne flute from Oscar’s hand and set it down on a mosaic table, then rounded on his hammered colleague. “You do realise that old creep’s hand was basically kneading your ass, right?”

Oscar gave him wide eyes – at least as wide as they would go in his state, which wasn’t very wide at all.

“Oh, no, he was just being a little overly friendly,” he waved it off with a shrug. “You know. American.”

“Yeah? Is that so? Do Americans usually stick their tongues in your ear at professional functions?”

Oscar, unbelievably, giggled like Carlos had just made a joke and didn’t even follow up on it. Instead, he slowly sank down to the tiled floor, his side dragging against Carlos’s. Apparently, the groaning like a dying animal wasn’t limited to getting up – it made an appearance even when he was sitting– or rather, lying down on the ground.

“What are you doing?” Carlos asked, incredulous.

“Head’s spinning a bit,” Oscar said, eyes closed.

“Yes, no shit. Are you going to throw up?”

Oscar snorted, opening one crinkly eye to peek up at Carlos. “From what?” he asked. “I didn’t drink any alcohol. I’m at work! I only had that funny, sparkly orange juice.”

“You mean the mimosas?” Carlos groaned, dragging his hand down his face. “Oscar! How many?”

Oscar gave him a blank look, then visibly blanched.

“Why do they have mimosas at a fancy gala?” he whined, instead of answering Carlos’s question. “Aren’t they for brunch and stuff?”

“Yes, but what kind of clientele do you think the parents of our students are? They made sure to have everyone’s favorite drink on hand!”

Oscar mumbled something unintelligible which Carlos was 90% sure was “They are pretty good…” and Carlos shook his head, pulling his phone from his pocket.

“I’m calling you an Uber,” he said, resolute.

Oscar didn’t even try to argue. He folded his hands over his belly and closed his eyes, face relaxed and content, very unlike his usual expression of mild constipation.

The nearest Uber was still a while out. They were on a secluded hilltop overlooking the ocean – an ideal setting for a whodunit, and Carlos could only hope Oscar didn’t drop dead and leave him as the prime suspect – miles away from the city.

“Don’t fall asleep now!” he warned, nudging Oscar with his foot. “I won’t carry your drunk ass all the way to the parking lot!”

“Hm yes, because you couldn’t,” Oscar murmured, clearly half-asleep. Of course he’s out of it enough to let some randy retiree grope him in the middle of a gala and not even register the violation – but God forbid he miss a chance to throw shade at Carlos.

“I teach sports,” Carlos reminded him, offended despite himself. “I’m fit! Of course I could carry you!”

“Really?” Oscar cracked open his eyes again, squinting up at him through the terrace lights. He looked Carlos up and down, then smiled. In a soft voice, he said, “Prove it?”

And honestly, Carlos would not have. He would not have fallen for it – if it weren’t for that soft voice and that stupid, froggy smile, a reminder of just how utterly wasted Oscar was. He would have laughed in his face and said, “You wish,” and then abandoned him on the terrace floor while he found Lando to dump the responsibility on.

Instead, he crouched down and hooked his arms under Oscar’s armpits.

Oscar’s hands wrapped around his neck without needing direction. And even though he looked like a sack of rice left on the ground, he lifted easily – body loose, melting into every curve of Carlos’s frame. He was warm against the breeze. And he smelled… surprisingly good. Carlos couldn’t place it. Something sweet. Something that made him feel hungry.

He was tempted to just throw Oscar over his shoulder and carry him toward the garden, where he knew there was a gate leading to the parking lot. At the last second, though, he decided that Oscar had already lost enough dignity for one day. So he merely set him upright, wrapped an arm around his waist for support, and gently nudged him in the direction of the stairs.

“You call this carrying?” Oscar grumbled, dragging his feet.

“I just decided I’d prefer not to have your puke dripping down my back,” Carlos said. “Careful! Steps.”

Oscar nearly didn’t make it down the obstacle of the three narrow steps into the garden, because, incredibly, a series of bubbly giggles burst from his throat – the kind usually reserved for Lando’s antics. It caught Carlos so off-guard that he almost missed a step himself. Thankfully, he managed to catch both of them in time, steadying Oscar by pulling him back into his side.

“Are you okay?” he asked, because Oscar giggling at something he said could only mean something was seriously wrong.

Oscar let out a low hum and allowed Carlos to guide him gently into the garden. It was darker here, though the stone path was lit by a row of soft ground lights. The way to the parking lot had to be somewhere nearby, but everything looked so different in the dark that Carlos briefly lost his sense of direction.

He stopped at a junction, glancing around.

“Can you stand on your own for a second?” he asked Oscar, who took a reluctant step back so Carlos could fish his phone out of his pocket. Google Maps wasn’t particularly helpful, but at least it confirmed the parking lot was somewhere to their left, and he should be looking for a gate on that side.

He had just stuffed his phone back in his pocket when Oscar sagged forward against him, forehead pressed to Carlos’s shoulder. Carlos barely caught him in time to keep them from toppling over backward.

“Whoa! What are you–”

“Sorry, just got dizzy for a sec,” Oscar mumbled into his shoulder, warm breath seeping right through Carlos’s shirt. There it was again – that sweet scent, stronger than the surrounding rose bushes. Carlos had to fight the urge to bury his nose in Oscar’s hair and take a deep breath. Instead, he carefully wrapped both arms around Oscar’s waist to steady him.

“Idiot,” Carlos murmured, but it came out far too fond – maybe because of the low voices they were using, or because it was hard to fall into their usual rhythm when Oscar was being so unusually soft and vulnerable. This whole side of him was completely derailing Carlos. He hadn’t known Oscar could be warm or affectionate. He hadn’t known Oscar smelled good. He hadn’t known his breath would feel hot through layers of clothing. If he had known, he definitely wouldn’t have carried him out here, into the garden, where the lights were dim, the insects buzzed lazily in the bushes, and the two of them were alone, pressed together from head to toe.

“Better?” Carlos asked after a moment, unable to stop his hand from drawing slow, soothing circles on Oscar’s back.

Oscar hummed an affirmative against his shoulder and finally pulled back slightly – not out of Carlos’s space, not really, but at least his lips were no longer touching him. When Carlos dared to meet Oscar’s far-too-close eyes, he spotted that same froggy little smile again.

“You’re being too nice to me,” Oscar said, barely audible despite how close he was. “It’s freaking me out.”

“I am always nice!” Carlos protested – relieved, honestly, to return to some form of arguing, even if his hands still hadn’t gotten the message and kept tracing slow circles on Oscar’s back. “You’re the one always picking fights with me!”

Oscar looked amused by that. His eyes crinkled even more than before, pale skin rippling with too many lines – not just around his eyes, but at the corners of his mouth, too. He looked like a different person. Then again, he’d looked different all night, ever since showing up with his hair brushed and in a suit, albeit a slightly-too-small one that hugged his ass so tightly Carlos had been distracted even before this drunken debacle began.

Maybe it was time to admit that Oscar was… actually really good-looking. And good-smelling. God, what a terrible thing to realize about your least favorite coworker.

“I’m sure I was antagonizing you when you scratched up my car in the parking lot, huh?” Oscar said, predictably, since it was the origin of their strained relationship. But for once, there was no real bite to it.

“You were parked like a jackass!” Carlos shot back with his usual retort. It was so worn out now it barely held any weight. “How was I supposed to see you sticking halfway out of the space?”

“Maybe look into getting some glasses if you’re that blind,” Oscar said, and then, without warning, went off-script. “Might actually look good on you.”

“Yeah?” Carlos breathed, too thrown to come up with a good comeback.

“Mmhm,” Oscar hummed again, one hand rising to brush against the place where the frame of a pair of glasses might sit. His long nails dragged gently under Carlos’s eyes, too light to scratch. Very, very slowly, Oscar leaned in further, his body melting into Carlos’s, one knee sliding between his legs.

Carlos inhaled sharply and let it out in a slow exhale. “Jesus, Oscar,” he finally said.

Oscar’s thumb drifted down Carlos’s cheekbone toward the corner of his mouth. He didn’t speak, just stared at the movement of his own hand like it was hypnotic. By the time he reached Carlos’s lips, both of them were breathing hard. No more laugh-lines on Oscar’s face – just the pale glow of his skin, only disturbed by a smattering of moles and the plush, pink hint of what hid inside his open mouth.

A shrill ringtone made them jump apart just in time. Carlos scrambled to pull his phone from the pocket of his suit pants, which suddenly felt much tighter than before.

Shit. He’d completely forgotten about the Uber!

“Sorry! We’re on our way!” he barked into the phone, then grabbed Oscar – who was giggling – by the arms and dragged him down the path.

They nearly walked past the small garden gate, which wasn’t lit at all. Fortunately, Carlos caught a flash of headlights from the waiting car and managed to deliver his completely wasted coworker to the parking lot before the driver could leave due to a no-show.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” he apologized to the man, who was pacing impatiently in front of his car. “We got lost in the garden.”

Opening the back door, he gently maneuvered Oscar onto the seat, where he slumped against the window, soft like mashed potatoes. He didn’t move a muscle as Carlos half-climbed over him to pull the seatbelt across and buckle him in. The car’s back seat was mostly dark, but a bit of light caught in the whites of Oscar’s eyes, and on the soft curve of his lips. He was looking up at Carlos with that quiet, contented smile Carlos had never seen before today.

As Carlos started to pull away, Oscar grabbed the sleeve of his jacket.

“Where are you going?”

“Back inside, obviously,” Carlos whispered, matching Oscar’s soft voice. “I can’t just ditch work. If anyone notices you’re gone, I’ll cover for you, okay?”

Oscar didn’t let go. Still smiling, he said, “Then I can’t go either.”

“What? Do you not trust me, or–”

“No, I don’t,” Oscar said, though he was clearly just teasing. “But I also can’t go home. Sophie made me put all my stuff in her purse because she said my bulging pockets ruined the fit of the pants. I don’t have my house keys on me.”

Carlos suppressed a groan and tried to ignore the driver growing more impatient behind him.

If he had to stumble all the way back to the hotel now, find Sophie in the massive hall, all while avoiding their bosses and the old men he’d antagonized…

“You’ll have to take me to your place,” Oscar whispered, tightening his grip on Carlos’s sleeve.

“Oh,” Carlos said.

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Horrible. Catastrophic.

He found himself settling into the middle seat before his brain could come up with more disastrous synonyms, buckling in while Oscar’s limp hand dropped from Carlos’s sleeve, right onto his thigh.

“Ready?” the driver called from outside and shut the door before Carlos could reply.

Two minutes later, they were on the road to Carlos’s apartment. A slow song played on the radio, streetlights flashing sparsely past the windows. Oscar’s hand stayed on his thigh, unmoving. A radioactive weight, pressing him down into the seat and keeping his pants tight.

He couldn’t even see Oscar’s face in the dark – just the occasional flicker of silhouette when they passed a streetlight. After a while, Oscar’s head tilted bit by bit until it rested against Carlos’s shoulder.

Had he fallen asleep? Probably not, judging by the steady, deliberate strokes of his thumb across Carlos’s inner thigh. Oscar’s hair tickled his nose, wafting that sweet scent again. Carlos hadn’t really clicked with the Uber driver, but suddenly he wished for some pointless chatter, just to defuse the tension in the car.

The drive felt twice as long as it had on the way here. And just when Carlos thought Oscar had dozed off, his hand moved again, dragging along the bulge in Carlos’s pants, drawing a surprised, breathy whimper from him that he really, really hoped the driver hadn’t heard over the music.

The next streetlight illuminated Oscar’s eyes again. He was looking up at Carlos from beneath a curl of hair, gauging his reaction. There was a glint on his lips where he’d licked them.

Carlos was going to die.

He’d had no idea the tension between himself and Oscar had been sexual all this time. Maybe it hadn’t been – maybe it had just turned upside down tonight because Oscar was being nice for once, and all dressed up, and… groping him in the backseat of the car.

No, not groping. Not exactly. His hand was just lightly brushing against him, irregular, almost by accident. The only reason Carlos had to assume intention was that Oscar’s face was tilted upward, presumably looking him right in the eyes.

Carlos closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the headrest. He could feel Oscar’s hot breath against his collar, making him reach up to loosen his tie. He felt like a teenager, one glass of champagne too many, bubbles dancing in his periphery, probing hands, blurred lines. It was just a twenty-minute ride, but by the time they finally re-entered civilization, Carlos felt like he’d lived half a life – hard and hot and on the brink of snapping.

He wasn’t sure how much he tipped the driver in the end. He just shoved his hand into his back pocket and pulled out whatever cash he’d stuffed in there, leaving it in the center console without a word. Then he got out and walked around the car, collecting Oscar from the other side.

The Uber driver stuck his head out the window, suddenly looking a lot friendlier than before.

“Thanks, ‘ppreciate it!” he said, waving the wad of cash Carlos had left him. There was definitely a twenty in there. Oh boy.

But Carlos didn’t have much time to mourn his hard-earned money. Oscar was heavily leaning into him, eyes half-lidded – no, three-quarters lidded. Actually, they were slits, at most. He was smiling again, as if he’d never been happier in his life than right now, with Carlos’s arm around his waist, insistently maneuvering him toward the entrance to his building.

He lived on the ground floor and had never been as glad about it as today, because there was no elevator in this building, and carrying Oscar up a flight of stairs might have ended in disaster.

Not that this wouldn’t end in disaster.

“Okay,” Carlos said, drawing in shallow breaths in a futile attempt to calm himself down. “This is… this is me.”

Oscar’s eyes crinkled, amused, as he walked over the threshold, right into Carlos’s life. Carlos was mostly an orderly person, but there were hints of him not expecting any visitors strewn around. A blender cup left to soak in the sink from where he’d hastily thrown together a smoothie that morning. A few discarded tie options hanging from the back of the couch. A sports magazine, flipped open on the coffee table.

“It’s nice,” Oscar said, which was probably the most un-Oscar-like thing he could’ve said about Carlos’s apartment, reminding Carlos once again of just how far gone he must be.

Stalling for time, Carlos wandered into the kitchen, hoping Oscar wouldn’t just collapse to the floor without his support. “You want anything to drink?” he asked, opening a random cupboard. “Water? Coffee?”

Oscar’s brows arched, but he followed, leaning with his elbows against the kitchen island.

“Water’s fine,” he said, and Carlos reached for a tall glass, filled it from the faucet, and handed it over from the other side of the island, so they didn’t have to touch.

Oscar, ignoring the message, sidled along the island’s edge until he was right in Carlos’s face again. The light was low, but bright enough to highlight the flush sitting high on Oscar’s cheeks, right on the fleshy part under the eyes. It looked pretty. He looked so fucking pretty when he wasn’t being a prissy bastard, nagging Carlos for literally just existing. So pretty when he smiled.

“Thank you,” Oscar whispered, finally taking the glass from Carlos’s sweaty hands. He didn’t break eye contact as he took a long sip, swallowing audibly. The half-empty glass gave a soft clink when Oscar set it down on the kitchen counter, and the sound went straight through Carlos, bone-deep.

It was so fucking hard to be ethical when Oscar looked the prettiest he’d ever looked, wore the tightest pants he’d ever worn, and stared right into his eyes while licking his lips.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Oscar continued, when Carlos could do nothing but stare back, unblinking.

“Yeah, uh,” Carlos coughed, only just realizing how dry his throat had gotten. “It’s no problem, rea–”

Oscar grabbed his tie and pulled him in, a lot more coordinated than Carlos would’ve given him credit for. There was no miss, no awkward clack of teeth – just Oscar’s soft, freshly-wet lips, and then, already, his tongue, slipping into Carlos’s open, desperate mouth.

Carlos immediately lost the fight against his own morals.

Oscar’s body was fusing itself to his again. Mouth-to-mouth, chest-to-chest, bulge-to-bulge. They seemed to be about the same height, which, for some reason, was the hottest thing to Carlos right now. He’d never thought a lack of height difference could be a kink, but he was discovering a lot of new things about himself tonight.

His hands were busying themselves with Oscar’s shirt, fiddling with the buttons, which refused to open. They were just as stubborn as their wearer, so Carlos gave up and went straight for the belt instead. Oscar groaned into his mouth when Carlos peeled his pants down, past his ass, and the weight of the belt carried them further, until they pooled around Oscar’s ankles. It was probably a terrible idea to leave a drunk man with fabric shackles like that, but Carlos was too distracted by the firm grip of Oscar’s ass in his hands, and Oscar somehow managed to step out of his shoes and pant legs just fine. Maybe the alcohol was wearing off.

Spurred on by that idea, Carlos gripped Oscar’s ass harder, pulling him close, and up, until Oscar got the message and wrapped his legs around Carlos’s waist.

‘See? I can carry you. Easy!’ Carlos would’ve liked to say, as he transported Oscar around the kitchen island and across the living room blindly, until Oscar’s back hit the bedroom door. His mouth was still too busy to talk, so he hoped the quality of his neck-sucking conveyed the proper amount of smugness as he pushed down the door handle and stumbled into the room with Oscar in his arms.

The unloading wasn’t very elegant, unfortunately. He banged his shins on the bedframe and dropped Oscar into the pillows like a sack of bricks.

Oscar landed with a muffled “Ooph!” but didn’t complain. He just looked up at Carlos, the flush even more widespread than before. It went all the way down into his loosened collar, tie hanging on by a thread, the first three buttons undone to reveal surprisingly shaped pecs.

“Fuck,” he groaned, as his narrow eyes raked across Carlos’s body. Carlos wasn’t sure what he was seeing that was so impressive – he wasn’t the one lying on the bed with naked, spread legs, light grey boxers tented and damp at the tip, ready to be devoured. Not even in his wildest dreams could Carlos have conjured up such a sinful image of Oscar Jack Piastri, bane of his existence.

But there Oscar was, one hand reaching down to squeeze his dick, still staring up at Carlos, voice coming out rough and breathless as he said, “Jesus! Why do you have to be so fucking hot?”

Suddenly, there was a record-scratch sound in Carlos’s brain.

Because it wasn’t just the picture in front of him – it was the words, too.

Oscar Piastri, in his right mind, would never say those words out loud to Carlos Sainz’s face.

One time, when it was just the two of them in the break room, Oscar had caught Carlos checking himself out in the reflection of the coffee machine and rolled his eyes so hard Carlos had genuinely worried about the strings holding them in place.

“Regret to inform you, you’re not as hot as you think you are,” Oscar had told him.

That was what the real, actual Oscar Piastri thought of Carlos. He couldn’t trust anything this mimosa-brained, dummy-drunk temptation was telling him. It was just the alcohol talking. And if Carlos ended up taking advantage, he wouldn’t only break his own morals – there’d probably be a murder in this house the moment the real Oscar returned to his body in the morning.

So, as hard as it was, Carlos took a step back – away from the heavily breathing, clearly aroused man sitting on his bed with spread legs – mumbled a quick, “Good night, Oscar”, and stumbled off toward the bathroom as fast as his legs could carry him.

It took about five minutes for Oscar to process what had just happened and show up at the closed bathroom door, banging his fists against it and yelling what the fuck was wrong with Carlos – and another five minutes until he gave up and shuffled back toward the bed, muttering a few choice words under his breath.

Carlos stayed in the bathroom for the rest of the night, not trusting himself to face Oscar again. He took a long, cold shower and built himself a nest out of a few towels.

It was a terrible night. He barely slept at all. Different scenes from the evening played on the inside of his eyelids like a movie screen every time he closed his eyes. At one point, he even had to take a second cold shower. He could still feel Oscar’s ghostly hand brushing over his thigh, again and again, grazing his bulge through the suit trousers.

He woke up when the sun shone through the small bathroom window, way too early, and half-hard.

There was no sound coming from outside, though, so he dared to slip out of the bathroom.

The door to his bedroom was closed, and Carlos gave it a wide berth, heading to the kitchen instead to make himself a coffee.

Two hours later, there were still no sounds coming from the bedroom. Carlos decided it was time to face his fate.

He grabbed the glass Oscar had abandoned on the kitchen island the night before and filled it with fresh water. Then, very carefully, he went to knock on his own bedroom door.

No reaction.

He knocked again, but nothing changed.

Had… had Oscar left after Carlos had locked himself in the bathroom? Unlikely – he didn’t have his keys, or his phone, and Carlos had found his pants abandoned on the kitchen floor this morning.

Oh God. What if he’d fallen asleep on his back and choked on his own vomit, like some kind of drug victim?

Carlos opened the door and found the room mostly dark. The curtains were drawn, but they didn’t manage to keep the sunlight out completely.

The bed was a mess, but the body sprawled half-over, half-under the pile of blankets and pillows Carlos kept in his bed was clearly still breathing. Carlos was greeted by a perfectly shaped ass, clad only in underwear, sticking out of the sheets, one bare leg tossed carelessly over the blankets. Oscar’s hair was sticking up in all directions, defying gravity.

Slowly, slowly, Carlos walked into the room. He just wanted to set the glass of water on the bedside table and sneak back out, but he must have made some kind of noise, because just as he reached the bed, Oscar’s eyes snapped open, staring up at him.

There was a moment of silence as Carlos didn’t dare move a muscle, hoping against hope that Oscar would simply close his eyes again and go back to sleep. Instead, he sat up in bed.

He didn’t look especially disoriented for someone who had just gotten blackout drunk the night before, but then, Oscar never really looked fazed by anything.

“What are you doing?” Oscar asked, voice deep with sleep.

Carlos hesitantly lifted the glass of water in his hand. “Bringing you a glass of water?”

“Hm. That’s considerate,” Oscar said, without even a hint of a smile. “I really need that right now.”

Good. Good! Carlos handed him the glass with slightly trembling fingers.

A second later, the entire contents of the water glass splashed into his face. Carlos didn’t make a sound. He just let it happen. He kind of deserved it.

“Thought you really needed that,” he mumbled, once the majority of the water had dripped off his chin.

“Yep. That’s exactly what I needed it for,” Oscar said.

Carlos nodded, understanding. He sat down on the edge of the bed, drying his face with the hem of his T-shirt.

So. Oscar was clearly furious with him, and he had every right to be. Unfortunately, Oscar was also sitting there in his underwear and rumpled dress shirt, tangled in Carlos’s sheets, with the most adorable bedhead the world had ever seen, looking soft and warm, like a murderous kitten.

“Look, I’m very sorry–” Carlos began, but Oscar didn’t seem interested in hearing him out.

“As you should be!” he snapped. “Jesus Christ, Carlos! You were flirting with me all night! Do you have any idea how humiliating this is for me? I’ve been practically throwing myself at you and you were giving every sign, including taking me home! Only to run away the second I’m half-naked on your bed? At least have the decency to explain yourself! I’m a grown man – if you’re not actually into me, just say it!”

What? In what world would Carlos not be into him? He was getting hard just sitting here, being told off.

“That’s not what–” he started, stammering. “I mean, I just suddenly realized you were blackout drunk, and–”

“Blackout drunk?” Oscar snapped. “I wish!”

“Okay, so maybe you remember some of it, but you were clearly drunk, Oscar! I couldn’t… I couldn’t risk it, okay?”

Oscar still looked like he was actively considering tearing Carlos’s head off and using it as a flower vase.

“I wasn’t drunk,” he said icily. “I had, like, two mimosas. I’ve seen you drink twice that much right after arriving, mate.”

“Uh–” Carlos faltered like he’d just been punched in the stomach.

“I was tipsy, at best!”

“But… but you were smiling!”

“It’s called ‘having a good time,’ Carlos!” Oscar snapped. “Not something I usually experience around you, granted, but not exactly unheard of!”

“And you were letting those old American guys grope you in front of everyone!”

Oscar’s mouth dropped open in protest. “You mean Zak?” he groaned. “Mate, that’s my old boss. He got me this job! And he wasn’t groping me – his hand was on my mid-back, at best. You were the only one groping me in front of everyone, Jesus Christ! I only let you because I thought it was hot when you suddenly got all territorial!”

“But… but…” Carlos was running out of arguments. “You couldn’t even move without me supporting you!”

“What?” Oscar rubbed at his eyes like a headache was starting to form – one that had nothing to do with last night’s drinks. “I was supporting you just as much! Mate, I just thought we were both a little tipsy off the champagne, in the mood for a stupid mistake that wouldn’t even matter in the long run, because we already don’t get along.”

“Right,” Carlos said, gears finally turning.

“Right,” Oscar echoed.

“So,” Carlos said carefully, scooting just a little closer along the edge of the bed, “does that mean… you’re not mad at me for taking advantage of you, but rather mad at me for not taking advantage of you?”

“Hardly taking advantage, is it?” Oscar said, narrowing his eyes.

“Right,” Carlos said again, and shut up, waiting.

Oscar eyed him warily, and then, after a beat of silence, leaned back, his dress shirt falling open just enough to reveal the faintest glimpse of a nipple.

“Right,” Oscar repeated, a glint in his eye.

Carlos tackled him back into the sheets.

#carcar #f1 rpf #carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #oscar piastri #my fics #oscarlos #carloscar

205 notes · View notes

sourcherryandsprinkles · 8 days ago

Note

Erik getting a prince albert piercing and not telling his girl until after he did it

Request: The Campbells have a barbecue for Bobby’s birthday and Erik invites you

Warnings: mention of piercing,

Fell in love with this man the second I saw him on screen. I'm so happy people want to read about him. This is exactly my type

—

Barbecues were a recurrent event at the Campbells. It was a great way of spending time together, and an opportunity for Howard to show off his skills behind the grill. He wouldn’t call himself a grill master, but he definitely was a pro burger-flipper.

You’ve gone to a few barbecues yourself since dating Erik. His family was endearingly chaotic — in the best ways. While the food was cooking, Julia and Erik would go on the trampoline and have a highest jump battle, like they did as children. Each time one of them would take a bad fall, Brenda would threaten to sell the trampoline, but never actually do it.

Today’s barbecue was special though; it was Bobby’s birthday. Brenda hung a ‘happy birthday’ sign over the sliding door which matched the small bouquet of lavender balloons in the corner.

You abandoned Julia and went inside to help Erik with the plates and cutlery. He’s been inside for over ten minutes, why was he taking so long?

‘’Erik?’’ you called out, not seeing him in the kitchen.

No answers.

With a frown on your face, you checked the living room before making your way upstairs. The hallway at the top was lined with photos of the Campbells throughout the years, from baby photos to family vacations. You chuckled as you passed the one of seven years old Erik with a toothless grin. He had fallen off his bike and broke his front teeth the weekend before picture day at school.

Speaking of Erik, you heard a series of curses coming from his bedroom. You followed the sound and held a chuckle when you found him sitting on his bed, wrapping Bobby’s present with difficulty.

‘’Need a hand?’’

Erik looked up as you entered his room and let out a sigh of frustration. ‘’This is sorcery.’’ He glared at the scotch tape and paper, as if it was their fault. ‘’Can I just put a bow on top and give it to him like that?’’

You rolled your eyes, dropping onto the bed beside him. ‘’Or you could admit defeat and let me take over.’’

He pushed the mess of paper toward you. It was ‘your problem’ now. ‘’Be my guest.’’

As you started smoothing out the paper, Erik shifted up the bed and flopped back against the pillows, and let a quiet, involuntary groan slip out.

It sounded painful, so you glanced over. “You good, babe?”

Erik cleared his throat. “Fine.’’

‘’Did you hurt yourself fighting with Bobby over the controller again?’’ you asked, used to the Campbell siblings shenanigans. They played hardcore.

‘’No.’’ The brunet hesitated, then continued. He intended to keep it a secret from you, but he couldn't see himself making up shit for the next four to six weeks. '’I just…I got my dick pierced two days ago. It’s sensitive.’’

You were used to Erik coming up with spontaneous body modifications projects and never actually getting them done. A month ago, he really wanted a tattoo of a certain metal band. He even made a sketch on his ipad, but forgot about it and moved to another idea…which he also didn’t get done.

So when he told you that he got his dick pierced, you didn’t believe him. For one, it sounded extremely painful. And second, he always talked about it as a joke.

You scoffed, folding a corner of the paper smoothly before taping it down. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” he said, deadpan.

You looked up and squinted at him. “Erik, you can’t be serious.”

That signature shit-eating grin spread across his face. The kind he wore whenever he was about to confess to something absolutely reckless. The one that always meant trouble.

Suddenly, you were having doubts.

“Dead serious.'’

He was serious.

You shook your head, your lower stomach filling up with butterflies. “You’re insane.”

You meant it as a compliment. His recklessness was part of him, and you wouldn’t change it. Even if it made you want to tear his head off sometimes.

‘’Want me to pull my pants down and show you?” He brought a hand down to his belt buckle, about to undo it, but you stopped him.

‘’Later.’’

—

All and more taglist: @kenqki @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis @katherinejess @rafesgirlstuff @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity Anouk nani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21 @Spacexdrago @nhlfs

#erik campbell #erik campbell x reader #final destination #final destination bloodlines #erik campbell x you

373 notes · View notes

montelotl · 5 days ago

Text

chance crush hcs! ❤️🎲

• He’s a passionate dork and nerd, wrapped in that cute dicey hoodie of his. Despite his bursts of confidence from rolling a Nat 20, Chance can’t help but gasp when you congratulate him. Especially with your supportive hand squeezing his broad shoulder.

Poor man forgets how to breathe, making everyone at the table raise an obvious eyebrow. The guy’s face is painted red, matching the dice he just tossed out.

• The man calls everyone ‘maiden’ or ‘sir’ or ‘liege’, but the GnG master purposely bows in front of you while greeting. Embarrassing at first, you’ve shrugged it off at this point and lower your head in tandem.

One time, before he could even speak, you bowed and gently grabbed his hand. Lowering your lips, you grazed the soft skin of Chance’s knuckles.

“Good afternoon, dear dungeon master.” Your voice drops an octave, fighting back a chuckle.

It was meant as a joke, but once you looked up…

Chance was clutching his mouth. Cheeks flared red, his brain was trying to find the appropriate response to a fantasy he’s dreamed about.

• Chance purposely leaves a seat, next to him, open for you during GnG. But if Lux or Parker steal the stool, he’ll make up a bad random reason to move.

“No offense, Lux… your ring light is brighter than usual. I’ll just sit next to (Y/N) today.”

“Parker! What did I tell you about bringing another board game? If you don’t respect my passion, then I’ll sit next to someone who does!”

“Oh! Just realized this is not the proper position to conduct any dungeoning. Just going to—“

—> Picks up the stool and plops it right next to you.

• We all have to agree that he would write roleplay of his original characters with yours.

The times he does get to be a normal participant, he’s giggling with you about what your blorbos will do this session. Maybe they’ll hold hands to get across a ravine? Share a bed? Kiss to get the snake venom out from their tongue?

Chance, kicking his feet, at writing how his OC will sweep your OC off their feet.

• If he catches you flirting with another object, he’ll think nothing of it. Everyone in this damn house is dating each other.

BUT, it does sting a bit when you’re indulging in a game with someone else. Their hyperfixations, their infatuations. Indulging in that person’s passions, having utter fun, looking deeply in their eyes when they talk about their obssession—

Chance forces himself to have a cheery smile in present company.

“You … sure have a knack at this, huh (Name)?”

• Ending on a positive note, Chance loves giving praise. Even if he doesn’t have any reason to speak to you—

“H-Hey (Name)! Cool socks, today! Trying to slide around in style?”

“(Name)! … Um… Just wanted to say nice play last session… haha!”

But the holy damn pick-up lines—

“Holy crit… I failed my saving throw against your irresistible charm.”

“Another 20? You sure you didn’t distract me like you always do?”

“You’re lucky I didn’t check your character sheet today. Call it cheating to have your stats match how you perfect you are.”

Even if they end in cheesy pick up lines, crickets absolutely chirping… your heart grows another size at his adorkableness.

#guys idk how he became my favorite #I NEED A PRIVATE SESSION #chance #chance date everything #date everything #date everything hcs

179 notes · View notes

daycourtofficial · 1 year ago

Text

Wildest Dreams

Summary: Azriel has a dirty dream about you and unbeknownst to him, his shadows begin to act out parts of his dream.

Warnings: smut, dubcon, shadowplay, minors DNI

Author’s note: I might make a part two to this? Uncertain yet. Banner by cafekitsune

You looked so beautiful underneath him, all tied up, your legs spread to give him the perfect view of you. Naked as the day you were born, just waiting for him. He looks at you, watching you squirm underneath his gaze. He takes his time, his eyes roving over every inch of you, drinking you in.

He grabs one of your legs, starting to kiss your ankle, moving his way slowly up your leg, your shuddering breathes causing him to slow his pace the closer he gets to your core. He’s halfway up your thigh when he starts nipping and sucking, wanting to leave a distinct line of marks up your thigh, marking you as his.

He reaches all the way up your thigh, and you are trying so hard to rub his face against yourself. He pins down your hips, moves his face directly in front of your heat and asks, “is this what you want?”

You can feel his words and the vibrations travel through you, heightening every feeling going through you. His mouth is mere inches from you, and he’s getting drunk off the smells of your arousal.

You whimper out a soft “yes”, desperate with need, and he accepts the invitation and his tongue slowly makes it’s way into your folds.

Unbeknownst to Azriel, as he slept a few shadows slipped from under his door and into your room. They searched the room, happy to find you in bed, laying on your back, a flowy nightgown adorning your body.

You were resting with a foot out from under the covers, but most of your legs and torso was covered. One shadow slips back out to retreieve more, while the other two shadows start swirling up your legs, moving the blanket out of their way as they swirl up your body.

More shadows slip in, your unconscious state keeping you from noticing their presence. The shadows dance around you, happy to have found you like this.

Will please master, they whisper to each other.

As you sleep, a few shadows begin sliding up your nightgown, the cool air hardening your nipples quickly. A few other shadows grab your wrists gingerly, holding them above your head gently, but firmly.

Some of the shadows lift up your nightgown, swirling around your hips before beginning to move across your pussy. You moan in your sleep, your hips moving on their accord against the new pleasing presence.

The shadows start exploding with excitement over your noises and even more join the fun. Their excitement comes to a head when they hear you moan out their master’s name, deciding that they know exactly what to do.

Azriel was used to waking up to his shadows wanting to tell him something. Cassian ate a midnight snack or Feyre got up to check on Nyx. Tonight they began chanting your name in his ear, along with the phrase, present for you, master.

Azriel decides to get up, taking a moment to calm his erratic heart rate and his erratic erection. His shadows won’t let him take too long as they start dragging him out of the room, pushing and pulling him towards your room.

He can smell your arousal through the door, sweeter than he had imagined it would be. He opens the door, being met with a sight he knows he’ll never forget.

You’re tied down to the bed by shadows with only your black nightgown covering your body. Hands above your head, shadows encapsulate several of your body parts, keeping you from leaving. Several shadows swarm over your eyes, leaving you without sight.

He can’t stop watching as your hips gírate on the wisps of his shadows, their cool touch causing you to moan in arousal.

He’s frozen in the doorway, unable to move, just watching his shadows recreate the moment from his dream so perfectly, aside from the nightgown. They did call you a present, and perhaps that was the wrapping paper. Then he hears it.

Azriel.

You’re moaning his name, throwing your head back in pleasure, and he can’t hold himself back anymore. Unsure if you’re dreaming or just imagining him, he can’t let your lust and need continue over a fake version of himself. He strides over to your bed, climbing on top of you, his legs in between your spread ones.

The scent of you is burning his nostrils, a scent he wants imprinted on himself forever. He leans forward, grabbing your jaw as his shadows dissipate from your eyes. He strokes his thumb on your jaw, causing your eyes to open.

You look at him, eyes full of lust and uncertainty. His shadows are still keeping you pinned down, and Azriel realizes then that you were having a dirty dream about the two of you.

Your eyes tell him you can’t discern if this is real or not, so he takes the leap both of you have been dancing around for months, neither brave enough to do it.

“Dreaming of me, sweetheart?”

A moan leaves your lips involuntarily, and your face heats red at your position, at him catching you having a sex dream about him.

“It’s okay,” he purrs, lowering himself down so he’s inches from your face. “You should see what we do in my dreams.”

Your eyes look back at him - searching for humor, for insincerity. All you’re met with in return is love, devotion, and hunger.

His mouth reaches for your ears and whispers, “is this okay? My shadows did this while I was asleep.”

A smile graces your lips, “were they acting out your dream?”

He smirks, “it seems so.”

“Then show me what the rest of your dream was.”

#acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel smut

1K notes · View notes

melancholiaincarnate · 11 months ago

Text

uncle meanie

「 in which ᵎᵎ 」 yuji itadori's mean (and quite attractive) uncle comes to pick him up from school

「 words ᵎᵎ 」 828

「 author's note ᵎᵎ 」 hii :3 check out my master list, my requests r open, thank u to @zooone for beta reading :) part two maybe ..? lmk lmk

「 warnings ᵎᵎ 」 sukuna being flirty, sukuna being a meanie etc etc, sukuna.

"maki, please stop hitting mai - i'm going to have to tell your parents-" you sigh and walk over to the twins, where a screaming match over the kinetic sand has turned physical.

"miss, miss!" a little girl pulls on your pant leg, "miss, i need to potty." she frowns, her big eyes looking up at you, "right now."

"thank you for asking. you may go to the restroom, kugisaki." you pat the girl on the head and she runs off towards the door to the hallway.

you turn back around, ready to deal with the twins again to find that they've separated on their own and are glaring at each other from across the room.

"YUJI, YOUR MEANIE UNCLE IS HERE." kugisaki screams from the hallway. you were going to have a migraine. "I SEE HIM! HE LOOKS MEAN! AND ANGRY! LIKE ALWAYS!"

being a daycare teacher wasn't easy - especially when your children were menaces to society like kugisaki and the twins. but you loved your job - and especially loved all the hot dilfs you got to see on a daily basis.

at the door stood yuji's uncle. he was quite a stark difference from yuji's father - this man was tattooed across his face and arms, was incredibly buff, and had piercings. he was really attractive, if you had to be honest.

"kuna!" yuji drops the blocks he was playing with, (leaving a frowning megumi behind), and runs towards the older male. "hi kuna!"

"hello brat." sukuna pats his head awkwardly, his lips pressed into a tight line. "okay, that's enough. off."

yuji giggles and peels himself off of the man, and as you walk over, he bounces in excitement. "miss, miss! this is my uncle kuna!"

"i told you don't call me that, you insolent-" he huffs and then looks you up and down. "you look a little young to be running this place." sukuna had to admit though - you were incredibly pretty. he straightened his posture and ran a hand through his hair, wanting to look a little more presentable to you.

"it's a daycare, mr. itadori. i don't need to be at retirement age to work here." you roll your eyes and bend down to yuji's level. "go get your stuff, kiddo, and say bye to everyone, while your uncle signs you out." yuji nods excitedly, and runs off, heading straight to say goodbye to megumi.

"it's not itadori. it's sukuna." he surveys the room, "ryomen sukuna."

"ryomen." you nod. sukuna's always hated being called ryomen, but from your mouth, it sounded like a melody. "it's nice to meet you. let me check if you're on yuji's allowed pickup list." you head towards the desk, which was not too far, and flip through papers.

"allowed pickups?" he scoffs, irritation taking over his features, "i'm the pest's uncle - of course i'm allowed to pick him up." sukuna's nose seems to flare up at the idea that he is not a listed caretaker for yuji.

"nope you're here." you point to his name on the list, "good thing, too. we have the system in place so people don't pick up kids who aren't theirs - or for parents who want their kids staying away from people." you explain while uncapping a pen and sliding the sheet toward him, "just sign here to confirm you picked up yuji itadori today."

he signs his name with extra flare, placing the pen down roughly onto the table. "yuji, honey, your uncle is waiting." you call.

"i need to finish saying bye to everyone!" yuji pouted from across the room. he had a habit of saying bye and giving everyone a hug before he left every day.

"fuckin' brat-" the man huffed under his breath, "so, you single?" sukuna wasted no time or effort and you stifled a laugh.

"you just met me." you raise a brow, "and i teach your nephew." you weren't used to such forward behavior from men, especially ones this handsome.

"my nephew. not my son. nothing wrong with it." a tongue comes to dart between his lips, "c'mon, doll, one date. you're too pretty to be workin'. i could take care of you." he hums, smirking as he looks you up and down. "what'dya say?"

yuji comes bounding up to the two of you, taking sukuna's large tattooed hand into his. "i say, have a good rest of your day, mr. sukuna. and you two, yuji." you give him a polite smile despite the fluttering in your heart.

"i'll be back tomorrow, woman." he huffs, "you'd better have a different answer." his eyes rake over your figure once more before he bends down to effortlessly pick up the child and plop him on his hip. "say goodbye to your teacher, brat."

"goodbye miss!" the child smiles brightly and waves with both hands, and sukuna gives you a nod before he turns around.

"same time tomorrow, i'll be here to pick up the kid." he calls, not looking behind him. "i'm expecting to see you here, doll - and i can't wait."

#sukuna x reader #sukuna fic #sukuna fluff #sukuna jjk fic #jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #jjk x you #sukuna x you #jjk fic #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #jjk sukuna #jjk x reader

403 notes · View notes

slowd1ving · 8 months ago

Note

Hi! If you're not taking reqs then feel free to ignore this but could you write Kim dokja angst? Maybe we're switching the roles and the reader is dying instead of dokja for once lmao

HOUSE OF CARDS ゜・KIM DOKJA

"A house made of cards, like the fools we are." In which a gambler finally pays the price for his bet. never actually written angst so I hope this is good enough anon art creds to kim28_dokja on twt! pairings: kim dokja + gn reader warnings: blood, injury, death, references to child abuse/dokja's past wc: 2.4k

ORV MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Dokja is shit at games.

It’s clear to the dealer. Even on the best day, those omnipotent palms that allocate fate will grow clammy (which they never do) and that ever-present smile slowly turns into a profound grimace. They know. They feel it instinctually, on a cellular level: that hand was terrible.

It’s clear to the people around him. The salaryman stumbles into the building as though he’s just learned to walk: in never-polished shoes, slacks that perpetually crease further with each nervous wipe of his hands, and the clinging scent of smoke that preludes his entrance. He’s not got his life together, they observe, behind stony poker faces he can never quite master. That’s why he’s here.

Most of all, it’s clear to Kim Dokja himself. Every irregular heartbeat pulses in his throat as he gazes at his cards—two seven offsuit. In his sweat-streaked fingers is the short straw urging him to enlist. On the table before him are all his chess pieces, lined up neatly: spectators to the constant check, his inevitable downfall.

Despite his atrocious luck, the thin red string binding him to this world never quite severs. A fire befalls the casino. A bullet embeds itself in the shell of his helmet and not a hair further. The chess game is postponed by a phone call and the poignant sound of shattering glass—and Dokja is left to shoulder the limbo of an unfinished game.

He’s shit at games, but never truly loses.

Is it simply up to chance? A coin is tossed into the air: another foolish plan devised, another chip placed that equates to one of his lives. Crisis after crisis—Dokja, that harbinger of misfortune—yet each time, he resurrects. He bets on it, in fact: quite literally gambling away everything.

It is just how things are. He cuts corners. He smooth-talks the fates into letting his transgressions slide just a little longer. For once, he’s winning, and the grand prize is something beyond his wildest dreams—an ending, to mark the indefinite uncertainty of chapters that seem to grow like nebulae.

“Dokja.” It’s a sigh each time when he defies the end. Anyone else would interpret it as exasperation, but he likes to think he knows you better than that; it’s relief you greet him with, no matter how many times he sacrifices himself. “You idiot.”

It’s nice to know his long-time friend cares about him.

No matter how many times he places his bets, the value of his life never seems to deprecate for you. Sacrifice is something you’d rather avoid (so does he, but it cannot always be helped, right?). If Dokja’s life can be used to save more of the people he cares about, all the better.

In fact, he’d rather keep you away from any front line.

There’s a story of its own between the two of you: years of scraped knees and violence, of gazing up at your shoulders while you bruise your knuckles with whoever bruised his eye, of friendship pacts forged with spat-on palms and corded bracelets.

Your very soul is entwined with his scrawny one from years past, and it’s always been the case that yours has fought the battles in his stead. ‘Why?’ he’d once asked, and he still vividly remembers the cool response you attempted to give, only to end up fumbling the words.

Because I can. Because I want to. Because you deserve it.

It’s his turn to repay his debts. These fights are no longer about a bloodied mouth and spitting red onto the asphalt. They don’t end with bruised ribs and broken noses.

You sit out. This one, he thinks grimly, is his fight—one that will guarantee both you and him turning the page on ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼. Every factor has been considered. Each risk is carefully mitigated at the expense of himself. None of the contingencies fail to prioritise his oldest friend.

These are chips he cannot afford to bet on.

Naturally, he keeps them close to his chest.

゜゜・

Dokja is shit at games.

His friends know it all too well. Those disbelieving laughs they let out, their fists clenching and unclenching as they debate whether to hit him across the head—Dokja, the herald of despair, he is—and finally the rush of words leaving their mouths like air deflating from a balloon: “Never do that again.”

All in, his chips go—each and every time. There is no other way about it: not unless you shackled Dokja to you in vain to make him listen—to stop the endless deaths he goes through. Over and over, until you feel his mind wear into recklessness, until you see the emptiness that taints his eyes as he slips into quiet contemplation.

How will Dokja die this time?

You’d rather erode into nothingness than clip his wings, though. That book he gushed about to you (syllables rushing over themselves in his excitement each update) gave him back his life—if you ruin his painstaking ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼, you don’t think you could forgive yourself.

Even if he’s ratcheting to Icarian heights. Those feathers of his are beginning to streak wax-hot down man-made frames, made of pages upon pages of a book obsolete to all but one dedicated reader.

You think he can see the pain in your eyes, before he turns away with lips pressed together tightly. You’ll be safe, he reassured you. You’ve got me. I’ll create an epilogue for you to witness.

Dokja’s changed.

Those scrawny shoulders have become something that the very sky settles on: ones that no longer shake behind your own arms. The world has bruised you, and Dokja shall bruise it back. Every favour, repaid tenfold.

Dokja’s changed.

He’s still got the same facade of the boy you’ve called your oldest friend. If it weren’t for that, you’d think the man who coldly settles his death were a stranger. Someone you never shook hands with, childishly grimacing at the remains of a spat-upon pact rubbing into small palms.

Dokja’s changed.

He thinks he no longer causes misfortune with each risk he takes—as if his life were a mere trifle, as if each shred of news about him doesn’t shatter your heart over and over.

When will it end?

You haven’t seen him for months.

Is it finally time to grieve?

゜゜・

Dokja is shit at games.

It seems you are too. He turns the page of his book, and beside him the house of cards is carefully stacked on the glass table. It’s a precarious matter: high stakes against yourself, an unsafe tightrope that threatens to give way any moment now.

Your eyes meet his.

Like magic, the house collapses.

゜゜・

You are shit at games.

You take a deep breath, and begin organising what could be the final legacy of Dokja. It’s something he treasured even over his life, evidently: the ending, which you allow into your soul in the Kim Dokja-shaped hole left behind.

It’s the first time you take a gamble: carefully picking up the shards of his ideas while rivulets of blood run down your fingers. It’s your turn.

The battlefield in the scenarios is a sanctuary: white noise washing out Dokja’s ever-persistent voice in your head. There’s a perpetual, acrid smell of ash and smoke—a reek that is far better than the dust of buildings Dokja leaves you behind in.

It’s hard.

Gambling is not for you; in the sense that it sickens you, rather than just invoking disaster like it does for Dokja. The only good thing about it is that Dokja’s dream is finally being realised—a tribute to your oldest, dearest friend. Like funerary wine, metallic iron fills your mouth (a once-familiar taste) with each battle, every step closer to the story Dokja wove for you. A fabric so salient you couldn’t help but be entangled in it.

I can do it. That is your gamble.

You do it.

You cut down monsters the size of buildings. You cling to life with bleeding fingernails, scraped raw with tenacity. Tentatively, you begin fleshing in the husk of yourself: talking with the friends you made in the apocalypse once more.

And like Dokja, you begin defying death.

It starts off small—an arrow that you saw coming but didn’t feel like dodging. Jung Heewon almost blew a gasket when she took a glimpse, but then her eyes met yours—filled with the same distance that Dokja’s were, as though you too were peering through an impersonal screen—and she looked away for a brief moment.

“Idiot,” she whispers. “Don’t treat yourself like Dokja.”

Your chips pile up.

Except, you don’t quite have the same privilege that your dearest friend has.

You will incur the cost, rather than somebody else. There is a reason Dokja is called a harbinger of ill fortune to others, and you are not. In the end, your downfall will be at your own hand.

“Fool,” Yoo Joonghyuk grimaces as he cuts down a wolf you let claw your arm. The coppery stench is thick in the air, but there seems to be a manic grin on your face as you slice and chop and stab: a madness that slowly spreads like illness through your body. “There is nothing more worthless than sacrifice without cause.”

The debt accrues.

Kim Dokja dreams of your knuckles, bloodied once more as you stand to face the world. But, it’s just a dream.

He bets on it.

゜゜・

You are shit at games.

Bitter, arterial blood congeals on your hands as you try in vain to staunch the flow. There is nothing quite as caustic as the realisation that you fucked up, because now all the signs of your hamartia are clear.

The house has long collapsed—it’s that final card that still hasn’t hit that glass table yet.

Is this what Dokja feels? The thought runs wonderingly through your sluggish mind. Is it what he felt, you mean to say, but your throat grows thick whenever you speak about him in the past tense. You can’t quite accept the reality that he’s gone. The shock anaesthetises your mind: cradling your neurons with such gentleness that it’s hard to conceptualise you’re about to follow him to wherever he’s gone.

Will I see him again?

Everything reeks of iron: from the massive corpse on the ground, to the claw impaled through your abdomen. It was inevitable. You’ve grown tired of the endless fight, and it’s cost you dearly.

Your chest heaves desperately.

Dokja.

“Dokja,” you croak, collapsing onto the rubble freshly decimated. Despite the rough surface, your blood-slicked hands scrabble for purchase on the concrete—something that doesn’t quite feel like you’re the one puppeteering your strings.

Deliriously, you watch as the same hand urgently attempts to apply pressure to your wound; it goes against rationality, but then again you’re not really yourself anymore.

“Dokja?” you try again. Perhaps if you speak loudly enough—syllables soaked with sanguine that dribbles from your lips—you’ll be able to reach your dead best friend.

There is a pressure behind your eyes.

It may be tears; it may be an unwelcome guest in your head.

It’s too late, you think. He’s dead, and soon I will be too.

“Dokja,” you whisper, and there is salt on your tongue as you feel your limbs grow colder. Everything hurts—your pounding head, the thrum of your pulse as you marr the asphalt with crimson, and finally that stupid bleeding heart of yours that swears you can hear the spirit of your oldest friend.

You can’t die, you think he says—a quiet scream drowned out by the static of your mind.

“I’ll see you soon, though,” you slur, and the weight in your mind lifts—blurring and coalescing into a mirage you could recognise blind.

Frigid fingers pass through the hologram, and you smile, bittersweet.

“Dokja,” you breathe. “It’s been almost a year since I last saw you.”

His hands grasp your shoulders desperately, though his frantic mouth goes unheard upon your ears. You… can’t… die, his lips read—but that’s silly, you think. Doesn’t he want you to meet him again?

Horns curve out of his head, while his wings fluff out—shoulders shaking, with an expression you’ve only seen once on his face before. Utmost grief, when he came soaked in congealed blood and a haunted look in his eyes: murmuring she killed him, over and over.

He’s your best friend. He was your best friend.

Kim Dokja has lost his final gamble, and the bullet in the chamber has finally been spun into place for you too.

“I can see you soon, right?” you murmur—there are cold fingers brushing against your forehead, and you think death is unexpectedly gentle.

His lips wobble.

Incorporeal fingers trace the tear tracks on your face—ones that mirror the slow stream of salt from his own eyes. You didn’t even notice—too caught up in the gradual greyness that spreads through each vessel, weaving through sinew and bone and brain.

“I did a good job, right?” Your sword rests across the ground, heavy after almost a year of fighting. “Maybe it’ll help with the ending that you wanted.”

Dokja’s face crumples, and you can feel your own throat growing thick. Dokja, I’m scared, you want to admit. For the first time in your life, there’s a choking fear that grips you as the red surrounding you blooms into a field.

Your own wings are rapidly coming apart.

“Dokja, I don’t want to die,” you mumble. Struggling, you curl and uncurl your hands into fists, but you can no longer feel them.

“Dokja,” you try again. You can no longer see him, but whether it’s from the salt clouding your vision, or the haze of limbo, you cannot tell.

There is a phantom pressure that lingers on your face.

“Dokja,” you gurgle, mouth iron-hot with arterial blood. “Don’t leave me alone—please.”

No response is given, but that sepulchral presence seems to remain—this time, those hands brush and cradle your face.

You cannot tell if it’s him or death itself, but you don’t think death would kiss you like that.

As if he could possibly breathe life back into you, his ghostly lips move against yours. Desperately, so urgently you half-wonder at his panic.

Dokja, you want to ask. You’re already dead, right?

Right?

With the final scraps of your vision, you watch as he pulls back—his tears pattering across your face—watch as his mouth moves for a final time.

I can’t live without you.

But by then, it is too late.

The words go unheard, and Dokja is alone once again.

286 notes · View notes

raysrays · 1 year ago

Text

All Jokes Aside

Kyojuro Rengoku X GN! Tsuguko! Reader

CW: Teasing, fluff, Gn Reader, suggestive flirting, new relationship.

Scenario: Ever since taking on the role of Tsuguko and lover to the Flame Hashira, you’ve noticed a delightful shift in the atmosphere during your training sessions lately. But what happens if your teasing goes a little too far.

Request by: @kanashi-z

A/N: thank you all so much for all the requests!! I’m so behind and I’m terribly sorry! I promise I will get to all of them soon. Appreciate and love all of you <3

You and Kyojuro had been training together for a good while. So, when he suggested the idea about you becoming his Tsuguko, you were all in, no hesitation. But then, he went a step further, asking for something more. That's when things between you two began to shift.

He had always embodied the qualities of kindness, care, and loudness, but now, there was an added layer of affection that wasn’t always present before. The transition wasn’t instant; it took a few months for both of you to fully adapt to this new closeness. You however quickly started to get the hang of it.

As you two trained, the cashing of swords rang though the training grounds. You might not have matched Kyojuro's strength, but every man has his weaknesses. It only took a few training sessions together for you to uncover his.

His smile widens as he effortlessly knocks you off your feet, sending you tumbling to the ground. He stands over you, his gaze looking down with confidence.

“Still too slow for me, little flame,” he remarks, his tone oozing with self-assurance.

While Kyojuro is undeniably kind, you’ve recently discovered that outside of his mentorship role, he can be quite cocky. But you know just how to bring him back down to earth.

Accepting his hand to help you up, you close the distance between you, personal space forgotten.

A grin spreads across your face as you notice a slightly flustered look creeping onto his face.

“Little flame… as much as I enjoy our closeness, we’re supposed to be training,” he murmurs, his voice softer than usual, a complete contrast to his constant loud demeanor.

Your hands, now free of your sword, now drift up his arms slowly.

“We’ve been training for quite a while. Perhaps it’s time for a break,” you suggest, a knowing glint in your eye, a look he’s grown accustomed to lately.

He frowns, a hint of pink starting to paint his cheeks as he meets your gaze. “Sunflower, the day is still young. It’s not time for a break yet,” he counters.

You can’t help but smile at his resistance, laying on your flirtatious tone. “You shouldn’t overwork yourself, Master,” you tease.

He notices, of course. “Kyojuro,” he corrects you.

“You’re not just my Tsuguko anymore; you are my partner. Address me as such,” he asserts, you relish in the adorable look on his face as he avoids your gaze.

But you love every moment of this, knowing exactly which buttons to push to win this battle.

“Okay… you really shouldn’t overwork yourself, Kyojuro,” you utter his name like a sacred mantra, knowing the effect it has on him.

He can’t help but let his mind wonder, contemplating how it would sound in different circumstances.

Your hands slide down from his arms to his hands, still clasping his sword.

“You’re already so incredibly strong, Kyojuro. There’s no need to push yourself so hard,” you urge softly.

He looks at you, confusion evident on his face. “Y/N, that doesn’t make sense. I should always train to become stronger—”

His words are abruptly silenced as you press your soft lips against his.

His body tenses momentarily before gradually relaxing. It only takes a few seconds for him to reciprocate the kiss.

He pulls back nervously, his gaze darting around to check for any onlookers, though he doesn’t seem to mind much.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this out here, my love,” he says breathlessly, resting his forehead against yours.

You smirk and plant a small peck on his jaw before swiftly kicking his legs out from under him, sending both of you falling to the ground.

Despite his attempt to catch himself, he falls, gazing up at you as you end up sitting on top of him, a smug expression gracing your features.

“Am I still too slow for you?” you tease, unable to contain your laughter at his current predicament.

It was a rare sight indeed to see the Flame Pillar sprawled on the ground, his sword knocked out of his hand, with his Tsuguko sitting triumphantly atop him.

To any observer, it would seem as though they were interrupting something intimate.

You had never witnessed the man so embarrassed in all your time together. His face flushed crimson, torn between anger at your recklessness and arousal at your boldness.

However, your triumph is short-lived as you suddenly find yourself flipped onto the ground, with Kyojuro pinning you beneath his arms.

“You truly believe you can outsmart me, little flame?” His demeanor begins to shift back to its original confident state.

His hand moves to gently caress your face before leaning down to whisper in your ear, his voice low and intimate.

“You may have caught me off guard this time, but don’t think I’ll allow it to happen again. It’s foolish to think you can outsmart a Hashira.” There he is, back to his cocky self.

As he pulls back to gaze at you, you can’t help but crave more of him—his beautiful hair, those golden eyes, that annoyingly smug smile that seems to fit him perfectly.

“You’re just upset I managed to get the jump on you,” you retort, unable to resist.

“Hardly,” his voice is smooth, alluring, causing your cheeks to flush involuntarily.

Nervous at how your plan has backfired, you glance around under his grasp, “Maybe we should continue this somewhere else,” you suggest, accompanied by a weak smile.

His eyes narrow as he looks down at you. “After the way you’ve been acting? I think more training is exactly what you need,” he responds firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Yes sir.”

356 notes · View notes

red-riot-unbreakable-heart · 1 year ago

Text

5 Times You Stole Eijiro Kirishima’s Hoodie | Part 1: The Convenience Store

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Eijiro Kirishima x Femme Reader! 💋

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Tension, Hero Situations, Eijiro Kirishima is a Pro Hero

Link to My Master List 😬

5 Times You Stole Eijiro Kirishima’s Hoodie

Part 1: The Convenience Store

It is a rainy Tuesday night and you are absolutely exhausted from work. On your way home to your apartment, you decide to stop by a local bodega for some junk food. You have been looking forward to binge watching a trashy reality TV show all day long, and some potato chips would be the perfect snack to munch on as you enjoy the juicy TV drama.

The bodega’s glass sliding door opens with a squeak as you hastily fold up your dripping umbrella. You shiver as the cool store AC hits your wet skin, and goose bumps flare across your bare arms. The day had started out deceptively warm, and you hadn’t dressed for the weather. You are deeply regretting the choice to wear the navy sleeveless dress that is now clinging to your body and dripping a puddle onto the dull bodega carpet. Oh well – you will be home in just a few minutes and will be able to step into a hot shower soon enough.

You grab a shopping basket and wander the aisles, eager to satiate your cravings for salty crisps. The store is unusually empty for the hour – the sudden rain must have kept most people inside. The only other people present are the elderly cashier, and a man pursuing the energy drinks in one of the freezers. The other patron is keenly focused on a bottle of purple Gatorade - intently reading the ingredient list on the drink’s packaging. You pay no attention to this other customer as you locate the snack aisle and load up your basket with chip bags boasting a variety of fun flavors (BBQ chips?? Yes please!). The aisles are tall – stacked ceiling high with boxes and bags containing every flavor of chip one could imagine.

SMASH! A loud crash reverberates throughout the tiny store, followed by the sound of small objects scattering across the vinyl floor. A deep voice booms out: “This is a hold up. Give me all the money in that register. And make it quick – I don’t think either of us wants any trouble.” You freeze; blood running cold in your veins as you quickly put the pieces of the situation together.

“I swear old man – I’ve got a special quirk that will make your life all kinds of painful unless you Hand. Over. The. Cash.”

You move slowly along the aisle, looking for a gap in the snack shelves so you can better assess the situation. Through a small space between cereal boxes, the situation comes into view – the man that you had seen shopping for sports drinks is now standing menacingly over the check out counter. He is around six feet tall with sharp features; a simple black domino mask obscured his eyes. Clad entirely in black, he stands with his right arm gripping the linoleum countertop, the other poised grotesquely above the cashier’s balding head. It takes you a moment to put together exactly what you were seeing – the villain’s right arm was a gigantic crab claw! If the situation weren’t so tense, you would have died from laughter. The scene is ridiculous – the man’s arm (claw) is twice the length of a typical human arm and had a bright, shiny red hue. This kind of mutation quirk always gives you a start – the unnatural way the man’s body blends seamlessly with the extra large claw is uncanny.

The shop cashier looks up at the villain with terror in his eyes. He seems absolutely frozen on the spot as the masked robber clicks his claw menacingly. With a start, you notice that the inside of the claw is wickedly sharp. The villain flashes it dangerously towards the cashier’s neck to drive a sense of urgency.

You assess your options. Your quirk isn’t particularly powerful, but it definitely has some use here. If you could just get a little bit closer to the situation, you could probably use it to distract the villain long enough to get the cashier out of harm’s way. You stretch out your hand to activate your quirk, but stopped dead when you feel a warm, rough hand clamp around your mouth from behind.

You try to scream, but the sound comes out muffled. Adrenaline floods your veins as you prepared to fight for your life. You hadn’t heard someone sneak up behind you, and you squirm in an effort to get away. An arm reaches out to steady you, and it’s owner whispers: “Sorry to startle you – I’m here to help.” The soft, gravely voice sends a fresh wave of goose bumps down your chilled skin. You turn to see one of the year’s top heroes - the Red Riot - crouched over you in the snack aisle. You’d recognize that trademark red spiky hair anywhere. Your body starts to relax a bit – things are under control and a hero is here!

Over the past few years, Red Riot has been making quite a name for himself in the media as a dependable, chivalrous hero. You’ve often watched his battles and rescues play out on the television – not only was he a skilled hero, but also he was kind and genuine. His interviews were your favorite – he always found such nice things to say about his teammates and the people he rescued. And he wasn’t bad to look at either.

He’s clearly not on duty – his usual simple costume has been traded in for a black t-shirt, jeans and a soft red hoodie. Your heart skips a beat. He’s so totally hot. When he realizes you’re not going to scream and give away his position to the villain, he releases you from his embrace. He smiles reassuringly, and the warmth of his grins reaches his eyes.

“I’m going to get you out of this.” He promises.

For a second there, you completely forgot about the convenience store hold up occurring feet away from where the two of you were crouched. Your senses are clouded by the closeness of Red Riot, who is still holding you steady with his muscular arms. When he realizes his touch is lingering a bit longer than necessary, he quickly pulls away. He shifts to peer over your shoulder through the small cereal box window. The movement brings him ever so slightly closer to you, and you find yourself inhaling the sweet scent of clean laundry. You lean the tiniest bit closer to him.

But back to the situation at hand – you can hear the crab clawed villain barking commands at the cashier. He wants all the money from the register as well as a roll of lotto tickets. He must be either extremely overconfident or incredibly good at crime – because this man is taking his time! Red Riot scowls as he watches the scene unfold. You can see his body tensing as he prepares for a confrontation. With a look of determination, he turns to you and whispers “stay quiet and out of sight. I’m going to go distract the villain and try to de-escalate the situation. If things get physical – run. There’s a dumpling shop across the street – get someone there to call the police.”

His red eyes bore into your own. There’s something so intense and hot about him. You feel a strange connection pulling you closer to this man, closer to the heat of his body.

“W-wait.” You whisper. “I can help!”

You point to the man with the crab claw – he still has the Gatorade bottle in the pocket of his pants. To his left you see a palette of energy drinks waiting to be restocked. “With my quirk I can control small amounts of liquid. I can distract him by levitating all those energy drinks at once. I’ll suspend them in the air and bring them all crashing down on top of him, giving you time to get the cashier out of harm’s way.”

Red Riot smiles appreciatively. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid I can’t ask you to put yourself in danger like that. I’ll handle this on my own. Just keep quiet and get across the street, okay?”

You make a face. You don’t understand why he won’t let you help. After all, the villain seems untrained and unfocused. His claw hand can’t do much damage to a bunch of small, moving targets.

“Trust me.” Red Riot reaches for your hand. He places the pads of your fingers on his palm. You can feel him activating his hardening quirk beneath your fingers as his skin slowly becomes rougher. “I was built for this.”

You nod, unable to argue. His quirk makes his skin feel smooth and strong like the bark of an oak tree. You press your fingers lightly into the center of his hand, but there’s no give. Reflexively, he closes his fingers around your own, causing electricity to shoot through your hand at the intimate touch. Red Riot’s eyes widen, an apology already at his lips. You quickly slip your hand out from his grasp.

“Good luck, Red Riot.” You tap the hardened skin on his forearm. “You’re right – definitely built for this.”

He grins, seemingly basking in the compliment.

“That’s right – just leave this to me!” He whispers back. “Stay safe, okay?”

Red Riot army crawls down the aisle. You watch as he slowly steps out from behind the shelves and approaches the counter confidently, grabbing a bag of BBQ chips on the way. The poor cashier is now filling a grocery bag with money from the register as the crab armed villain hulks over him, sneering and clicking his claw. The villain doesn’t even seem to hear Red Riot approaching him from behind.

In two strides, Red Riot closes the distance and reaches out to tap the villain on his crabby shoulder.

“Excuse me, sir. I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the counter. Other people want to check out.” As he says this, he pointedly tosses his bag of chips onto the shiny linoleum counter.

The crab villain whirls around, face full of fury. His eyes widen and his face contorts in fury when he realizes whom he’s talking to. The villain wastes no time – he propels himself away from the counter, whirling his deadly sharp arm towards Red Riot.

Crack!

The arm makes contact with Red Riot’s rock hard skin. The hero smiles smugly, his right arm taking the brunt of the blow.

“Why don’t we take this down a notch, sir? I’m clearly a match for your quirk, and the police are already on their way. There’s no need to fight, we can just talk - ”

The villain moves surprisingly swiftly, shifting around Red Riot’s outstretched arm and reaching to position his claw around Red Riot’s neck. The hero’s facial expression shifts to surprise – he wasn’t expecting a villain with such a cumbersome quirk to be able to move so languidly. The crab villain slowly starts to press down his claw around the hero’s neck. Red Riot is making a face that clearly says “Oh, shit.”

You turn and desperately reach your hand through the gap in the cereal box display, pointing your fingertips at the villain and willing your Quirk to activate. Almost instantly, the Gatorade bottle resting half full in the villain’s back pocket lifts into the air as all of the liquid rushes towards the top of the container. You focus all of your concentration on the bottle.

Unfortunately, you never had a lot of opportunity to train and refine your quirk as you had pursued an educational track that prioritized tech and computer skills over quirk competence. However, you had a grasp on the fundamentals of how your quirk worked – and you figured if you could just distract the crab villain for a moment, you could give Red Riot a chance to regroup.

The villain pressed his sharp claw further around Red Riot’s neck. You could hear an ominous cracking notice – and you hoped desperately that the sound wasn’t the hero’s thick skin crumbling beneath his assailant’s grasp. You began to feel a sickening mix of adrenaline and fear coursing through your veins and you try to renew your concentration. The liquid inside the bottle begins to boil – the water fizzing and popping in the small confined space. You shakily will the bottle to float up and behind the villain’s head.

Red Riot uses his hardened hands to try to break the villain’s grasp, but the crabby grip holds fast. The villain is intensely focused on trying to crush Red Riot’s windpipe, and so he is completely taken by surprise when the bottle of Gatorade explodes and hits the back of his head with a splash of scalding purple liquid. The villain howls in pain – both hands reflexively flying to cradle the back of his burned head. In his pain and fury, he unwittingly releases Red Riot from his grasp. The red headed hero is quick to take advantage of the situation – dropping to the ground and sweeping a strong leg beneath the villain’s own. The crab-clawed villain comes crashing to the ground with a large “thud.”

Red Riot wastes no time, dropping on top of the villain to pin disproportionate arms to the ground.

“Sir, you’re under arrest for armed robbery and for engaging in combat with a licensed hero. The police will be here shortly to take your statement - but in the meantime please stop resisting.”

You breathe a sigh of relief as Red Riot continues to hold the villain tightly to the ground. Behind the counter’s register, the convenience store clerk still stands frozen, holding a wad of bills in bills in a vice-like grip.

You hear the metallic slide of the store’s automatic doors followed by several pairs of heavy boots off to your right. Within a few seconds, a team of police officers comes into view, their starched blue shirts bright in the florescent lighting.

At the sight of the police, the crab villain finally seems to give up fighting – his body sagging to the ground beneath Red Riot. The hero holds his position, eyeing the villain’s mutant arm warily. Even from a distance, you can tell his hardening quirk is still activated – he isn’t taking any chances.

“Great job, Red Riot! We’ll take it from here.” A tall officer with a glinting badge steps forward and uses a length of metal cord to bind the villain’s large clawed arm. “We’ve been after this guy for weeks!”

Red Riot smiles as he steps back and lets the police team capture his assailant. He turns and meets your eyes through the space in the cereal box wall. He grins at you, his dark eyes wink a quick “thanks” in your direction as he detectives whisk him away for questioning.

“Miss – are you alright?” You let out a small squeak of surprise, turning to find a short female officer with a tight bun of dark hair coming around the corner of the aisle. You look down at yourself – crouching like a wild animal in a soggy, rain-drenched dress.

“I’ve definitely had better days.” You laugh, allowing the policewoman to help you to your feet. You feel the adrenaline slowly start to melt away, leaving you feeling shaky and a bit lightheaded. You can’t think of the last time you used your quirk, so you’re sure the little stunt you pulled to save Red Riot has impacted your stamina.

“Mind if we ask you a few questions about what happened here?” The officer asks, motioning for you to follow her to the front of the store where the crab villain is being checked for weapons.

“No, not at all!” You wrap your arms around yourself and attempt to bring some warmth back into your body.

The police had a lot of questions. Apparently this villain had been evading them for quite sometime. He had been robbing convenience stores across several cities. He was quick, efficient, and sometimes even deadly – having injured half a dozen clerks and store patrons in his mad pursuit of cash.

“We heard that you used your quirk to get Red Riot out of a spot of trouble.” The policewoman with the bun taps a pen to a pad of paper thoughtfully. Her tone isn’t accusatory; she’s just stating facts. “The unsanctioned use of a quirk in combat is illegal, but since you were put in a potentially life threatening situation and you were in under the supervision of a pro hero, the Good Samaritan law should cover your actions today.”

You feel the last bit of energy absolutely drain out of you and you reach out to grab a nearby store shelf for support. Illegal? The thought of breaking the law hadn’t even crossed your mind. You had just acted on pure instinct when you saw Red Riot in trouble. You start to shiver more violently as the weight of what you’ve done fully sinks in. The policewoman quickly waves to another officer and you find yourself being guided to a chair.

“Miss - it seems like you’re in shock. Please take some deep breaths and we’ll get you to a hospital shortly to get checked out, alright?” The officer pats your hand kindly and pockets her notepad. She walks out of view to call a medical team with her colleagues and you are momentarily left alone in the corner of the store. You stare at the ground, your head feeling fuzzy and cold. It was so stupid to use your quirk so recklessly like that! You admonish yourself silently. You’re sure that Red Riot could have gotten himself out of that bad situation given time – he was a top hero after all! You were just so worried and eager to help…

A soft material engulfs your shoulders. “You’re freezing! Here – take my sweatshirt.” You turn and see Red Riot standing behind you, his strong hands pressing his large red hoodie around your shoulders. He smooths the plush material around you, and you shiver at the contact.

“I couldn’t possibly take this!” You said weakly despite your body hungrily leaning into the warmth of his touch and the offered piece of clothing.

“It’s too late – it’s already yours. Consider it a thank you for saving me back there.” Red Riot grins, showing off a row of pointed teeth. You gratefully accept the gift – tucking your arms into the floppy sleeves. You’re practically swimming in sweatshirt.

“I really shouldn’t have done that.” You look down, ashamed. “You had the situation under control, and it was irresponsible to use my quirk like that. You even told me not to help earlier.” You shake your head, and then blush when you realize you’re probably showering the chivalrous hero in raindrops.

“Don’t beat yourself up about that at all! While it’s true that a Pro can always break out of a tough spot, someone once told me that ‘meddling where you don’t need to is the essence of a hero.’ You moved without thinking to help me when I needed it. That took guts.” His grin widens. “I’m so lucky that such a strong person was looking out for me from the cereal section.”

You laugh, cheeks blushing at the compliment. He’s just so…handsome, grinning roguishly at you with his deep, dark eyes.

“Your quirk is really strong, too. What was that – liquid manipulation? Have you ever trained your quirk?” You’re taken aback by the sincerity of his interest in your small little quirk.

“Not really – I had the standard quirk class in elementary school where we are evaluated and learn how to control the basics of each of our quirks. Beyond that, I never had much interest in it. I can make small amounts of liquid float, boil and freeze. It’s not particularly powerful, but I can make a mean pot of soup with it.” You smile, appreciating the attention you’re receiving from the hero. “I went to a specialty high school focused on business and marketing, so I pretty much avoided any quirk training or hero-focused track. Exploding that little Gatorade bottle was probably the crux of my power.”

“Well it was incredible! I feel like you’re really underselling yourself – I see so much potential in you and your quirk. With just a little training, I think you could really do some damage.” Red Riot says excitedly, talking animatedly with his hands. You laugh, picturing yourself in some ridiculous hero suit parading around the city splashing boiling water on legions of seafood-themed villains.

“Surprisingly, the hero life is just not for me!” You grin before a wave of shivers wracks through your body. Is this from shock? Or is it the damp cold of your rain soaked dress finally catching your attention.

Red Riot instantly notices your discomfort and shakes his head thoughtfully before saying: “Stay here a minute, I have an idea.” He scampers away and you’re left alone again. You focus on taking a few deep, calming breaths as you zip the hoodie up to your chin. You inhale deeply and realize that the red fabric smells comforting and sweet – a combination of mint and cedar wood. You deeply breathe in the scent of Red Riot, and you feel your panic ebb away. You’re steeped in exhaustion as you slouch against the hard plastic chair.

A moment later, Red Riot re-appears, holding a steaming Styrofoam cup. “I made you some peppermint tea.” He says shyly, holding out the hot cup. “It always makes me feel better after a fight – I thought it might do the same for you.”

You take the cup gratefully and tip it back for a sip. He holds out a hand to stop you. “Careful, it’s hot. Give it a second to cool so you don’t burn your mouth.”

“Thank you so much, Red Riot. I really appreciate all you’ve done today.” You’re too tired to care that you sound like a fan girl.

“Hey, call me Eijiro. After what we’ve been through together, we should be on a first name basis.” To your surprise, his cheeks tint pink as he shares his first name. You smile softly and share your own nickname. He repeats it back to you, seeming to like the way your name rolls on his tongue.

“It’s nice to meet you Eijiro.” You feel the warmth of the tea sinking into your icy hands.

“So what were you buying here at the store anyway? Let me go get you a cart and – oh, hold on!” He absentmindedly leans in close to you, reaching out to pull a stray wet strand of hair away from your face. He tucks it gently behind your ear. “We should really get you a hair dryer or something!” He laughs, “You’re still soaking wet!” Despite just having met, the touch is so intimate and familiar. You lean towards him, wanting him to touch you again with his strong, capable hero fingertips.

“Red Riot – the press is outside waiting to interview you.” A police officer calls over, snapping you both back to reality. “They’re eager to hear about how you apprehended the villain. For the sake of her privacy, let’s leave this young lady’s roll in the capture out of it.”

Eijiro snaps to attention, his hand still hovering close to your face. He turns to give the officer a thumbs up. “Sounds good to me! I’ll be right there.”

He moves to look at you again. His eyes are wide and his expression intrigued. “They’re going to take you to the hospital to make sure everything looks okay. They’ll probably keep you overnight for observation until you’re out of shock. I’m sure they’ll take good care of you, cutie.” He stands to walk out of the store. “Thanks for saving my life – I hope to hear from you soon!”

And with a wave, he strides away towards the press team waiting outside. You look down into your tea, confused and quietly delighted at his hope to hear from you. You have absolutely no idea how you would ever contact him again, but the sentiment and the term of endearment he had used is sweet. Ever the chivalrous hero.

The next few hours are a whirlwind of tests and scans and interviews with police officers and doctors alike. Despite your protests, an ambulance whisks you away to the closest hospital and you are kept under observation just as Red Riot - Eijiro - had predicted. The staff is courteous and sweet, praising you for your roll in the incident when the police officers tip them off. You’re given comfortable clothes to borrow and access to a hot shower adjacent to your hospital room.

When you finally sink into the hospital bed, it’s pitch black outside. You flick on the grainy old TV that’s mounted above your bed and flick through the channels until you stop to see a familiar face on the local news.

Red Riot is smiling down at you from the TV set, his eyes warm as he answers the questions of various reporters.

“I was just shopping for some ramen when I noticed the villain. Weird coincidence that I just happened to be at the same store as him!” The hero laughs, rubbing his hand behind his head. “I’m thankful to the store patrons and the clerk who stayed calm as I handled the situation.”

“Red Riot – did you have any difficulty subduing the victim?”

Eijiro pauses to think for a moment before carefully saying “There was a moment that he had the drop on me, but a really cute shopper distracted him for me and allowed me to get the upper hand.”

“You’re so humble, Red Riot. I’m sure you had everything under control.”

Eijiro shakes his head. “I don’t want to encourage recklessness, but I do want to make it clear that you don’t need to be a Pro to be someone’s hero. The woman who helped me today – her bravery and willingness to act even when things were scary is what true heroism looks like. I’m grateful to her, and I hope that I’ll be able to see her again soon.”

The reporters continue to fawn over Red Riot for a few more minutes – peppering him with more questions that he cheekily answers. He avoids revealing any additional details about you despite the reporter’s needling and prodding. Soon the news broadcast ends, and the anchor appears on screen and starts discussing upcoming movie releases.

You sit with your mouth gaping open. Had you really made such a lasting impression on the sturdy hero? You feel your heartbeat increase at the thought, causing the heart monitors strapped to your chest to peep and whir. A nurse appears at your side in an instant, and you bashfully explain to her that you are fine – just a bit overexcited from the day’s events. Once she is assuaged, you return to flipping through channels before settling on reruns of The Bachelor. This wasn’t the soapy TV series you had been looking forward to all day, but it was as close as you are going to get at this point. You let the show run and before long you are dozing in the propped up hospital bed, dreaming of seafood villains and heroes with bright hair and dark, endless eyes.

When you’re finally ready to check out from the hospital the next day, the nurse at the front desk presents you with your belongings. Your wallet, your high heeled work shoes, and an extra large bright red hoodie. “Oh – I forgot about this.” You gratefully accept the sweatshirt and shrug it on. It swings around you like a trench coat, fluffy and warm. You can still smell traces of cedar wood on the collar.

You walk out of the hospital and into a surprisingly sunny day, metallic sliding doors parting for you as you exit. You sink your hands into the hoodie’s overlarge pockets and are surprised to feel a rectangular square object tucked into the deep right pocket. Had Eijiro left a piece of gum in his hoodie? You fish it out with your index and pointer fingers – it’s a small folded up piece of paper ripped from a notepad. Upon closer inspection, you notice that it’s branded with the convenience store’s faded logo. You guess it was ripped from the clerk’s register notepad.

Curious, you unfold the small wad of paper. Written hastily across the note is a messy scrawl of digits and the words: Would love to take you to dinner some time, cutie. Thanks for rescuing me. – Eijiro.

Oh my God. He gave you his number. A warm blush creeps up your face as your eyes run across the note over and over again. What a crazy 24 hours it has been! You reach into your purse to grab your phone. With shaky hands you add “Eijiro Kirishima” as a contact in your phone, adding a few rock emojis and a bright red crab emoji beside his name. He’d probably find that hilarious.

You draft up a fresh text to the red headed hero and type: “In need of rescuing tonight – the villain: hunger and boredom. In need of a hero who knows the perfect ramen spot.” You hit send and hold your breath. What if he’s on patrol tonight? You worry. What if he was just being nice and doesn’t actually see you again?

Your worries are totally baseless, because within seconds you have a reply: “I’m more than up for this mission – meet me in front of the convenience store at 8. Wear the sweatshirt so I’ll recognize you in the crowd?” He ends it with a winking emoji and your heartbeat quickens. You officially have a date set with Eijiro Kirishima – the Red Riot.

Your hero.

Thanks so much for reading!!!

---------------------------

Other Kirishima Stories:

Headcannon: Kirishima LOVES wearing Bakugo's clothes.

🦈❤️Boyfriend!Kirishima ❤️🦈

A Long, *Hard* Night with Eijiro Kirishima (A18+ - MDNI!!!) 💋

Link to My Master List 😬

270 notes · View notes

anastasiabowe · 1 year ago

Text

𝙒𝘼𝙔 𝙏𝙊𝙊 𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙂! — Due to work, you and your husband haven’t been as close. He’s been overseas for work, and you’ve been stuck at home waiting for him, but, when he finally comes home, it will be a night you’ll never forget.

note: I'm kind of on my pg/pg-13 era, sorry for people who wanted something more, but I kind of like light stuff!💕

Content warnings: language, suggestive content.

You lay down on your couch staring at your black screened TV. It was a cloudy day and your penthouse was dark and cold. Your husband’s warmth and cheer felt almost ghost-like in this chilling home. You felt empty and sad knowing he isn’t within arms reach. It’s been 3 weeks.

You haven’t bathed in over a week, and you know you should if he’s going to be home within this upcoming week. You could feel his haunting presence almost mocking you as you try and decipher what’s real or not. Are you being melodramatic, maybe, but a wife should never feel this way!

Nanami has sent you gifts and he calls you every single day multiple times, yet it isn’t the same as him laying on the couch keeping you warm with not only his body heat, but his smooth way with words. For the last few days, the gravity of this situation has finally sunk in. Nanami hadn’t called you in 2 days, and when he did a few days ago, he could sense your feeling of sadness.

You didn’t dare check your phone for a message. You were too sad.

But, with the last strength you had, which was more than you want to admit, you got up from the couch and made your way to your master bedroom and climbed into the huge bed that hasn’t been made in over 2 weeks. The cool blankets that smelled like your miraculous husband made you choke back tears.

Although you haven’t actually cried since he’s left, you wanted to now. You just wanted to feel him and listen to him hum a song to you as you both laid in your bed. You wanted to poke at his abs, or count all of the freckles that marked his chiseled body. You just wanted him under your hands.

You close your eyes, remembering all of the movie like nights you’ve shared with him. How he set up an outdoor theatre in a park, inviting any stranger who had the time to watch with you both, or how he brought you both to couples dancing so he could dance with you on your wedding day, or how he tried to hide the fact he cried on your wedding day.

You felt a tear slide down your cheek, but it was a tear of happiness and gratitude for your husband.

You remembered the time a group of teenage girls boldly approached him asking if he was single, and how he pulled you closer, wrapping his hand around your waist kissing your cheek, making you embarrassed but the girls annoyed. Or how he made you dinner when you were sick, and how he spent so much time and effort into his dishes. You laughed remembering how he made you act like Gordan Ramsey as he presented the dishes calling you “chef” or answering “yes chef, thank you chef” when you talked about how good his food was.

You fell asleep thinking about your husband as you did every day. Several hours later, you were still asleep as Nanami quietly entered your shared luxury apartment. He quietly set his briefcase down on the island, and picked up his suitcase and brought it to your shared room.

He quietly peeked in to see you peacefully sleeping. He pushed open the door and set his suitcase down. He softly smiled looking at you sleeping. He wanted to pounce on you for how excited he was to see you. He has been waiting for this exact moment for 3 weeks.

He took off his tie, and blazer. He slowly slid down his briefs, and set them all semi-neatly on the hamper and headed towards the bed. He softly slid into the bed, and pulled you closer to him from behind you. You immediately felt his arm around your waist, and your heart pounded in your chest, he was finally home!

“Nanami?” You softly called out to him. You felt him exhale on your neck, and you couldn’t contain the excitement. You quickly turned around on the bed, and kissed him before your whole body faced him. He smiled into the kiss and held onto you tightly.

You didn’t pull away until he did, you didn’t know what to do, you just wanted him close, you wanted him so close you could just crawl into his skin, you needed him so bad.

“I fucking missed you, you asshole.” You kissed him excitedly again, and he chuckled.

“I missed you so much more. I felt like I was going to fucking implode if I didn’t see you any sooner, so I caught the earliest plane back here.” He smiled, and you just wanted to cry. You kissed him again, and you didn’t want to let go.

“I’m not going anywhere, save some for the rest of us.” Nanami joked as he slightly pulled you off of him. He would kiss you, but he just needed to see your face. He held your face in his hands, and the love he had for you was so overwhelming. He felt his chest warm up at your smile, and his cheeks flushed looking at your eyes.

“Oh, I missed you so fucking much it hurts!” Nanami confessed and kissed you harder than before.

You climb on top of him, and he wrapped both of his arms around you. This felt like you won a trillion dollars, except it was even better. Nanami pulled you even tighter to him, he held a firm hug, and wouldn't leave any room for you to move."

"I love you, Y/n. I really do." He kissed you again, hugging you even tighter. I smirked pulling away slightly. Yes, you may have missed your husband because of how incredible he was, but you also missed a different part of him. A piece of him you only got to see. A piece of him that ruined you while also putting you back together.

"You said you missed me right?" I looked into his eyes, him obviously nodding and saying, "of course I missed you, I missed you more than anything, why?"

I laughed, feeling almost selfish for what I was about to ask.

"would you mind... Showing me?" The smirk on Nanami's face said it all.

"oh, I'll do more than that."

#jujutsu nanami #jjk nanami #nanami kento #husband nanami #nanami fluff #nanami x reader #jjk #jjk kento #kento nanami

239 notes · View notes

spider-mancan · 1 year ago

Text

but like peter getting fucked by some random guy at a club because he is just fucking so fed up with waiting for tony to see him as an adult, he's giving up, but when tony sees Peter after he somehow just Knows there's cum dripping down Peter's thighs

queue tony shoving peter up against the wall because he's so jealous he's seeing red, tugging peter's pants down to check the damage, shoving his fingers inside with the feral urge to clean peter out

it's only when peter's knees give out that tony realizes he's finger fucking peter within an inch of his life. not intentional. but once he realizes what he's doing, he...well. speaking of feral.

they're both totally dressed and peter is covered in glitter and smells like amaretto sour and he's so fucking open when tony fumbles to get his dick out and just fucking slides in like an animal, some stranger's cum dribbling out around his cock, smearing over peter's taint

tony uses peter's underwear like reins, hiking them up into a french cut so he can pull peter back on to his dick and the sound is CRIMINAL it's a squelch and peter's moans and peter banging his head against the wall be he knows this is a mistake but it's so fucking good

and tony pushes peter's face into the wall and presses in close and asks peter -- angry and snarling -- if he's a whore, if that's what he wants to be, and if that's the case tony will turn him into one, anything for peter, anything for you kid

its meant to be mocking but peter cums in his pants so hard his vision goes white andh is moans choke out and tony still has his hand on the back of peter's neck like he's a dog to master

but tony keeps going because there's still cum in peter's ass and that's just too bad, tony's going to have to flood it out

he comes hard, and he's merciless in fucking peter through it. peter is sagging against the wall and tony doesn't pull out, presses closer, moves his hips so peter feels his soft cock inside and Knows

when tony pulls out cum drips onto the floor and tony pulls peter's underwear back up with a snap of the waistband, carefully rights peter's pants and reaches around, still panting in peter's ear, to delicately tuck peter's cock away and do up his belt buckle

peter's underwear is full of cum -- the stranger's, and two loads that are all peter. now tony's slides out of him slow and languid. peter ACHES. fuck. he has to livewithout this feeling. he CANT live without this feeling. dirty and wanted and full and empty.

and tony just gives peter a gentle pat on the ass and directs him towards peter's room. "you smell like sex." and peter thinks that probably means "you smell like me" but tony is still a little too feral to put the pieces together

blah blah blah peter is freaking out but there's a plug in his nightstand and when he goes to tony's room tony is sitting on the bed with his head in his hands and he looks at peter with those wilds eyes and peter just holds out the toy and says "i want to keep it"

because fuck you he's drunk and horny and in love, and tony doesn't need to make a whore out of him be peter is already kind of a whore, and he drops his pants and his underwear so tony can see the bruises and glitter on his knees, and he steps out. and he crawls onto the bed.

he presents his ass because tony's ferality is contagious, and tony strokes a hand up the back of peters thigh with fucking Reverence, rubs cum into peter's taint w his thumb until peter's cock is twitching, presses butterfly kisses to peters back while pushing in the plug

peter thinks tony would probably turn a blind eye to peter just falling asleep here in tony's bed, but he gets up. he picks up his pants and his briefs, hangs the cumsoaked underwear on tony's door knob before shutting the door behind him.

peter wakes up smelling like tony but the real question is whether tony is still going to love it.

#starker #ironspider #tnpt #starker nff #considers #i wrote this in twt because i'm deranged #they fuck in the kitchen in the morning its a big food safety violation

177 notes · View notes

sl-ut · 2 years ago

Note

how do we think abby would react to finally getting reader in her bed for the first time and finding out she has nipple piercings?

more college!abby

it's actually really surprising that she didn't notice sooner considering how much time she spent checking her girl out, but in her defense, she did try to make an effort to not be too much of a creep (opting for fleeting glances rather than staring).

to make the story a little different from the friendzone, let's all go on a little journey to the upstairs master bathroom of a grimy townhouse, the pair locked away from the raging party going on downstairs as they drowned in each other's affection. abby wasn't even planning on going that night, hoping that she might be able to convince her y/n to come over and do something else together, but alas, one of her friends wouldn't take no for an answer. instead, she offered to come pick her up at some point in the night, considering that she had gone with her friends to get ready and drink before the party, and was surprised when she got a text around 12 am begging her to come.

when she got there, she was on high alert. from the texts that she had received, it was very obvious that y/n was under the influence.

abby walked around for a bit looking for y/n, stopping to chat with some of her friends here and there when she finally felt a pair of hands snake around her left bicep. glancing over, she was met with the sweaty face of the girl she'd been looking for, her glossy eyes blinking up at her lazily as a dopey grin crossed her face. she let y/n lead her through the crowd, up the stairs and into a bathroom, keeping one of her strong arms wrapped around her to keep her close.

abby expected a pit stop so y/n could pee before they left, but was surprised when y/n pushed her against the door and pressed herself against her. she began to ramble on about how much she missed her and, more importantly, how much she needed her. at this point, abby was not y/n's girlfriend, but they had been going out for a few weeks. they had already been semi-intimate before, only it had been a bit of grinding while they were making out.

after making her swear and prove to her that she wasn't too out of it, abby was eagerly hoisting her up onto the counter, lips clashing in a soft but desperate kiss, wasting little time in sliding her large palms under her top. y/n was the one to make the crushing blow, leaning back and tearing her shirt off, arching her back almost as if she were presenting herself to abby.

the blonde's mouth watered as she stared down at the most beautiful pair of tits she'd ever seen, perky nipples framed perfectly by two little silver balls.

she sputtered for a few moments, looking like a fish out of water as she let her fingers come up and graze over the buds gingerly, breath catching at the small whimper that escaped y/n's mouth. all it took was one more little desperate whine of her name to decide that she never wanted to stop hearing that, diving her head down and eagerly snatching of the nipples between her teeth and tugging, grinning to herself as her ears are rewarded for every bite, lick, and kiss.

#reader insert #x reader #imagines #lesbian #abby anderson #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby tlou #college!abby anderson

271 notes · View notes

halfelvened · 1 month ago

Text

Work in Progress: Untitled

Maia (RT) and Heinrix play a game of regicide in the bath, and discuss a ball she is holding in his honour. He would rather be executed than attend, probably.

Rogue Trader x Heinrix Van Calox. Nothing spicy at present.

Vague endgame spoilers, maybe?

Heinrix doesn't exactly express his chagrin when Maia von Valancius announces her intention to hold a ball to celebrate his official appointment as her new Master of Whispers, but he comes fairly close to it.

“I think you’ll find that this is all just wildly unnecessary, Maia,” he interjects almost mournfully a few evenings later, as they lounge against the ledge of her bathing pool, where a battered, water-spotted regicide board - and a tray of tiny delicacies - rests between them. Heinrix has lingered over his turn, brow ever so slightly knit, before finally edging his Ecclesiarch forward with a knuckle.

“Perhaps,” Maia agrees mildly, dimples flickering in her cheeks at his mild dismay. “But what sort of Rogue Trader would I be if I didn’t lean into ridiculous excess—at least on occasion?”

Almost mindlessly, she reaches for her Knight, fingers just shy of brushing the tip, opting instead to pop a tiny, exquisitely prepared tart into her mouth.

Heinrix exhales sharply in the sarcastic little scoff that she has so missed of late, eyes clocking her lips for a breathless millisecond, before returning to the game.

“In this instance, you would be a most kind and merciful one,” he replies, voice low and wry, tempered by the hint of a crooked smile.

Maia rolls her eyes before reaching out to rest her foot on his ankle and casually flicking a Citizen forward.

“Well, we can’t have that.”

Heinrix scoffs again, but his eyes are warm.

“Naturally not.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a time, save for the gentle lull of the bathwater and the increasingly frequent clicks of game pieces being moved or snatched up—the muted exclamations of progress and frustration.

“If you’re truly against such an event, I’ll cancel it,” Maia says eventually, sipping at her neglected glass of amasec. Her voice cuts through his strategizing. “It’s just…” She sighs. “So many of us will be going our separate ways soon.”

Heinrix flicks his gaze toward her, focused and steady.

“Cassia has responsibilities to her house. Jae will rush off to conquer the Expanse in her own way.” She sets the glass down, the thud echoing off the walls with a cold sort of finality. “Even Abelard is taking up a desk job on the planet to be with family. It’s likely that we will all… That it’s the last… We’ll never…”

Her voice catches, throat suddenly dry, shamefully hot. For all her confidence and bravado, Maia was wilfully pushing away the fact that this chapter of her life was hurtling toward its conclusion— that her retinue, her closest friends, would be scattered to the winds.

Heinrix absently shuffles a piece across the board, unsure how best to respond to this sudden vulnerability, before moving to take her into his arms. He pauses at the last second, hesitant, giving her the choice to close the space between them.

She accepts, sliding through the water to curl up against his chest. She wedges her head under his chin, grateful for comfort, and the silence.

“And besides…” she murmured. “You never danced with me at my Magnae Accessio.”

She sniffed and turned to study the board.

“Frankly, unforgivable.”

Heinrix laughs openly now—a soft bark. He pivots slightly, easing her gently against the stone ledge as he reaches over to move his Emperor and launch his own counter-offensive.

“If it’s a dance you wanted, my lady, you need only ask.” He presses his lips to her forehead—firmly, lingering. “Check.”

She looks at the board for some time, hands tangled in the soft, damp hair at the nape of his neck.

“Well,” she murmurs,

“If that’s the case, then I’ll —”

...

#heinrix van calox #heinrix x von valancius #heinrix x rogue trader #v writes stuff #V writes stuff: WIP

23 notes · View notes

starwarsmum · 7 months ago

Text

Global Crisis for day 5 ❤️ buckle up for the long fic folks

@maribat-calendar-events

Chat Noir hadn't meant to find out Ladybug's identity. No, really, he was trying to follow her rules, even if he didn't agree with them but…when he had been trying to retrieve baby August’s pacifier from Ladybug, he had seen the pink glow on Marinette's balcony. He had frozen, not wanting her to see him as he peeked through the railing and he was confronted with the fact that the love of his life was his very good friend, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

So, yeah, he was a little bit confused, and a lot conflicted about what to do next. He was sure Ladybug and he were soulmates, but he wasn't even sure what Marinette was really like. She behaved so differently around him than she did their friends, and then there was the whole third different behaviour as Ladybug.

But he had sworn that he would love the girl behind the mask, no matter what, so he was going to do his best to woo his good friend soulmate. The first thing he would have to do was talk to Alya and Nino, get them on board with any plans moving forward. Then he would have to start distancing himself from Kagami so that his lady didn't think he was unavailable.

_ _ _

Marinette was stressing out. The girls had been haranguing her about Adrien's fifth name’s day for a few weeks and it was now approaching fast. She had stopped writing down every little thing about him, had stopped pre-making presents that would never be given, and she was trying to take training with Master Fu seriously. But every time she thought she'd escaped it, she was pulled back in.

“Lil M!” Marinette jumped when Jagged came into the apartment, trailed by Penny who seemed to be on the phone again. “Hey Rockette, I have a favour to ask from you, but I've gotta say upfront that it's totally rock n roll if you say no.”

“Oh, hey Uncle J,” she said weakly, putting down the rolling pin from her stress baking. “You know I'm usually good for a favour, what do you need? A new album cover, a new jacket…”

“Well, my old friend Bruce is in town and his kids are pretty big fans of mine. A couple of them are obsessed with meeting you, and asked if I could convince you to come to dinner at their hotel?” He had big round eyes trained on her, almost pouting in his bid to get her to say yes.

“Sure thing Jagged,” she said easily, resuming the highly therapeutic mission of rolling out the pie crust. She hummed along agreeably as he told her the details for that evening, as well as piling compliments onto her. She was beginning to get suspicious that the family she was being introduced to was not going to be as delightful as he was making it seem.

When she was done baking - which took even longer because now she had to make macarons for the meal that night - she went upstairs to change into different clothes. She surveyed her wardrobe, pulling and discarding everything until she came across a couple of dresses that she had made when she found out that Jagged was from Gotham, AKA the crime and vigilante capital of the US.

She pulled out a dress inspired by Batgirl, purple with striking yellow details, and one designed after Robin, with muted and complimentary colours as opposed to the train wreck the actual vigilante wore. She debated for several long minutes before deciding that purple was Jagged's colour, so she should wear the red, yellow and green one.

She checked the time, realised that she was on time for once and grabbed her things. She let Tikki slide into a clutch bag she had made (black with tiny bat symbols embroidered across it), grabbed the cookie boxes and headed out of the door.

_ _ _

Damian was bored. His father had dragged both him and Tim to Paris so that they could do some ‘family bonding’. It was absurd, and he wanted nothing more than to sulk in the room he had been given at the Grand Paris Hotel. Unfortunately, Bruce had already made plans for them that evening with an old schoolmate of his.

Tim had been pathetically excited that his idol, Jagged Stone, was going to be coming to dinner. The sleep deprived buffoon had immediately started word vomiting about how amazing his music was, and about the designer that Jagged often promoted as the only one allowed to design for him any more.

“Damian, I know that you're not looking forward to this meal,” Bruce sighed, leaning against the door frame just outside of the room. Damian snorted in response, glaring at the suit jacket Tim was insisting he had to wear to impress a world famous designer. “Please, I just want you both to get along this evening. Jagged is an old friend, and his designer is apparently very dear to him. I would like to get to know her and catch up with my friend.”

“Tt, I shall behave myself, father,” Damian grumbled, snatching up the jacket and artfully mussing his hair until it was perfectly nonchalant. “I am going to scout the restaurant and ensure that there are no nasty surprises waiting for us.”

And he was out of the suite before Bruce could protest. He was full of energy, having used the flight to rest adequately, in direct opposition to Tim who had decided that eight hour flights were designed so that he could work uninterrupted by other employees. As he descended the staircase to the main atrium, his eyes snagged on a blonde girl who appeared to be shouting at a smaller Asian girl with black hair.

Knowing that negative emotions could mean an attack from the local villain - see, Drake, he could pay attention - he was about to step in when he eyed what the smaller girl was wearing - and almost stumbled down the stairs. The dress was predominately black, but sheer colored fabric had been used to subtly imbue it with a shimmer of colour. The skirt flared out, catching the light and turning a deep emerald green, the bodice a gorgeous blood red with black embroidered ‘R’s across it.

To complete the look, she was wearing a hooded jacket that had a yellow lining, not unlike his cape. But the yellow was much subtler than the canary yellow that was traditional for Robin. She was wearing (presumably) thigh high boots that disappeared into the skirt and his heart hammered in his chest painfully. When he finally got a look at her face, which was scrunched into a pretty scowl, he saw that she had done artfully messy, dark makeup, emulating a domino mask whilst still being classy.

He didn't move closer to the girl until the blonde one - Chloé Bourgeois, his mind supplied helpfully - stalked away and the girl with the Robin dress smirked after her. He approached her as she fiddled with the pastry box she was carrying, and tried not to let it show that he was nervous.

“Good evening,” he said smoothly, wondering if he would be fortunate enough to get her name. She hardly glanced at him, pulling out her phone to send a message. He had the feeling that she was using it as an excuse so that she could deter him without having to say anything. “Apologies for the intrusion, but I could not help noticing that you are wearing a dress inspired by Robin, the Gotham vigilante.”

“You recognise it?” She demanded gleefully, abandoning the pretense that she was invested in whatever reply she was awaiting. Her eyes were a startling blue that practically glowed from within the smokey eye makeup, and he had to work extremely hard not to let his breathing stop and give away just how affected he was by this girl.

“Tt, I am from Gotham, Robin is one of the vigilantes there so I would be remiss if I did not recognise his suit,” he replied, praying she didn't think he was insulting her. He didn't know how to do this, he had never wanted to show an interest in another person before. “I did not think that people in Paris were particularly interested in vigilantes, given they have their own heroes.”

“Oh, yeah, I mean generally that's true, I guess? But my uncle is from Gotham so when I found out, I just had to look up more about them. My favourites are Robin, obviously, and Batgirl. But for the colour scheme, I have to say I prefer the original Batgirl’s costume - purple and yellow is so iconic!”

Damian was stunned momentarily, unsure how to take the conversation forward. As it was, he was very close to blushing, which would be extremely odd. But she seemed content to chatter away, gesturing to different parts of the outfit. Sadly, they were interrupted by a man dressed in black and yellow, with purple hair, who launched himself upon the girl.

“Jagged, stop!” The girl whined, a giggle ruining the playful annoyance in her voice. “It was very nice to meet you, monsieur, I'm sorry for talking your ear off about clothes. As my uncle here can attest, I can get a little carried away.”

“Tt, you hardly need apologise, I enjoyed hearing about the stitching technique you used to connect the skirt to the top of your outfit,” Damian said, gaining him an appraising look from the other man. The girl beamed at him, the smile making his insides feel mushy.

“Rock on, Lil M, you already found one of our dinner mates! You are one of Brucie's bunch, right?” The man, apparently Jagged Stone, asked. Damian nodded, realising that the girl he had been speaking to must be the designer that Tim was so obsessed with. “So, which one are you?”

“Damian,” he said, holding his hand out to Jagged to greet him properly. “It is a pleasure to meet you both. My brother, Timothy, is a fan of both of your works.”

“I’m Marinette, it's nice to meet you too,” the girl, Marinette, said when he turned to greet her as well. She ignored his hand in favour of kissing his cheek with une bise, and he felt warmth flood his face. “How lucky that you came over to say hello! I wasn't sure how punctual any friends of Jagged's would be,” she said pointedly, quirking an eyebrow at the man in question.

“Hey, be fair! I'm earlier than Bruce and the rest of his bunch,” Jagged replied, holding a hand to his chest in mock aggravation. “Speaking of which, I'm going to see if I can surprise him in his room, where will I find him, kid?”

Damian recited the room number, amused that Bruce's friend was so exuberant. He turned back to Marinette, fully intending on getting to know her better before the others joined them.

Meanwhile, Marinette was trying to squash the butterflies that were erupting in her stomach. When the boy, Damian, had first approached her she had groaned internally, not wanting to have to politely tell him to leave. But then he had asked about her dress and she couldn't help herself - she had practically bombarded him with everything she was proud of in this particular piece. Which usually has the same outcome as politely telling a guy to get lost, but then Jagged had interrupted and he had said something that sounded like he had been listening.

Pretty boys with green eyes were already a weakness for her, she knew that. But a pretty boy with green eyes and he indulged her rambling about fashion? She had the horrible feeling that she was already a goner. It didn't help that she had been falling out of love with Adrien ever since his dumb high road advice.

“So you design for Jagged Stone,” Damian said, clearly attempting to restart a conversation. She nodded enthusiastically, giving him a brief history of her work with the eccentric musician. He asked intelligent questions and she felt herself losing the battle not to like him.

She had all but forgotten that they were supposed to be getting dinner with other people when Jagged came back over with two other men, dressed impeccably in black suit jackets. The older of the two was wearing a very traditional slim tie and shirt but the younger had coupled his suit jacket with a band tee that she recognised as the one matching the album she had designed.

“Good evening, I'm so sorry we kept you waiting,” the older man, Bruce, said, stepping forward smoothly to offer her his hand. He was a little further away, so she had to step away from Damian to do so, after which the younger man, Timothy, stepped into the space to introduce himself as well. “Damian, I just needed to speak with you about something, could we step aside before dinner?”

Damian grimaced internally, although externally he merely nodded and excused himself quietly. He had the suspicion that his father was offering him an escape from having to deal with a stranger and didn't know how to explain that he was fine without embarrassing himself.

“I'm sorry, Damian, Jagged has always been notoriously late before so I didn't think anything of it until he came up to our room and said he'd left you alone with his designer,” Bruce said apologetically, giving him a quick once over.

“It was fine, father, Jagged Stone's designer was explaining some of the techniques she had used to complete her outfit,” Damian replied, making sure to school his features into casual boredom. Until he knew what she thought of him, he would keep his interest in the girl to himself. “We are keeping your guests waiting, should we not rejoin them?”

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and strode back over to the other three. To his dismay, Tim was engaging Marinette in an animated conversation about her best works and was much better versed in fashion terminology than Damian. His stomach dropped when she gave a laugh that sounded like bells chiming and touched Tim's arm.

“Rock on, are we ready to get some food? I'm famished,” Jagged said, throwing an arm over Marinette's shoulder. “Besides, I haven't seen any of you in ages, I've gotta tell you all about the crazy stuff that's happened. Especially you, Bruce - if you thought Gotham had crazy villains, you should hear about Hawkmoth.”

“Uncle J, I don't think your guests want to hear about how crazy it is in Paris. Besides, Damian already mentioned Paris’ heroes so they probably already know about Hawkmoth,” Marinette said, glancing at Damian with a small smile.

“You talked about the heroes?” Tim asked, and Damian assumed he was alarmed, thinking that Damian had betrayed their interest in the situation as vigilantes. Scowling, Damian gave a brief nod but said nothing. He found himself unable to sit next to Marinette but instead was placed in the seat opposite her.

“Oh, it was my fault,” Marinette said with good humour. She gestured to her dress before removing her jacket and sitting down. “He recognised the vigilante I styled my outfit after. As soon as I found out where Jagged was from I checked out the city protectors and fell in love!”

“That's very interesting,” Bruce said, amusement lacing his tone as he gave Damian a look. Tim was choking on the water he had sipped, but waved off Marinette's concern. “But yes, we are aware of the Parisian heroes. We didn't want to come to a city without being prepared, an unfortunate side effect from living in Gotham.”

“Ah, that's a shame! Marinette here is part of what we like to call the Akuma class, she's probably got some crazy stories from the front line. Hell, remember when I came to do that show in your bakery, M? Poor Penny completely trashed the place after Alec blasted those pictures of-”

“Okay, yes, thank you, Jagged! I very much doubt anyone here needs to know about my embarrassing collection of magazine covers,” Marinette said, glancing at Damian and flushing slightly. His heart thudded painfully again, although his stomach removed itself from the region of his feet. “Anyway, we were moving on from crazy supervillains as a topic, right?”

“Yeah, alright,” Jagged said, although he sent a sharp look Damian’s way, which said he wasn't as air-headed as he had seemed. “Hey, did you know that there's a soup named after Marinette here? It used to be called celestial soup, but her great uncle renamed it after she helped him with a competition.”

Marinette felt like she was sitting with her Papa, Jagged was bragging about her accomplishments so much. She tried to sneak glances at Damian without being noticed, but every time she looked at him his gaze found hers, and she felt a familiar swoop in her stomach. By the end of the meal, she was so embarrassed she wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

“Well, as fun as this has been, Lil M here has school tomorrow, so she should probably head on home. Do you want me to call you a cab or anything?”

“I'll be fine, Jagged,” Marinette said, rolling her eyes and shrugging back into her jacket. The lining felt cool on her skin, which helped the anxious nerves settle. Jagged nodded, giving her a hug before sitting back down and chatting with Bruce about how different Paris was to Gotham.

She was surprised but pleased when Damian stood as well, offering to see her out of the hotel. She didn't miss the concerned looks that Tim and Bruce exchanged but decided to ignore them. They walked slowly through the much quieter lobby, Marinette wanting to extend her time with him as much as possible.

“It has been a pleasant evening in your company, Marinette,” Damian said as they slowed to a stop just shy of the doors. She beamed as she blushed again, nodding enthusiastically. “And…I hope it is not too forward of me, but I would like to see you again whilst I am still in Paris.”

“I would love that,” she squeaked, nearly dropping her phone as she pulled it from the clutch she was carrying. She offered it to him and he reciprocated by handing her his. Joy bubbled in her veins as she went to take a selfie to put as her contact picture, but he stopped her.

“May I take a picture of you in your outfit?” He asked, a light flush across his cheekbones the only sign that he was affected by her. She nodded dumbly, trying not to smile manically as she posed for a photo. Her half smile was on his face as he showed it to her, setting it as the picture for her profile. “I wish you did not have to go, but I understand the need to attend school. Will you inform me when you reach your home safely?”

Marinette promised she would, giggling happily as she walked away from the hotel.

_ _ _

Bruce was nervous about Damian following Marinette out of the room, but couldn't do anything without alerting Jagged to this concern. Tim was almost asleep now that the excitement of meeting Jagged and his designer had faded, so he couldn't subtly suggest that he check on them either.

The minutes dragged torturously, the acceptable amount of time for a polite farewell coming and going. He glanced at his watch apprehensively, and Jagged laughed aloud, making Tim jerk out of the light doze he had fallen into.

“Something on your mind, Brucie?” The musician asked, propping his head up on his hand. Bruce gave him a tight smile, wondering what to say that wouldn't alarm his old friend. He was saved from having to when Jagged chuckled again. “Look, I know they're kids, but Marinette's got a good head on her shoulders. She's not going to seduce the little guy and corrupt him, promise.”

Tim gave a shocked giggle, stuffing his knuckles into his mouth to stifle them. Jagged looked at him, amused, before turning back to a Bruce who just looked tired. Before Bruce could reply in any capacity Damian finally returned, and Tim gave up the fight against his laughter, curling up and wheezing.

“Is Drake having some sort of episode?” Damian said, brow furrowed. Tim gasped for air and pointed at him, which only made him scowl uncertainly. “Father, when was the last time he slept? And how much caffeine has he consumed since then?”

“N- no, sorry, I'm sorry,” Tim gasped, finally managing to pull himself out of his laughing fit just long enough to choke the words out. But then he looked at Damian again and dissolved once more. “C- corrupt…s-s-seduce…”

“It isn't important, Damian,” Bruce said decisively, which made Jagged bark out a laugh as well. Damian took his seat, looking irritated and unamused. Bruce sighed, not wanting to get into the full conversation with Damian until Jagged was gone, but knowing that his son would be a grouchy mess until it was addressed. “Jagged was just saying that Marinette is a good kid, and that I shouldn't be worried about you spending time with her.”

“Ah hell, M’s so much more than just a good kid! She's practically an angel! I mean, she's designed for me, but she babysits too, she helps her parents with the bakery, she's top of her class…like, the list goes on but I digress. Pretty sure my kid has a thing for her, but I haven't talked to them about it.”

“Tt, whilst I appreciate your concern, father, I am capable of choosing who I will spend time with by myself,” Damian said, unruffled by the conversation topic. “Now, it is late and I would like to rest before we tour the buildings tomorrow, may I be excused?”

As soon as Bruce agreed, Damian bid them all goodnight and headed to his room. He prepared for bed, checking his phone periodically even though he had set it to loud while waiting for Marinette to inform him that she was home safe. It wasn't until he was settled on his bed with a book that the notification of a new message sounded.

Hey Damian, this is Marinette! Just letting you know that I'm home safe :-) let me know when you're free and we'll hang, okay? Xoxo

A rare grin lit his face for a moment, before he messaged her back with the plans for his week in Paris. He would have free time every afternoon, and Marinette said that Wednesdays were a half-day at school, so she would be more than happy to spend time with him then. He bid her goodnight and she sent back a heart emoji, effectively ending their brief exchange.

_ _ _

When Marinette had agreed to make the costumes and help with the set for Kitty Section, she had been determined to help them win first place in the contest. So she had worked tirelessly to ensure the costumes were perfect, fitting and re-fitting the whole band countless times.

On the weekend of filming, Damian was on his last day in Paris and asked if he could see her before he went. She wanted to - their kind of date on Wednesday had been amazing, and they'd only done a walking tour of the city - but she'd made the commitment to her friends. She decided to call him and explain the situation, because she didn't want him to think she was blowing him off.

“Marinette?” He said when he picked up, his voice low and tinged with concern. “Is everything alright?”

“Hey Dami, I'm fine,” she said, hauling the trunk of costumes out of the bakery and taking a break before walking it to the boat on the Seine. “Sorry for calling instead of texting, I just have my hands a little full. I have plans already for today; I'm helping my friends’ band with a music video they're making for a competition.”

“You need not apologise, Marinette, we have not known each other long and I have already been fortunate enough to see you several times this week,” he assured her. Warmth spread through her, partially from the heavy chest, but mostly from how straightforward he was with her. “I will not lie to you, I would have liked to see you again before I go home, but it is hardly like I will not see you again.”

“What time are you flying out?” She asked wistfully, stopping on the shore next to the houseboat. She sighed when he told her that he was leaving for the airport at midday, and said that she would have to try video calling him when time allowed. “But at least we can message each other any time.”

“Indeed. Now, enjoy your time with your friends and I shall speak to you again soon.” Sighing again, she called out to the band, hugging Mylene and Rose when they came out to her. Luka smiled at her, but stayed on the stage strumming.

When they finished recording and editing, Marinette saw that it was 11:30. Shouting quick goodbyes to everyone, she raced over to the hotel. She was breathless when she arrived at 11:45, but it meant that she should have at least ten minutes to say goodbye to Damian.

Rushing over to the front desk, she asked if they could send a message up to the American visitor Damian (why hadn't she asked for his surname?) and sent a text as well, just to be safe. It took a few minutes but then he appeared in the lobby and shot her a crooked smile.

“I am very glad that you completed your tasks early, Marinette,” he said, brushing some flyaway hairs out of her eyes. Her heart hammered, refusing to slow down even though she had been standing still for several minutes. “May I kiss you?”

“God yes,” she whimpered, grabbing onto his lapels and pulling him down. He kissed back earnestly, cupping her cheek with one hand as she wound her arms around his neck. She tentatively pushed her hands into his hair and was rewarded when he made a soft noise of contentment.

They stood like that for several minutes before slowing and separating. The same crooked smile he had given her when he had seen her a few minutes ago lit up his face and she smiled goofily up at him. They murmured gently to each other, promising to stay in touch and see each other as often as possible.

“I know it's kind of extremely early to ask this, but will you be my boyfriend?” Marinette asked when he begrudgingly reminded her that he had only a few minutes until his father and brother would be joining him to return home. She was relieved when his crooked smile transformed into a full blown grin.

“I would love to be your boyfriend, Marinette. I would much prefer to remain here with you in Paris, but I must return home and to my responsibilities,” he said regretfully. She sighed and buried her face in his chest, holding him tightly.

“Damian, are you ready to go?” Bruce had arrived and Damian reluctantly released her. She blushed at the man, stammering a greeting and farewell and he smiled at her. “It's been a pleasure to meet you Marinette. If you ever come to Gotham, feel free to come to Wayne Enterprises and we can give you a tour.”

“...Wayne Enterprises as in, Wayne Fashion?” She said eventually, turning to stare at Damian. Bruce watched as his son flushed pink and muttered something unintelligible under his breath. He had to fight back his own astonishment that the girl apparently hadn't known who she was having dinner with a few nights ago.

“Why would I have known?” She squeaked when he voiced the thought. “Jagged just said his friend from school was coming to visit and he wanted to introduce me! I- this is going to take me a minute,” she confessed, darting and apologetic glance at Damian.

To Bruce's surprise, Damian looked worried, his face filled with tight lines. He had never seen his son hesitate before, or worry that his name would change the opinion someone had of him, but that was clearly what was happening. Marinette's crisis was cut short when Tim joined them and the car for the airport pulled up.

Damian pulled Marinette away from his family while they put the luggage in the car, wanting to ensure that things were alright between them. She had already calmed down considerably which was a positive sign.

“Marinette, I am sorry I did not tell you sooner. I assumed you were already aware of our family name. I hope that this does not change-” he was cut off abruptly when Marinette grabbed him in a tight embrace.

“It doesn't change anything,” she swore confidently, pulling back from the hug and gripping his hand. “If you're fine with dating a daughter of two bakers, I think I can find it in me to date the son of a millionaire.”

“Tt, billionaire,” he corrected automatically, flushing when she gave a strangled giggle. Tim gave a warning shout that they needed to leave and he glared in the direction of the car. “May I call you when I am safely home?”

“Damian, as my boyfriend you can call me whenever you want,” she said, before letting him walk over to the car. He felt a little hollow and disappointed that this was goodbye for now, but his duties as Robin had to come first.

_ _ _

Marinette spent the next few days fuelled by the joy of knowing Damian felt the same way she did. They had messaged back and forth several times, even occasionally calling. They talked about anything and everything, Marinette finding him to be practical but compassionate about her problems.

On the Wednesday after they had submitted the competition video, Marinette was hanging out with Kitty Section on the houseboat when Ivan called for everyone's attention. In numb outrage, they watched XY’s new music video - a direct copy of their submission.

Taking their complaint to the filming studio, Marinette and Luka snuck inside while the rest of Kitty Section caused a distraction. Once inside, Bob Roth proceeded to tear into the pair, threatening their futures and, specifically, Marinette's future as a designer. She didn't notice Luka getting angry until he was enveloped in harsh purple light, transforming into Silencer.

He stole XY's voice and turned to Marinette, promising to help her stay safe and protect her artistic integrity. Then he told her, “You’re an extraordinary girl, Marinette. As clear as a musical note, and as sincere as a melody.” She blushed for a few moments before shaking it off and going to transform.

The battle against Silencer was difficult, and only made harder by Bob Roth. She did eventually defeat him, but all it meant was that she was back in the same position she had been before the akumatisation. Unless…

Her usual quick thinking and the assistance of Luka resulted in Bob being forced to admit that he had tried to steal their ideas. Transforming back, Marinette rushed back to Luka and cheered happily that they had won. She had decided that she would ignore what Luka had said under the influence of the akuma, given that she didn't want anything more than friendship with him.

But then as they were separating, he said the same thing again, and it left her uncomfortable. She didn't manage to say anything back, but he didn't seem to be expecting an answer. She immediately messaged Damian, wanting to let him know what Luka had said.

She was comforted by his no nonsense view on the matter, seeming more concerned that she had been caught up in an akuma attack. She assured him that she was fine, and that Ladybug had saved the day as usual. He asked a few questions about how she had done it, and Marinette had to carefully dodge any potential pitfalls that would show she knew too much.

Damian ended the call feeling even more determined to help end the threat of Hawkmoth. He had wanted to help as soon as he found out that there was an emotional terrorist causing havoc in Paris, but now that he knew Marinette…it was imperative that the Justice League meet with the heroes and offer whatever help they could.

Striding into his father's office, he waited patiently to be seen. He tried to structure his concerns in a way that wouldn't immediately make his father suspicious. He did not want his family to pry into his relationship with Marinette, especially as they did not think he was capable of one.

“What can I do for you, Damian?” Bruce eventually said, looking up from his work. Damian steeled himself and launched into his speech about helping the Parisian heroes. Bruce listened without interrupting, nodding along until Damian ran out of things to say. Finally, Bruce steepled his fingers and gazed thoughtfully at the young vigilante. “I see, and who would you suggest I send to Paris?”

“Drake has an analytical mind that would likely be the biggest benefit as both Ladybug and Chat Noir seem to be competent enough in battle. Training would not go amiss, however, so someone should go with him.” He stopped himself from volunteering immediately even though he was sure his father would know that was the only reason he would be talking about it.

“Alright, so given what we know about Hawkmoth's abilities anyone too volatile is out of the question. So Jason will have to sit out a long-term placement in Paris. Dick has his family to think about, which would only make him moody to be separated from them. Steph and Tim have a history that makes me hesitant to send her with him to a city besieged by an emotional terrorist.”

“Cain has responsibilities in Hong Kong, she would be too distracted to train them sufficiently,” Damian added, warming to the task of shutting down the possibilities of someone other than him going. “You are essential to the welfare of Gotham, so that is out of the question, as is anyone with powers such as any of the Kents.”

“But Duke’s powers are actually potentially helpful,” Bruce countered, looking thoughtful. Damian tried not to freeze or scowl. He thought desperately for a rebuttal, a reason that Duke would have to sit it out and came up blank.

“Thomas is…an adequate choice,” Damian admitted at last, trying to avoid glaring but only half succeeding. “It would be beneficial to all involved if we verified that his powers would be useful before he uproots his life in Gotham, however. Perhaps he and Drake could visit as their alternative selves via zeta tube and make contact with the duo?”

“That sounds reasonable,” Bruce replied, nodding to himself. Damian held himself stiff and waited to be dismissed. “Of course, there is this akuma class that Jagged and Marinette mentioned, it could be useful to have someone in the classroom itself to investigate…do you think Duke could pass as a fifteen-year-old?”

“Tt, that hardly seems necessary,” Damian said, working to calm his now racing heart. If he played this correctly, he would be able to go to Paris regardless of whether Duke went as well. “I am in that curricular age bracket and I am more than competent enough to investigate.”

“And what of the emotionally stable requirement?” If this were a less important conversation, Damian would have been offended. As it was, he gave the question as much clinical consideration as was possible.

“I am capable of managing my emotions, I have grown plenty since Mother allowed me to stay in Gotham,” he said eventually, pleased that his voice was level. “It would also be a good test of my own capacity. In addition, I have already spent a week in Paris and went without Akumatisation the entire time, despite spending ample time with Drake.”

“But not around children your own age,” Bruce countered again, forcing Damian to swallow a growl. “You're not best known for dealing well with people who approach you because of your name, and that could cause an akumatisation of someone else.”

“Then send me under an assumed name, ostensibly so that I am protected whilst away from you,” Damian said immediately, pleased with his own quick thinking. At Bruce's raised eyebrows he soldiered on. “The only person with any knowledge of my identity is Marinette who would likely not give that information away if we requested it in advance.”

Bruce stayed silent for several minutes, clearly mulling all of this over. When he finally nodded, Damian allowed a small smirk to flit across his features, before schooling his expression back into solemnity.

“Very well, a team of three. I like the idea of sending you through the Zeta tubes first, and we may well do that for several nights in a row to give the illusion that you're all still in Gotham as civilians. And then a couple of nights of no activity at that end when you arrive as Damian but Robin back in Gotham would cement it quite nicely. Okay, yes let's tell the team.”

_ _ _

Adrien walked into collége with a spring in his step. So far, he hadn't had time to wow Marinette with his charm and wit - he had researched so many non-cat puns - but he was confident that he would be able to get Alya and Nino on his side. He had vague recollections of Alya forcing him to dance with Marinette at Chloé's disastrous party, so he was pretty confident that she wanted them to double date.

But when he arrived in their classroom, Alya and Nino were talking in hushed tones. Marinette still hadn't appeared, but that wasn't unusual, so Adrien made his way to his desk and turned to talk to the pair.

“I'm telling you, Marinette's been smiling at her phone and she's practically glued to it these days! And Juleka said that he confessed to her during the whole Silencer debacle,” Alya insisted, showing a picture of Marinette gazing lovingly at her phone.

“Who confessed to Marinette?” Adrien asked, suddenly apprehensive. He felt even more worried when Alya and Nino exchanged a look.

“Dude, you remember Juleka’s brother, Luka? Apparently he told Marinette he was into her when he was akumatised into Silencer,” Nino said, shrugging uncomfortably. “And Mari’s been acting kind of strange lately, haven't you noticed? She looks at her phone all the time, and someone's messaging her loads.”

“Yeah, and my girl definitely thought he was cute, I remember when she met him. She was blushy and stammered a bunch,” Alya added, although she shut up as Marinette rushed in. “Hey Marinette!”

“Hey Alya! I can't believe how late I was running today,” Marinette groaned, laying her head down on the desk. “And before you say it, yes I know it's my own fault for staying up late.”

“Hey dudette,” Nino said, but Madame Bustier appeared before Adrien could give his own greeting. He turned to face the front uneasily, wondering if he had already missed his chance to woo Ladybug's civilian identity.

The day dragged on, and when he returned after lunch he spotted Marinette smiling at her phone and decided he had to know. Strolling casually towards her, he leaned down to talk to her.

“Hey Mari,” he said cheerily, trying to get a sneaky glance at her phone but she squeaked and pulled it out of sight too quickly. “You looked happy, were you messaging Luka?”

“Luka? Why would I be messaging Luka?” Marinette looked guilty and Adrien's stomach clenched. He forced a smile onto his face, trying to look like he wasn't panicking.

“Oh, Alya just mentioned that you were maybe dating him…”

“No, I- I'm not dating Luka,” she said slightly hesitantly. She bit her lip and Adrien wondered if she wished she was.

“Okay, well that's…that's great,” he said, smiling a little more naturally. “So I was wondering if maybe-”

He was interrupted by the bell and he frowned at the sudden bustle behind him. Marinette’s phone buzzed again but she didn't open whatever message it was in front of him. Instead, she suggested that they head into class, only pulling her phone out stealthily once they were seated.

Adrien frowned and all but ignored the lesson. If he couldn't find time to bring it up as Adrien, he would just have to work harder to convince her as Ladybug.

_ _ _

Robin stood on the threshold of the Watchtower Zeta tube with anticipation pooling in his stomach. He was determined to impress the Parisian heroes and prove Jason's ominous prediction, that he would be akumatised within the hour and decimate the Parisian team, wrong

“Okay, so remember, this is a pretty simple recon mission and to extend the olive branch and our offer of aid to Ladybug and Chat Noir. If they decline, we're out and no arguing. The last thing they need is for one of us to get akumatised because we can't take no for an answer,” Red Robin reminded them for the third time.

“We get it, Red,” Signal said, shaking his head in exasperation. Robin worked on not adding his own vocal frustration and was rewarded by Red Robin nodding and stepping through to Paris.

Standing in an alley, they got their bearings and shot off to find the local heroes. It was late evening and Robin managed to glimpse Marinette's balcony as they grappled past. The lights were on and he could see the flicker of movement as she did something. He thought he saw a shift of her curtain before they completely passed but couldn't justify stopping.

They settled on the Eiffel Tower and ended up only waiting for around ten minutes before a red and black blur flipped and landed in front of them. She eyed them suspiciously for a moment but then confusion crossed her face.

“Um, hello,” she said hesitantly, giving Robin a look that made him sure she recognised him. Sometimes it was worth being dressed in…how had Marinette said it?...oh, yes, traffic stoppingly bright colours. “To what do I owe the pleasure of meeting some of Gotham's heroes?”

“We're here to offer our assistance,” Red Robin said, smiling at the girl. “I'm sorry it's taken so long for us to come, we weren't really aware that there was anything amiss to begin with. And then Batman wanted to check things out before we reached out.”

“Wow, seriously? I would love some help! I've been trying to track down Hawkmoth but it's been- God, it's freaking sucked. It's messing with my civilian life and I kind of have a lot on my plate, so any help you can give would be incredible.”

“Of course,” Red Robin said, smiling at the French heroine. “I'm Red Robin, this is Signal and this is-”

“Robin, yes,” she interrupted nodding. “I recognised the, ah, interestingly bright colours. They are not exactly subtle shades.”

“Tt, the colours are a tradition,” Robin said, grumbling slightly. It felt strange to discuss the colours of his suit with someone who also wore a shockingly bright suit. But he kept to his word and avoided sniping back an insult.

“Yeah, my fr- boyfriend is from Gotham and explained it to me,” she said, blushing lightly and smiling softly. Something inside Damian felt like it had received an electric shock. It could be a coincidence that this dark-haired, blue-eyed hero had a boyfriend in Gotham but… “I still think that you could do something slightly different with it though. There are other shades of yellow, red, and green that don't stop traffic.”

The rest of the encounter felt like white noise to Damian. He found himself watching Ladybug intently, noting small tics that he had noticed in Marinette during their brief time together so far. She was expressive with her hands. She twirled her pigtail around a finger when thinking.

How had he managed to travel across the world, meet someone and they turned out to be a hero? In some ways it was baffling, but in others made complete sense. Of course his girlfriend was a selfless, heroic girl who spent what very little spare time she had battling the forces of evil. He could only be interested in the very best.

Fortunately, nobody seemed to notice his distraction and Ladybug thanked them before zipping away - in the direction of Marinette's home. Hm, it appears he would need to speak with her about obscuring her destination.

_ _ _

The next week passed fairly quickly, but Damian was also exhausted by the end of it. Between traveling back and forth to Paris via Zeta tube, organising all paperwork to transfer to Francois DuPont, and plotting how to tell Marinette her secret was out, he scarcely had time to sleep.

It was a relief to land in Paris on a Saturday evening and head straight to the apartment that Bruce had procured for the three of them. He immediately set down his suitcase and pulled out his phone to let Marinette know that he had arrived. He received a dozen or so heart emojis in return, making him smile.

He sent a follow up text asking if she would join him the following day to collect his French phone, ready for school first thing on Monday, which she also agreed to enthusiastically. He tucked the phone away as he prepared to meet with Ladybug again, wishing he could tell her who he was and that he knew who she was.

The trip to the Eiffel Tower was uneventful and they set up the laptop and paper notes about their investigation so that they could do a further deep dive. Since they had discovered that Signal could only see an energy signature when Ladybug used her lucky charm, they couldn't use him to quickly locate Hawkmoth when he was powered up but not actively evilising a butterfly.

“...a chance, Bugaboo!” The sound of Chat Noir’s voice carried over to them from nearby and three heads turned towards it. “I think we would make a purr-fect couple, M'lady, but it won't happen if you keep pretending you're not even curious.”

“Chat, I told you that there was another boy,” Robin's fist unclenched from his katana’s hilt but he glared in the direction of the voices as Chat made a dismissive noise. “No, Chat, I'm serious, there's this boy-”

“Yes yes, that you like, but you shouldn't be closing off your options like that! I'm just saying that you should consider me as well,” Chat said, fairly condescendingly as far as Robin was concerned. Unsheathing his katana, he jumped across to where they were standing.

“If Ladybug said no, she would have meant it,” he said in clipped tones. He noted Ladybug's - Marinette's - shoulders relaxed when he arrived and had to wrestle back his anger. The last thing they needed was for Robin to get akumatised. “We have been waiting for you to arrive to debrief and discuss next steps.”

“Sorry, Robin, we're coming,” Ladybug said immediately, following him back to the other side of the Tower. She flitted to stand between Red Robin and Signal who both gave Chat Noir disapproving looks. “So, the list of suspects is ready?”

“Yes, we have been cross-referencing the different affluent men in Paris who have the time and resources to spend time as Hawkmoth,” Robin said, staying beside Chat even though he would have rather been beside Ladybug.

It was nearly an hour later that they all agreed they had done as much as they could. Dutifully, Red Robin reminded the duo that the team would be traveling back to Gotham the next day for a few days but then would be back in Paris to really get stuck in.

Ladybug thanked them all before shooting off to get home. Damian noted that she went off in a different direction this time, and wondered if she changed which way she went each time to help confuse anyone watching.

_ _ _

Marinette waited on a bench in the park outside her home, picking at her fingers. She hadn't seen Damian in person since he had left Paris to go home and she was worried he would change his mind once he saw her again. She had agonized over her outfit before deciding to wear the new shirt she had designed and created specifically so she could show it to him.

“Marinette, apologies for my lateness.” Damian appeared beside her silently, and she squealed before her phone went flying. With reflexes she couldn't have guessed he possessed, Damian caught her phone and placed it gently back into her hands. It had fallen to her other side so he was fully in her personal space, looking down into her eyes as she stammered a thank you.

There was a moment where neither of them moved, simply breathing the same air. And then her hands found their way to his collar and his lips crashed into hers. He kissed her hungrily, wrapping his arm around her waist to secure her against him.

They kissed for several long moments, and Marinette got lost in running her fingers into his hair. It was reluctantly that she pulled away from him, grinning up at him. His eyes were gleaming and she giggled when he tried to straighten his hair.

“We should go and get your phone,” she said at last, letting her hand trace his jaw. He shivered and Marinette felt a thrill at the simple fact that she affected her boyfriend. He hesitated for a moment before nodding and helping her stand.

Collecting his phone was an easy task and they chatted about him starting school with her the next day. He had already told her that he would be attending under a different surname, so she made sure she knew his cover name.

As the day slipped into early evening, Marinette dragged him back to the Pont des Arts bridge to watch the sunset. She turned to look at him and paused. His eyes were hooded and his profile when he turned to look at her made her breath catch. She felt like she was unraveling a string, starting with the way he had approached her before dinner to talk about her Robin themed dress, to the verbal tic that he shared with said vigilante.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, his eyes full of concern. She stood on her tiptoes, pushing her hands back into his hair. He gave a crooked smile and leaned down to kiss her again, but she held him back slightly as she restyled his hair.

“Um, so I think I worked out something I wasn't supposed to,” she said in a hushed whisper, shooting him an apologetic wince. He froze but didn't say anything. His hand came up and pressed gently into the base of her spine. His fingers circled firmly, making her shudder and step even closer.

“I suppose that makes us even,” he replied, sounding amused more than angry. Then it was Marinette's turn to freeze, panic racing through her. “Marinette, breathe. I had intended to tell you shortly, but it is imperative that you do not allow yourself to panic.”

She breathed in shallowly but the panic simmered under the surface. Cursing lowly, Damian pulled her into a rough kiss and she felt like her nerve endings were completely fried. Her panic was swiftly replaced with a fluttering and she leaned into the kiss whole-heartedly.

When they broke apart this time, they were both breathing heavily. The panic Marinette had been feeling was muted, and she leaned her head against his shoulder as she tried to rein in her runaway thoughts.

“How long have you known?” She asked, tracing her fingers around one of his jacket buttons. She frowned lightly as he explained but didn't free-fall into panic this time. “This is going to take some time to get my head around.”

“Do you want me to…leave?” Damian asked, clearly reluctant, and she shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to be left alone with her thoughts. His whole body relaxed and the arm wrapped around her pressed her even closer.

They didn't talk much more, choosing instead to just hold each other.

_ _ _

The following day at school, Marinette pushed down the nervous excitement that made her stomach bubble. She knew that Damian would be on time, so she had made sure to wake up early and was already standing on the front steps. She hadn't even seen Max yet, and he was usually first through the doors.

She perked up when a car that she didn't recognise rolled up and was rewarded with the early morning sight of Damian in relaxed clothes. One of the conversations they had had the day prior was to say that he would be trying to distance his image from the public one of Damian Wayne so that he was less likely to be recognised.

“Good morning, Marinette,” he said as he approached her, giving her la bise on both cheeks. They had agreed to downplay their relationship for now to avoid awkward questions about how they had met, and she had never been more glad to have the excuse to kiss his cheeks.

“Morning, Damian,” she said back, beaming as he waited for Duke to park and rejoin him so that they could head to see Principal Damocles. When Duke arrived he gave Marinette a confused look but only greeted her cheerfully. “Good morning, Duke, right?”

“Yes, that's right,” he said and his eyes passed over her, focusing momentarily on the small pink bag by her hip. “And you must be Marinette, Tim mentioned you to us. I, uh, hope this isn't rude but are you aware that Damian is-”

“That this is Damian Thomas?” She interrupted, beaming up at him when he relaxed. “Yes, Damian made me aware and I agree that it's a smart move. I'm the class president of the class Damian will be in, so there should be no issue with him just sticking with me for the foreseeable future. Now, are you ready to meet Principal Damocles?”

They followed her into the building, Marinette chattering and pointing out the different classrooms on the next floor as they passed. Several students that had been milling around spotted the trio and an excited buzz kicked up, though Marinette dutifully ignored it.

“Mr Damocles, the new student and his guardian are here,” she said cheerfully when they were given permission to enter the office.

“Wonderful, thank you, Marinette,” he said, dismissing her with a nod of his head. She backed out of the office, her hand giving Damian's a discreet squeeze on her way past.

When she entered the classroom, she was immediately bombarded with questions about Damian. Lila sat at the back, quiet for a change and Marinette avoided looking in her direction. When Adrien arrived, he seemed excited to hear that there would be a new student, and piped up that it was probably time to change seats again.

Marinette paused and thought it over, nodding along as she decided that it was the easiest way to let her sit next to Damian. There was a flurry of motion as everyone clamored to explain where they wanted to sit.

“You know, I know Lila said her tinnitus cleared up because of the miraculous cure, but I think it's more likely that she became accustomed to the noise,” she said aloud, feigning concern. Lila narrowed her eyes at her but she ignored it. “It would make sense for us to go with the original plan you all came up with, and then I can help the new kid, as class president.”

Everybody agreed enthusiastically, except for Adrien who looked disappointed. But then Madame Bustier had arrived and they were forced to settle into their new seats.

Meanwhile, Damian was being forced to listen to Principal Damocles drone on about how much the school valued teamwork and a cohesive student body. He danced around the subject of Hawkmoth which made Damian decide that he was weak-willed.

“Look, Damian, I know this is going to be difficult,” Duke said as they made their way to the classroom. “If it's easier for you to be your usual self, don't force yourself to be super friendly. It's normal for a kid that changed countries to be slightly closed off anyway.”

“Tt, I know what I am doing, Tho- Duke,” Damian said, grimacing slightly at using the man's given name. But it would be too suspicious if he was overheard given that they were supposed to have the same surname.

“Another thing, I don't know what Marinette's got in her bag, but it's giving off insane amounts of energy. There might be more to her than meets the eye,” Duke said, checking his watch. He missed Damian's pause and the boy was back to behaving normally by the time he looked back. “Listen, I'll walk you in but then I've gotta jet.”

Standing in front of the class, Damian used his vantage point to remind himself of all who were in his new class. His eyes snagged on Marinette, who was sitting alone in the back of the classroom with the only available seat next to her.

“Welcome to our classroom, Damian!” Madame Bustier said in an almost unnaturally sweet voice. Forcing himself not to wince, he nodded and projected a cool but nervous aura. “Perhaps you could introduce yourself to the class, tell us a little about Damian Thomas?”

“... good morning, I am Damian. I will say now that I do not like nicknames, and as such will not respond to anything other than ‘Damian’. I am from New Jersey and elected to study abroad when my brother, Duke, was assigned here. I have already been acquainted with Marinette as she is the class representative and would ask that the rest of you give me space to adjust to the new class.”

The class all nodded, although the one sitting next to the blond model Agreste - Lila Rossi, Damian thought her name was - looked disappointed. Duke stayed until Damian was told to take his seat but then slipped away.

In the back of the classroom, Damian and Marinette sat quietly together exchanging notes and speaking softly. To anyone that asked, Damian said that Marinette was helping him adjust to the class and generally making the transition into the school as smooth as possible.

In reality, Damian was letting Marinette know that Duke had sensed a powerful being in her bag, presumably Tikki. If this was the case, then they were in a better position than they had originally believed, because Duke could investigate their various suspects and find the Kwami when they weren't suited up.

_ _ _

Adrien was irritated with the new kid. He knew that Marinette had responsibilities as class representative, but it grated on him that this Damian kid was monopolising his lady's time. And even though the boy was practically shunning the rest of the class, he didn't seem to be staying out of her space.

He grit his teeth when Damian leaned over Marinette during morning break and she flushed. He could see that Marinette was clearly uncomfortable, but he wouldn't get out of her space! Adrien decided that it was time for her knight in shining leather to make an appearance.

“Mari! I feel like we haven't spent enough time together in ages,” Adrien said, dropping into the seat on the other side of her. “Hi, I'm Adrien Agreste, one of Marinette's closest friends.”

“...a pleasure to meet you,” Damian responded stiffly, hand resting on the back of Marinette's chair as he leaned back. Marinette's blush receded almost immediately and Adrien patted himself on the back for saving her so quickly. “Marinette has been telling me about the various extra curriculars available at this school. She mentioned that you fence?”

“Aw, talking about me? I'm flattered,” Adrien replied, leaning towards Marinette. She didn't blush, making him feel smug that she wasn't uncomfortable around him. “Marinette did say that she was a fan before, I shouldn't be surprised that she would tell you all about me.”

“I was actually just mentioning it because Damian expressed an interest in swords,” Marinette interjected, flashing a look Adrien couldn't decipher at Damian.

Just then Lila, Alya and Nino came over to the table as well. Lila automatically latched onto Adrien's arm, gripping him tightly. He had enough control not to grimace and instead plastered one of his model smiles across his face.

“It's so nice that we can all spend time together, isn't it Adrien?” Lila cooed before turning her eyes onto Damian. “I don't think I had the chance to introduce myself yet, I'm Lila Rossi! It's so lucky that I wasn't away with my mother and doing charity work, I would have hated to miss meeting you with everyone else.”

Adrien shot Marinette a look when hers soured, trying to remind her to take the high road, but she didn't look his way. Instead Damian stood abruptly, making Marinette look up at him, startled.

“Apologies, I am still adjusting to the new school and this is too overwhelming,” he said, although his tone was flat rather than agitated. Marinette shot up as well, grabbing her bag and leading Damian away.

Adrien slumped a little, pouting at the fact that even though Damian had said he was overwhelmed Marinette had gone with the other boy.

_ _ _

“The problem is,” Marinette said, worrying her lip between her teeth, “that if I tell Duke what he saw so that he can find Hawkmoth, I reveal my identity. And you are literally one of two people who knows, which already feels pretty risky.”

“Then it is a case of whether the benefits outweigh the risks,” Damian murmured. It was lunchtime and they had secluded themselves in the library. With no prying eyes, Damian had pulled her close and buried his face in her neck.

In the short time he and Marinette had been spending time together, it had surprised him how much he enjoyed touching her casually. It had started as wanting to hold her hand and spiraled to wrapping his arms around her as much as he could.

“I know, I know,” she muttered back, frowning at her phone. “It's just…I've spent so long keeping my identity to myself, even from my partner. Having my boyfriend know is wildly different to telling other vigilantes.”

“But Th- Duke would be instrumental in taking action against Hawkmoth,” Damian pointed out. “And should we wish to continue this relationship, they will need to know at some point.”

“You’re right,” Marinette sighed, twisting her hands before running her hands along his arms. He pressed even closer to her, humming lightly as he pressed a kiss against her neck. “But if you don't want to blow your cover, we should probably get on with doing work here instead of cuddling.”

“I do not see why it should matter if people know I am enthralled by you,” Damian grumbled halfheartedly, though he did pull away. They spent the remainder of their lunch talking about their plans and how they would approach his brothers.

Their last lesson of the day went quickly and Marinette waited outside with Damian for Duke to collect them. She waved goodbye to everyone that walked past them but didn't move towards anyone else.

When Duke saw him standing close to Marinette, he seemed to do a double take but he didn't say anything when Marinette climbed into the backseat besides ‘hello’.

“Duke, Marinette is going to come to our apartment and we shall explain things once we have more privacy,” Damian said with no preamble. He then refused to elaborate regardless of any questions that Duke had.

“Yo, Tim, we've got company,” Duke shouted when they stepped over the threshold of their temporary home. Marinette moved to grip Damian's hand as soon as the door shut behind them and he squeezed back reassuringly.

Marinette took a deep breath as they moved to the kitchen to have the following discussion. She knew it was necessary but she was terrified - she'd never told someone her secret identity but she was willing if it ended the threat hanging over her head.

“Oh, hey Marinette, what are you doing here? Not that you're not welcome! But we weren't expecting you,” Tim said as he came to join them. She exchanged a glance with Damian and he nodded ever so slightly.

“Um, well, I actually came to talk to you about something that couldn't wait. Otherwise I would've held off until I saw you tonight for our regularly scheduled get together,” she said, hands fidgeting. “God, this is weird. Okay, so this morning, I met Duke out of my suit for the first time, and he noticed my Kwami hiding in my bag.”

“... You're Ladybug?” Tim sounded dumbstruck, staring at her in astonishment. She nodded shyly, opening her bag and letting Tikki out. She floated over to Duke first, who blinked at her but didn't make any other sign of surprise.

“Tt, I feel like that is stating the obvious,” Damian said, placing a comforting hand on her back. She gave him a grateful smile, leaning into him. “You have met her both in the suit and out, Drake, you should have deduced it.”

“Be fair, Damian, it's not like I've spent all that much time with Tim,” Marinette said softly. “And really, there's a bunch of magic that's supposed to get in the way.”

“Wait, are you telling me you worked out it was her?” Duke piped up, looking at Marinette and Damian with suspicion. Apparently whatever he saw confirmed what he was thinking because his eyes widened. “Holy hell, are you two dating?”

“Pft, yeah, sure they are,” Tim said, dismissing it out of hand before pausing and looking at how closely Marinette stood to Damian. “No, wait a minute. You said ‘boyfriend’ the other night, didn't you?”

“Tt, Duke is correct, we are in a relationship and have been since we visited Paris for our initial assessment of the situation. It is ridiculous that none of you noticed the change in my habits, but you can be rather obtuse.”

Both Duke and Tim stared at him like he had grown an extra head but he refused to indulge their curiosity any further. Marinette decided that they had gone off topic for long enough, clearing her throat delicately to get their attention back.

“Right, so, back to this morning? Duke could see Tikki, who was in my purse. Which means he could probably find Nooroo, wherever he is, which would tell us who Hawkmoth is.”

“Yeah, the energy signature is pretty unique. But how do we know that the butterfly Kwami will have the same signature? Don't they all have different powers? What if that changes the signature?”

“Oh, I hadn't thought of that,” Marinette said, biting her lip thoughtfully. She glanced at Tikki, having a conversation with no words and the tiny god dipped her head slightly. “Okay, so I can probably get another Kwami to do the check with, but not until tomorrow.”

“You just…have a stash of tiny gods you can borrow?” Duke said, looking at her like she was crazy. She blushed and Damian scowled at Duke. “What? That's a reasonable thing to question, Damian! Also, I can't believe you found the local hero and decided to date her.”

“Do not be preposterous, I did not know she was the local hero until we returned to Paris. We have been dating since our meal with her uncle,” Damian corrected him, and Marinette felt a giddy rush of joy flood through her.

After that, they chatted for thirty minutes, Tim demanding answers to all of his questions before saying that he would be telling the rest of the family. Damian accepted this with his usual grouchy demeanour, ending the Q&A by saying he would get Marinette home.

_ _ _

Adrien was itching to go and visit Marinette. He wanted to do it as Chat Noir but he had been working very hard on wooing her in their suits, so the direction change might tip his hand that he knew more than he should.

But his movements were so restricted as Adrien! Every time he thought he had slipped away from the Gorilla, or Lila, or his father, Marinette had the new Gotham student practically hanging off her arm! He knew it couldn't be true, but people were even speculating that Marinette liked Damian.

Sure, the dark haired, aggressively reclusive boy clearly liked Marinette - who wouldn't, she was Ladybug - but there was no way she liked him back. Marinette had told him well before this that she had feelings for another boy. If she was going to move on from the mystery boy, Chat Noir was the obvious choice, so he was annoyed that Damian was so constantly in her space.

There had been several akumas since the bat family had descended upon Paris and they said they were making progress, but they hadn't shared it yet. Ladybug had asked about it after the akuma Party Crasher and they had claimed they were narrowing the pool of suspects down but didn't want to share their suspicions until after they had checked the last few out.

Ladybug had accepted this without argument, but Adrien had been annoyed, and vocal about it. When they had parted, Ladybug had stayed behind, assumedly to smooth any ruffled feathers, which had annoyed him even more. What was with Marinette's sudden closeness with Gotham boys?

So now, he was heading to the Grévin wax museum to redo a hand cast for his wax statue. He invited Marinette, Alya and Nino and got enthusiastic responses from two of them. Marinette seemed to be babysitting, but he sent a message saying that he was sure whoever she was with would enjoy all of the statues, and she was welcome to bring them along.

He regretted it immensely when Marinette arrived in the company, not only of an excitable preschooler, but of Damian Thomas. They were fairly glued together, Adrien struggling to get in between them, and then he was pulled away to get his hand recast.

He spent the entire time with the sculptor riddled with anxious energy and wanting to return to the others. He spotted Nino and Alya playing hide and seek with Manon and went past without stopping. He almost missed seeing Marinette and Damian because they were wedged into a corner, having what looked to be a serious conversation.

Before he could get any closer there was a loud bang and several akumatised wax statues burst out of the door from the Ladybug and Chat Noir exhibit. Instinctively, Adrien ducked out of sight but not before he saw Lady WiFi shoot a pause button at Damian that froze him in the act of cornering Marinette.

Adrien grinned with satisfaction before calling for his transformation and scampering away to help take down the akuma.

_ _ _

Marinette called for Miraculous Ladybug and sighed in relief. She made sure Manon made it back to Alya and Nino safely before detransforming and rushing to find Damian. Fortunately he was standing in almost exactly the same place she had been forced to leave him.

“Damian! Are you okay?” She asked, gripping the front of his jacket as she skidded to a stop in front of him. He gave her an amused look but allowed her to hang off of his front without complaint. “Come on, we should rejoin the others, we'll have to talk about what Tim was saying later.”

When they rejoined the group, Manon burst into tears and threw herself at Marinette. The older girl consoled her, rubbing her back and saying reassuring nonsense. Once she was calmer, she was set back on the floor and turned to Damian.

“I'm sorry,” she said in a small voice, and Marinette's heart ached. It didn't matter how much she, as Ladybug or Marinette, told people that they weren't to blame for their actions as akumas, she imagined the guilt must be horrific.

Damian dropped to one knee so he could be on her eye level before speaking. “Manon, it is not your fault. I am sorry that you felt ignored, I should not have taken Marinette's attention away from you while she was babysitting. If it is alright with you, perhaps we may look through the statues together, all three of us?”

Manon squealed and gave him a tight hug that made Marinette smile softly. She knew Damian could be soft when he wanted to, but it was still heartwarming to see him interact with kids.

When they finished walking around the exhibits, Marinette said goodbye to her friends and went with Damian to return Manon to her mother. The reporter gave her a knowing smile when she introduced Damian and Marinette flushed with embarrassment.

As they walked back to Damian's apartment Marinette felt at ease, something she had taken for granted before becoming a superheroine. She basked in the calm, optimistic that she would soon be free of Hawkmoth.

_ _ _

Adrien was determined to talk to Marinette and he was at his limit. Every time he tried to talk to her, Damian was lurking. It was like the other boy didn't understand that he was monopolising Marinette's time, not to mention that he had to be making her uncomfortable.

So when he overheard Damian saying that he had to speak with some family members that still lived in New Jersey and would be busy that afternoon? Adrien jumped at the opportunity to speak with Marinette without him.

He took care to arrange his day so that he had free time as soon as school was over. Once he got to the car, he informed the Gorilla that he needed to speak with a classmate. He waited eagerly for Marinette to come out of the building but was dismayed when she still left with Damian.

To make matters worse, she didn't go home! Instead, she followed along with the dark haired boy and disappeared around a corner quickly. Cursing inwardly, he found himself trapped when Lila came over to talk to him, so he couldn't follow after the pair.

Delayed but not defeated, he asked Gorilla to drive in the direction he had seen Marinette and Damian going. Using SnapChat he was able to pinpoint the building Marinette was in (it wasn't creepy and weird, it was resourceful). But then it took nearly an hour for her to emerge, and somehow she did so with Damian again.

He felt his fists clench and he exited the car. The pair strolled casually along the street, not quite touching but not giving an awful lot of space. He waited for them to separate, for Marinette to tell Damian that she had to go home or something.

It felt like he had been hit in the stomach when the other boy pulled his lady to a stop in a quiet area. Marinette turned to Damian with a bright smile before pulling him down and kissing him.

Turning away, Adrien ran blindly until he was back at the car.

_ _ _

Damian had been dreading this day ever since he had decided to pursue Marinette. She had laughed at his reluctance but he knew that this was going to be the most irritating and pointless thing he had ever done. But Marinette had agreed to meet the rest of his family by video chat and so he was stuck with it.

“Dami, it's going to be fine,” Marinette said soothingly. He grumbled and she giggled a little; they were walking down the street, her hand in his now that they were far enough away from the school. “You do realise that I need to meet them if we're going to keep dating, right?”

“I simply do not see why it is necessary that you meet all of them now. Surely meeting my father would suffice,” Damian said, practically growling in frustration. “Richard is going to be unbearable, and Jason insufferable.”

Marinette was quiet for several moments before speaking. “Do you think they won't like me?” She asked in a soft voice, and Damian felt awful for making her think it.

“Marinette, they are going to adore you,” he said firmly. “Father already thought you were delightful when he first met you and Timothy has been telling all of them about your wonderful qualities. This is purely their curiosity, which is why I deem it unnecessary.”

“I would like to meet them,” she said softly, and Damian couldn't think of any further arguments.

When they arrived at the apartment they could hear Tim already giving a debrief of their current progress.

“...meeting with Agreste in an hour. With any luck, we'll either confirm that he's our culprit or strike him off our list.”

“Excellent work, thank you,” Bruce said, eyes flicking to the pair that had just entered the apartment. “Hello, Damian, I trust school is going well? And Marinette, lovely to see you again.”

“Tt, it is fine,” Damian said grouchily. But before Marinette could say her own greeting, Bruce was being pushed out of the screen in favour of another black haired, blue-eyed man. Given the squeal that came out of him, Marinette assumed that this must be Richard Grayson.

“Oh my gosh, you're so small! And cute! Jay, Jay, isn't she so small?”

“Jesus, she's not just small, she's adorable,” another, bigger man chimed in. Marinette blinked as she saw yet another blue-eyed, black hair combo. “How're you doing, sweetheart?”

“I'm okay,” she squeaked, stepping closer to Damian as they scrutinised her. Giving her hand a squeeze, Damian turned a glower on his brothers.

“Oh my god, she even sounds adorable! It's so nice to meet you, Marinette, I'm Dick and this is Jason. We're Damian's two oldest brothers,” Dick said excitedly.

“This is trippy, are we sure she's not there under duress?” Jason joked, eyeing the closeness of the pair and the protective way Damian stood in front of her. “But seriously, good job Demon Spawn, she's way out of your league.”

“That's not-”

“Tt, I am well aware of that, thank you Todd,” Damian snapped, making Marinette flush. “You have met her now, I trust you will respect her privacy and leave us alone?”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Jason snorted, giving him a look that Marinette interpreted as ‘I’ll do whatever I want’. “You do realise that if it doesn't work out, she is literally adoption bait?”

“Jay, don't say things like that-” Dick jumped straight in and the two began to bicker, with Bruce sighing in the background as he tried to moderate. Eventually Tim and Duke announced that they had to leave for their meeting and to ‘have fun’.

Once they were gone, Bruce finally managed to end the argument between his two eldest children. He turned back to Damian and Marinette and asked if they had anything new to add in regards to the investigation into Hawkmoth.

“No, but I'm taking Damian to meet my mentor today, hopefully he can add some further insight just in case Gabriel isn't our problem,” Marinette said, channeling her Ladybug persona as she thought about Master Fu. “And I want to see if there are any Miraculous that Damian would work well with.”

They chatted for a while longer, flipping between hero work and school life before Damian said that it was time he got Marinette home. Jason made kissing noises which made Marinette blush and Damian scowl, but Dick smacked him before saying goodbye to the pair.

“You should give a call to Cass when you get the chance, Damian,” Bruce added before the call ended. “She has been very interested in finding out more about your girlfriend.”

“Tt, very well. At least Cassandra is better than this pair,” Damian said as they ended the video. Marinette breathed out a sigh of relief when she was certain they were no longer in the meeting. “That was every bit as bad as I feared they would be, are you alright?”

“I'm fine, but if we want to get to Fu’s, we should hurry,” Marinette said, heading for the door. They walked down the streets, not touching but not straying too far from one another.

Damian felt on edge as soon as they exited the apartment building. He usually felt like he was being watched but it had intensified. But when he looked around, he couldn't see anyone out of place. There was a parked town car and several harried looking individuals hurrying along, so he tried to set it out of his mind.

It didn't help that he had been on edge about Marinette meeting his other two brothers, and he wondered if that was contributing to his unsettled feeling. They walked at an unhurried pace until the street became more secluded.

Deciding it would be worth stopping to look around again, Damian put a hand on Marinette's arm. He was about to tell her that he felt watched when she gave him a broad smile before pulling him into a kiss. He pressed into her, hand almost unconsciously burying itself in her hair.

When they broke apart a minute or two later, the feeling of being watched was gone and the thoughts melted away.

_ _ _

Adrien muttered to himself almost the entire way home. He was so full of anger and feelings so betrayed that he was amazed that he hadn't been akumatised. Or at least, he would have been if he could think past the hurt of seeing Marinette kissing someone else.

His father was apparently in a meeting with an American CEO and Nathalie informed him that he would be eating dinner alone again. Still grumbling and generally in a bad temper, Adrien thanked her stiffly before heading to his room.

Once he was in his room, he slumped at his desk, pushing his mouse to activate the screen. He gave a dejected sigh as he stared at his Ladybug background until Plagg made a disgusted noise and loudly demanded to know where his camembert was.

“Plagg, now isn't a great time,” Adrien said, although he pulled a fresh wheel out and tossed a piece to his Kwami. He glared moodily at the desktop, not bothering to start any of his homework or extracurriculars. After he had finished his camembert, Plagg came over to talk to him.

“Plagg, why did she choose him?” Adrien asked, ignoring the distinct whine to his voice. “They barely know each other! And how could she want to date someone who's less than her? She's a superhero, and he's just some American.”

“This is why I always say cheese is better than romance!” Plagg said cheerfully, settling onto Adrien's shoulder. “Forget about her, you still have Kagami!”

“Plagg, it's Ladybug and Chat Noir, not Chat Noir and Kagami,” Adrien half-shouted, annoyed. He heard a knock at the door a moment later and shooed Plagg before calling out to Nathalie.

“Adrien, your father needs to speak with you,” she answered, stepping into the room. She looked both concerned and pitying, uncomfortable like Adrien had never seen before.

“Sure,” he replied, following her down. He saw the Americans being shown out of the building and recognition tickled his brain. What was Damian Thomas's brother doing with a CEO?

After he was shown into his father's office, what happened next took on a nightmare-like quality. It happened in a blur, starting with his father telling him he needed to show him something, and ending in seeing his dead mother's body in a glass coffin.

After that, things were on double speed, transforming into Chat Noir, getting smacked across the city until he was fighting his father-as-Hawkmoth near the Eiffel Tower.

_ _ _

Marinette and Damian were chatting seriously with Fu about the different Miraculous available for Damian when both of their phones began to ring. Damian's turned out to be his brothers and Marinette's was an alert that Hawkmoth had been spotted fighting Chat Noir.

They looked at each other before Marinette let her intuition guide her. She grabbed the turtle Miraculous and slid it onto Damian's wrist as he talked on the phone. He nodded at her as he spoke and ended the call quickly.

“We were correct, Gabriel is Hawkmoth. Apparently Chat Noir discovered this as well and confronted the man without us because Duke and Tim saw him being forcefully ejected from the Agreste mansion. They are trying to follow them but it is proving difficult.”

“Then there's no time to lose. This is Wayzz, he is the Kwami for the Miraculous of protection. To activate, say Wayzz, shell on. Your power activates when you say ‘Shelter’ and will form a protective orb around the item of your choosing. It often goes around the shield that comes with your suit.”

Once he was ready, they hurried to leave Fu's store front, finding an alley to transform in before they rushed to the battle. Marinette jumped and swung frantically, not wanting her partner to be injured, or have his Miraculous removed.

“Watch out!” Damian shouted, leaping for her as Hawkmoth was sent flying into the building she landed on. It began to crumble and he leapt expertly to catch her and roll them safely to the next building. He cradled her head and grunted as they landed, but they were both standing within the next moment.

“No!” Chat howled from a nearby rooftop, but he wasn't looking at Hawkmoth. He appeared to be looking in Marinette's direction, and she worried that he was noting the way Damian hovered protectively. But, surely, he couldn't guess that there was a more romantic aspect to her relationship with a brand new hero?

But Hawkmoth seemed to be ready to take advantage of Chat's anger and a purple butterfly landed on his bell. She sucked in a horrified gasp of air as the sickly violet aura overtook him and left behind an almost exact copy of her kitty - but pure white, with blue eyes.

She watched with mounting horror as Chat seemed to fight with himself, building a cataclysm that he pointed at Hawkmoth and her alternately. He looked to be unable to decide and the cataclysm continued to grow until it became clear that he couldn't control it. Damian gasped as a rush of energy began to spread from where the akumatised Chat Noir stood.

Damian gripped her tightly around the waist with one arm as he screamed out ‘Shelter’, his other arm holding the shield high and praying that it was enough. Marinette willed all of her power to flow into the shield he was creating, countering the destruction barreling towards them.

She gripped the arm around her middle so hard she thought her fingers would break. As the final waves of Chat’s power echoed and faded, the power of Shelter flickered and died. Damian's breathing faltered and he slid to the floor, and Marinette was too shocked to hold him up.

She gave a panicked gasp and dropped to her knees beside him, hands fluttering to his throat to find a pulse. For a heart-stopping moment she couldn't find anything, couldn't see any sign of life and she felt her anxiety morph into a wordless, nameless anguish. But then she saw his chest rise ever so slightly and she thanked every deity she could name that he wasn't dead.

She dragged him to safety, placing him at the very top level of the mangled Eiffel Tower as water started flooding the streets. She kissed him softly on the lips, vowing silently that she would fix things. Steeling herself, she stepped away, looking for her other half, the balance of destruction to her creation.

He was standing on nearby building wreckage, searching frantically for something. She took a hard swallow as she realised that she was what he was searching for. She stared at the destruction he had wreaked, pushing away the mounting horror as she looked up to the now split moon and braced herself.

“Chaton, what's going on?” She called out, her voice only wavering slightly. He turned towards her and she froze as she took in the white suit and bright blue eyes. He landed in front of her and she swallowed again, trying not to show how nervous she was. “Chat Noir?”

“It's Chat Blanc now, m'lady!” There was a slightly manic gleam in his eyes and he was eyeing her earrings almost hungrily. “And if you had been paying more attention to me - as you should - instead of fooling around with that new brat, you would know what was happening, Marinette.”

“You…when did you find out?” She breathed, keeping herself out of his reach as he stalked towards her. He growled slightly when his reaching hands remained empty. “Chaton, this is serious! You've been akumatised and we need to fix this, because you've destroyed everything.”

He hissed and pounced at her then, his eyes narrowed to slits. She rolled out of the way, wondering how she could defeat him so she could fix everything. They fought like that for several minutes, Chat aiming for her earrings and Marinette rolling out of the way and reach for his akumatised object.

“M'lady, if you give me the earrings I can fix all of this,” he hissed, clearly frustrated. It was so unlike her kitty that it made her fumble momentarily. He caught her wrist and pinned it to her waist.

“Or you give me the akuma and I use Miraculous Ladybug to restore everything,” she countered, slamming her elbow towards his face. He hissed again and dropped her hand so she swung her yo-yo in a wide arc to get herself some space.

“But if you ‘restore’ things, we won't be together, Maribug,” Chat said, straightening up and raising a single hand. A bright ball of something crackled and he aimed towards her. She flipped out of harm's way just in time, watching as the building remnants behind her were reduced to complete rubble. “It's a mistake of cosmic proportions that we aren't together, and only something of cosmic proportions, like a wish, can fix that.”

Marinette flung herself behind a piece of wreckage and called for her lucky charm. A picture frame landed in her hands and her breath caught at the picture of their statue. The statue, to her at least, showed the first piece of art that displayed them as a team.

“Found you,” Chat hissed, pouncing onto her and knocking her feet out from under her. She held the picture up to his face, willing him to see what she did.

“See, even Tikki agrees, it's you and me against the world,” Marinette said desperately, trying not to look at the additional destruction and devastation around them. “Just because it's not romantic doesn't mean that's changed. You're my partner, Kitty, please, don't let it end like this.”

He hesitated and she whipped her hand to the bell at his throat. He yowled angrily, but she had hold of it and squeezed, putting all of her frustration and hurt into it. The bell snapped and the butterfly flapped out, almost lazily. Kicking Chat off of her, she flung out her yo-yo to capture it.

As the akumatisation bubbled away, Marinette was left staring at her partner, who looked around confusedly. He turned his eyes - green again, thankfully - back to her and they lit up momentarily. Then he seemed to take in her expression and faltered.

“Hey M’lady, what happened here?” He obviously didn't remember anything which made what Marinette had to say that much harder.

“You know who I am,” she said, not bothering to ask the question. When he froze, she saw the quick mental maths that pushed him to realise that he must have been akumatised. She swallowed and hardened her tone to make it clear that she was angry with him. “And you decided you didn't like my boyfriend.”

“I…” he was at a loss for words and hung his head ashamedly. “I didn't mean for this to happen, I was just so…”

“You just decided you were entitled to me romantically,” Marinette said, making him wince. She hated that this was hurting him but, equally, he had killed everyone except them because he couldn't take the answer ‘no’ at face value. “Chaton, you're my partner, my best friend. For better or worse, we have a future together that the universe depends on for balance.

“But that doesn't mean we have to be together romantically. We work together as friends. You ended the world because you thought you were entitled to my time. That's…that's not healthy, Chat. Take it from me, being obsessed with someone to the point that you feel you have to be with them when they clearly don't feel the same ends up hurting you.”

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered, hanging his head in his hands. “It wasn't…it wasn't just you, M'lady. My father…he's Hawkmoth.”

“...Adrien?” He looked up at her with wide, desperate eyes and she felt her heart split in two. “Oh minou, I…look, we have a plan. The bats have a plan, it's a good, solid plan, and it can be done as soon as I fix everything. But if he knows your identity…”

“He has my mother,” Chat- Adrien whispered, voice trembling. Marinette's heart broke for him, her mind racing as she tried to think of how to take Hawkmoth down. She called for her Lucky Charm and received only a teapot, meaning she would need more Miraculous.

“Okay, what we’ll need to do first…” Marinette gave him a detailed rundown of what she expected to happen in the next couple of hours. And then she swallowed as she held her hand out for the ring. “I'm going to ask you to wear a different Miraculous for this fight, chaton.”

“But…okay,” Adrien said, sounding defeated. Once she had the ring in hand, she threw the teapot in the air, calling for Miraculous Ladybug. Everything righted in a swarm of ladybugs and Hawkmoth was lost from sight.

“Ladybug!”

The pair turned towards the turtle hero who was launching towards them. He crashed into Ladybug and did a quick check over her, hands skimming her limbs one at a time before coming to cup her face.

“I'm alright,” she said gently, even as her timer started to beep. “But we need to move. I need to get Adrien somewhere safe and then get in touch with the Bats so that we can launch our counter-attack.”

_ _ _

They all agreed to meet up on the Eiffel Tower. Marinette and Damian had headed straight back to Master Fu's, and grabbed several Miraculi before meeting up with Tim and Duke. They had put in the request for aid from the Justice League and anticipated help from one or two of the more positive members of the team.

“You will like Superboy, I think,” Damian said as he let them into the apartment. They could hear Tim and Duke bustling around as they got their gear together and the animated sounds of someone zipping at unnatural speeds through the space. “Kid Flash is…unique.”

“Hey kids!” The yellow blur stopped in front of them, making the others look up and greet them before carrying on. “I'm going to be heading out in a second to visit the police station, just to give them a heads up on what we're doing.”

“Thank you, Kid Flash,” Marinette said warmly. She felt slightly exposed, standing in front of other heroes without her mask, but she hadn't wanted to draw attention to the apartment by coming as Ladybug.

Throwing her a salute, Kid Flash zoomed away. Damian muttered something that sounded like ‘annoying speedster’ but Marinette ignored it. The pressure was beginning to mount and she could feel the buzz of nerves cutting into her stomach.

“It will all be over soon, Marinette,” Damian murmured, his arms wrapping around her comfortingly. She knew that it needed to end, now that she finally had proof that Gabriel was Hawkmoth, but she was also a little scared.

It felt like no time at all before they were rushing away to the Eiffel Tower. She had transformed and swung by the bakery to collect Adrien, whom she had stashed in her room. She handed him the horse Miraculous and he transformed before they jumped into action.

On top of the Eiffel Tower were Kid Flash, Superboy, Signal, Robin and a new bee hero, also known as Red Robin. The plan was simple, but effective. Signal had written his testimony for the police and Red had compiled the other evidence that had led to the conclusion of Gabriel being Hawkmoth. In addition to this, Signal would be carrying a video camera that would allow him to capture the moment that they removed the Miraculous from the villain.

“So, Equestria here will open a portal into his father's lair as he's been there before. If Gabriel isn't there at the time, I'll need someone to check over Emilie Agreste and see if she can be saved or if he is, in fact, harbouring his wife's body in the hopes that he can reanimate it,” Ladybug said, wincing apologetically at Equestria as she said it.

“If he is there, I'll need both Kid Flash and Superboy to be ready to superspeed and grab his Miraculous if the plan with, um-”

“Hornet,” the bee hero supplied helpfully.

“Right, if the plan with Hornet fails and we can't just freeze him. If Mayura, who we assume is his assistant, is there, you'll be able to use your venom twice as you're an adult and freeze both of them but, again, having speedsters means that we have a contingency in place.

“I'm going to be there more as a final failsafe and recognisable Parisian heroine so that when we broadcast our non-fight people can be assured that it's real. And, if you're willing, Robin, I ask that you use the Miraculous of the black cat so that we can unbalance Gabriel even further.”

Everyone agreed and everything flowed smoothly from that point forward. It went exactly to plan, Ladybug mostly there to stand imperiously as the Justice League members did the brunt of the work. It was almost too easy, Mayura being frozen almost instantaneously before Superboy managed to subdue Hawkmoth.

The video of Gabriel being unmasked could have been choreographed with how much he wriggled, and snarled, demanding to know where his son was. Ladybug coldly informed him that Adrien had bravely stepped forward with the information he held and was being kept in a safe place until the Miraculi had been retrieved.

And just like that, months of fighting ended. Marinette would have said it was anticlimactic if it hadn't come on the heels of a world-ending catastrophic event. She handed Gabriel and Nathalie off to the police before collecting the bee Miraculous from Red Robin.

Then she, Damian and Adrien slipped away to visit Master Fu with the remaining Miraculous. They handed everything back to the older gentleman, who promised that he would be returning the box to Tibet before going in search of Marianne so that they could spend the rest of their lives together.

After a couple of very teary goodbyes, Marinette and Adrien said farewell to the Kwamis of destruction and creation. They left the massage parlour and Marinette felt the burden melt away from her shoulders. She gave a carefree laugh as she hugged Damian tightly, pushing away the thoughts that she still needed to work with Adrien to make sure his aunt could take him in.

Depositing Adrien back at the bakery, Marinette gave a brief and extremely sanitised explanation for why he couldn't go home. She neatly span the truth so that they didn't give away just how involved the pair had been in taking down the supervillains.

Damian had waited outside the bakery for her and didn't say anything when she reappeared, simply taking her hand and walking with her towards his temporary residence. He seemed to grow more contemplative the closer they got, and Marinette assumed he was thinking about how soon he would need to go home.

He pulled her to a stop a street away from their destination and wrapped her in his arms.

“I wish I could stay,” he murmured, pressing her against his chest. She felt tears welling in her eyes and blinked them away as she gripped the back of his jacket tightly. The day was fading into evening and Marinette realised that her night time meetings with vigilantes on top of the Eiffel Tower were over. “But the most I will be able to convince my father of is a week.”

“I understand,” she said, voice muffled. It was going to be unspeakably hard to be without him, but she knew that Gotham was his home.

“But the Zeta tube will remain, so perhaps I shall be able to…persuade my father that regular visits are necessary,” he added, a small smile obvious in his voice. “We would need to stay out of sight to avoid suspicion, but I imagine we could find ways to occupy the time.”

#maribat #damian x marinette #Daminette #marinette x damian #daminette december #daminette december 2024 #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #damianette #maribat event

39 notes · View notes

patroxlos · 11 months ago

Text

home base . ch8

"friends who are for the people" - 6.7k words

ultraman: rising (2024). kenji sato x reader

master post. ao3 link.

previous: ch7. "friends who use their phones in bed"

next: [SOON]

When you said you were busy with your own things, you meant it.

You have your own fun when Kenji is not around.

---

Dr. Onda has a special ability to be the most imposing person in the room.

Even in front of a long panel of the most important figures in Tokyo, he intimidates with the glare from his shades and his permanent frown. His second-in-command is much more approachable with his youthful face and calm but reliable demeanor, but Captain Aoshima can only do so much with his digestible powerpoint slides and well-crafted charts to lessen the heavy air of the room.

“...and you can see in this graph, that with your help, the KDF has managed to expand our fleet to tackle airborne kaiju. Our aviators have suffered less injuries due to the fortification of our aircrafts, and we are able to more efficiently terminate kaiju with our updated munitions. Any questions?” Captain Aoshima glances around the room to check whether the board was following.

They only nod, some casting glances towards Dr. Onda as he stood at the side to monitor his assistant’s presentation. The KDF’s board is composed of some of the most decorated war veterans, politicians, and arms dealers in the country, yet all are wary towards the senior researcher.

All except you.

“Captain, I have a question,” You say. You look up from the comprehensive board report they had passed around earlier, neat inside a plain black folio. “You discussed that the updated munitions arming the refurbished planes are necessary for more efficient ejection of projectiles, correct?”

“Yes, Director.”

You swallow.

You don’t think you earned the title compared to the others seated at the long table–this being your first board meeting, after all–but you let it go. They will sense weakness if you do not appear more confident. You continue your line of inquiry. “The report states that we have not introduced new projectiles in the armory within the quarter, yet based on the most recent kaiju attack, I have noticed that your fleets utilized non-lethal tranquilizers on the target. I reviewed the previous reports from the past five years and there has not been any mention about the research and development of such. May I ask why there was this omission?”

Murmurs broke out amongst your fellow board members. You keep your eyes trained at the commanding captain. He does not seem fazed at all by your question; he merely turns to look at Dr. Onda, who nods back, for permission to answer.

“Yes, Director. The tranquilizers were not mentioned in the quarterly review because they were not a recent development nor acquisition. They have been archived in our inventory for a better part of two decades. However, I can assure that our aviation ordnancemen checked prior to its use whether they are still effective as they were when they were first developed.”

You cross-check the provided digital database, manipulating the holographic screen. The inventory displays the potent tranquilizers. You skim over the document, pausing momentarily when you catch a line of text stating ‘Developer: Dr. Emiko Sato.’ You swipe away from the tab.

“Why take out old tranquilizers from storage for this specific kaiju?” You inquire.

“It was imperative for us to take this Kaiju alive.”

At the corner of your eye, you notice the Chairman of the Board stand up from his seat. Of course, as he is also Japan’s Minister of Defense, he has the most interest in increasing the KDF’s productivity. “And for what reason did you feel it was necessary to keep that kaiju alive?! I thought we agreed that the infrastructural costs outweigh the necessity to study these monsters?”

With a flick of his wrist, the Minister pushes one of the holographic screens to the center of the room. It plays the footage of that abnormally small, pink kaiju that ran through the streets a week prior. You see yourself on the screen get picked up, and you get phantom pains on your body as you remember how constricting the hold of that kaiju was. The stares of the other directors stab into your skin as they also recognize you from the footage.

Before anyone else can make a comment, Dr. Onda steps forward. The Minister falls back down on his chair, startled that the man has decided to finally speak after two hours in the boardroom.

“Captain Aoshima, thank you. I will take over the presentation for now.” He commands attention despite not raising his voice. Even if his eyes are covered, even you can feel the wuthering stare he sends towards the Minister. “Minister, while I respect your position as Chairman of the Board, I don’t think it is part of your responsibilities to scold my subordinates. Let your grievances out towards me.”

While the panel is silenced due to fear, you instead are stricken with respect for the older man. You appreciate how he takes care of his workers. Although, you still have your own job to do.

“Very well, Dr. Onda,” you speak up and everyone’s focus is now back on you. “Does this kaiju have anything to do with your current updates on Project Surrogate?”

He actually looks impressed, and you try not to look too pleased about his nod of approval. “Yes. I will move the presentation along towards it.”

The screen in front of you now presents a concise, bulleted summary of action points that Project Surrogate aims to achieve. This isn’t new to the panel, and the project needs no introduction. After all, it has been in development for the past five years, and most of taxpayer money being invested in the KDF has went towards it.

Project Surrogate’s main objective echoes that of the KDF’s original purpose: to locate Kaiju Island. It is hinged on the long-standing theory that Kaijus exhibit homing behavior towards their island of origin. Since it has been notoriously difficult to track adult Kaiju to the island, Project Surrogate hypothesizes that infant Kaiju might make it easier. The KDF has spent nearly half a decade trying to find proof of juvenile kaiju, until they finally stumbled onto a nest.

You have studied all of the declassified information on the project, yet even with your clearance level, you and the Board are kept out of the loop from Dr. Onda’s plans.

“We have seen this slide before,” you say, a bit frustrated as you stare at the screen. “Can we skip towards the project’s developments?”

Bowing slightly to your direction, he acquiesces to your request and switches to the photo of Gigantron, Queen of the Kaiju. Stepping forward, he begins his presentation. “Project Surrogate has made large progress since we have discovered the nest of Gigantron at the town of Oshima, by its coast. It has confirmed for us that kaiju, or in particular Gigantron, do not necessarily lay eggs nor reproduce exclusively in their island. The evidence in the surrounding area suggests that this is not the first time Gigantron has laid her eggs there.”

“Is it possible that Gigantron has natal homing?” You ignore the murmurs of confusion around you, but you do spot a few board members rolling their eyes at your display of proficiency.

You’re trying too hard to impress others, they think. Everything you do is performative. At your core, you’re just as dumb and vapid as everyone says you are.

“Indeed,” Dr. Onda nods your way. “This display of migratory behavior brings us closer towards finding Kaiju Island, as the infant would soon be instinctively motivated to fly away from our territory.”

The slide changes to the baby kaiju, and the pieces begin falling in place for the Board. The egg had hatched, and the kaiju has been alive for a few months at the moment. You raise another question. “Has the child been in KDF custody this entire time? Can you explain why it was allowed to roam the streets of Tokyo?”

“Unfortunately, the egg was stolen from us by Ultraman, and it had hatched under his control.”

Loud, outraged murmurs broke out amongst the board. Ultraman? Isn’t he supposed to be on our side?

“Wait, Dr. Onda,” the Minister says. “So, even after the Tokyo fiasco, Ultraman still has custody over the kaiju?”

“Yes.”

A gruff-looking general shouts “Then doesn’t that mean Project Surrogate is a bust?”

“Hardly.” Even at the face of angry investors, Dr. Onda keeps his cool. He simply changes the slide to show an image of Ultraman cradling the kaiju against his chest while he hangs from the side of Tokyo Tower. Chills run down your spine. It is as if Ultraman was in the room himself, staring down everyone with a righteous fury.

Like a mother holding her child close, baring her teeth at the dangers that creep near.

“Due to Ultraman letting the kaiju loose on the streets, we have learned that the baby is capable of echolocation. It is possible that adult kaiju use echolocation at a frequency our sensors fail to pick up, but this child uses it as clear as day. Once we recapture the kaiju from Ultraman, we can set it free to the ocean and follow it towards Kaiju Island.”

As Dr. Onda finishes relaying the plan to the room, murmurs of approval soon broke the silence. The plan is reasonable, but you still remained unconvinced that he is telling you everything. You open the quarter report again, this time towards the expenditures for Project Surrogate.

“The plan does not seem clear to me yet, Dr. Onda. How sure are we that the KDF will be able to track the kaiju as it navigates through open waters?” You probe.

“I’m afraid I cannot disclose that for now,” He dodges your question.

“And what about the amount of lithium and uranium in the itemized budget? If you wanted to make bombs I would prefer it if you declare it.”

“We are making bombs, that is nothing new at the KDF. That is as much declaration I can make,” he dismisses your concern.

“So you do have a more thorough plan that you are not telling us about?”

“For two decades, the KDF and its Board of Directors have operated together with a strong sense of trust. You might not be familiar with it now, since this is your first meeting with us as a board member, but soon you will be.”

“But—” Shit. You are getting a little frazzled as he points out your inexperience. “Okay, that’s beside the point. What about Ultraman? The continuation of this project hinges on the KDF tracking his location, but he remains an elusive figure to the Japanese people.”

Dr. Onda gestures towards the Minister of Defense. “We will double down our efforts into tracking him, and we are encouraging the people to send to our tip line any sightings of the vigilante. Our chairman has been most helpful in declaring Ultraman persona non grata.”

“With much public backlash,” the Minister comments.

Another board member pipes in. “Ultraman is seen as a Japanese icon. The favorability of KDF has been declining steadily in the past several months, but it has been crashing to the gutter ever since the announcement that Ultraman is wanted.”

The meeting is getting derailed as the Board grows restless with the lack of direction in the KDF, exposed by you. You are starting to wonder whether you should have just sat there and listened like the others were.

Soon it ends, and everyone begins to shuffle out of the board room. You personally bow to each of the board members before they leave, half of them sizing you up but the rest giving you their blessings for being part of the team. Either way, your stomach turns.

You approach Captain Aoshima, and do the same bow towards him. “Thank you for that presentation, Captain. I look forward to seeing more of you in the future.”

“Likewise,” he returns the courtesy, though after he rises from his bow he fiddles with his pockets. “Actually, before you leave, ah– sorry, this is a bit unprofessional.”

You already have a feeling on what he is going to ask, but it still humors you slightly that he is breaking a bit of his respectful decorum that you know him for. You glance around the room, and the only people left are you, the captain and Dr. Onda. At least no one else is there to make fun of what you’re about to do. “Sure, we can take a photo.”

Aoshima brightens significantly. “Thank you, my daughter would be thrilled. Is it okay if you record a greeting as well? It’s her birthday soon.”

“She knows who I am?” Your eyes widen.

He thinks you’re being too modest. “She used to follow you before you deleted your accounts.”

“Then, it’s no problem! Sorry if I might seem a bit awkward. I haven’t done this in a while so I’m a bit rusty,” you laugh nervously.

You take his phone from his hands, angling the camera for a self-photo with him at your side. The recording goes just as smoothly, with you giving a small pep talk on how his daughter should focus on her studies. Captain Aoshima bows in gratitude, glowing with the excitement of a father who will do anything in the world for his kids.

Dr. Onda watches as his assistant leaves the room, leaving you and him alone. Swallowing your nervousness, you turn to the man and give a respectful bow. “Thank you for the meeting, Dr. Onda. The KDF remains safe in your hands.”

His silence makes you a bit more nervous. It is one thing for you to conduct a thorough interrogation during a quarterly board meeting, it is another making small-talk.

“I’ll…be going?” You try to have a smooth exit, but he raises his hand to signal you to stay.

“I was never fond of businessmen meddling with the organization,” he says, matter-of-fact.

“Well…Motsubishi prides itself in our social involvement—”

“Spare me the sales pitch, your father has done a lot of that when he served on the board,” he interrupts you. “I doubt you believe weapons development equates to welfare.”

“We only make it to the KDF,” you immediately rebut.

“Not fond of the dirtier sides of the business? Isn’t this what you’ve studied?” He raises an eyebrow at you.

You pocket your hands into your slacks. “I’m not entirely fond of profiting from war.”

“Would you call our fight against kaiju a war?”

“...You’re testing me.” You click your tongue. “Please, Dr. Onda.”

“You used to call me ‘Uncle’, when you played with Akiko.”

The room grows a little colder.

“Have you seen Hayao lately?” He changes topic, turning away from you.

“Can’t say I have, but I’ve seen him a couple of times since the incident,” you admit.

He gives a hum of acknowledgement.

“His knee is getting better, not that you asked,” you inform him, stepping forward to stand by his side. You look ahead as you speak. “I think…I think Kenji is taking care of him? Not sure, I didn’t get to confirm, but Emiko…before she disappeared…she told me that he flew all the way here just to take care of the Professor. It took a bit but I think they’re finally talking.”

It’s quiet again, for a moment. “And…Ultraman?”

“I…I don’t know who it is now, I’m sorry,” you don’t know why you are apologizing.

Dr. Onda merely sighs.

You turn to face him properly. “He doesn’t blame you, you know. For his knee.”

“I never asked for his forgiveness.” His face is steel, not betraying a hint of emotion. You see your worried face in the reflection of his shades. “Nor do I feel any sort of guilt.”

“You didn’t know he was Ultraman—”

“And even if I did, I still would have ordered the shot.”

You suck in a breath through your teeth.

“And I don’t make it a habit to shoot at superheroes. Ultraman was interfering with an official KDF extraction. It was necessary.” He remains stone-faced.

“You let him go.”

He walks away from you to another side of the room as he dismissively waves you off. “A mistake.”

“Admit it. You saw his crumpled body on the ground and you just let him go.” You follow, hot on his heels.

You nearly ram into him when he briskly stops in his tracks to turn to you. “I saw the crumpled body of my daughter’s killer and decided I wouldn’t stoop down to his level.”

“He is only one man.” You run a hand through your hair.

“Ultraman is not my enemy, but if he proves to be a nuisance that hinders us from achieving some peace in our shores, then I am not against making him one,” he booms. The conviction of his words might have shaken you, but you notice his shoulders sag slightly, defeated.

You cross your arms, tucking them close to your torso. “That’s…that’s one thing I agree on.”

“...Thank you.” You can tell he means it.

“The new Ultraman…he still needs to grow on me,” you divulge. “He kind of acts like some young hotshot. Seems pretty immature.”

“It’ll be easy to track him down then. But Hayao…he must have taught his new protégé all he knows about how to hide himself.”

“Doctor, you know that I am dedicated to help the KDF in anyway I can,” you affirm.

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Even if it means going against your tutor?”

“I think we and Ultraman have the same goal,” you answer. “We all want to be able to keep the people of this city safe. I don’t know how useful I can be to Ultraman’s cause but I know that I can affect real change here in the KDF. Like how Emiko used to.”

He’s a bit unsatisfied with your reply, but his lips almost twitch into a smile at your, as he calls it, misguided idealism. “You should also go by Doctor, then.”

You wince at the title.

“I’ll pass.” Even if you did recently graduate, it feels like a brag. It does not help that most of the internet thinks you’re lying when you discuss your educational background.

“Receiving a doctorate at 26 is no easy feat. You deserve to be acknowledged for it,” he coolly praises you. The flattery is getting to you a bit, but you still avoid letting it seep in.

“Doesn’t seem to matter much to others,” you dismiss his words. “I’ve tried so hard to distance myself from my old image. I deleted all my social media. I have placed full attention into preparing myself for what I’m about to inherit and I’m still…It still isn’t enough.”

Dr. Onda pushes his shoulders back. “The media play against you has been rampant since you were younger. It is hard to push back against such schemes.”

At eighteen, you formally entered society.

At eighteen, you had the world at your fingertips.

At eighteen, your father officially named you as his successor. He did not have much of a choice, given that you were his only one.

At eighteen, you made enemies who to this day are intent that you stay far away from the title Chief Executive Officer.

“My dad’s officially retiring within the month.”

“I’ve received the invitation to your welcoming gala,” he states. “Congratulations. While I’m not fond of public outings, since your father personally requested my appearance, I cannot say no.”

“I need a win.” Your arms fall to your sides, hands balling into fists. “I refuse to be driven out of the company my family built.”

His shades reflect a small flash of light. “Is this the purpose of our chat?”

“Project Surrogate. I need this to work. If the KDF can get stronger public approval I can solidify my position.”

“I can’t guarantee anything,” he warns you. “And I’m not doing this to satisfy anyone’s greed for power. This is for the people.”

“Because of the kaiju, I got separated from my best friend.” You place a hand over your heart. “And he grew up without a father. Believe me. My ambitions are here but I am fully committed to making this work.”

His hands clasp behind his back. “All I ask is for trust— an understanding, that I am using your investments for the greater good.”

You grin. “Where do I sign?”

A/N: hello … I’m not dead :D

And yes you are pro-KDF for now :D I think Dr. Onda is such a cool and well-written antagonist. DYK in early Ultraman he actually does just straight up kill the kaiju. From a utilitarian standpoint, kaiju are an invasive species. They’re not inherently bad but they don’t belong in the environment they are in. (I watch a lot of those lion fish exterminator tiktoks…)

If you saw on my Tumblr I posted a WIP snippet of what was supposed to go into this chapter, but ultimately I decided that maybe having a portion that focused solely on adding more context to who the reader is would help push the story forward. You go by a lot of different names around these parts! But next chapter would have too much Ken to make up for his absence here! The WIP I posted will be moved to ch10 as well :>

Since I’ve already finished a portion of the next chapter and it’s ready to publish in no time, as it’s a direct continuation from chapter 8’s flashback, here’s a snippet of its introduction so you know what’s in store!

——-

You hear a rapid knocking on the door.

You don’t register it at first, your head pounding from waking up too early. The only thing you can sense is Ken’s warm back against your bare chest, your hands around his waist. You press your face against the back of his neck, groaning at the hour. “Kenji, S’noisy.”

You feel his body shift, and he shrugs you off. “Y’face too cold…”

You just bite his shoulder and tug him closer. He lets you.

Soon, the knocking stops, but Kenji’s phone rings from the bedside table. Groaning, he blindly reaches for it to take the call, and you whine when he shifts in your hold. You realize that you won’t be able to get any sleep, so your eye cracks open to check the clock.

2:17 AM.

Now who—

“Kenji? Kenji are you awake? I’m outside your door. Please let me in.”

You both bolt up when you hear Emiko Sato’s voice from the phone. You slap his back to get him moving. “The sofa,” you hiss, lowering your voice.

Both of you struggle to keep quiet as you rush to find your clothes. Ken quickly pulls out the sofabed, and tosses rumpled blankets onto it to give an illusion that he’s been there the entire time. You find the bra he tossed away earlier on top of a nearby lamp. He grabs an air freshener can to spray lightly across the room— not too much for it to be obvious.

Ken opens the door just after you dive back into the covers, pretending to be asleep.

---

lmk if u want to be on the taglist for future chapters ty!

#ken sato x reader #ken sato x you #kenji sato x reader #cross posted on ao3

65 notes · View notes

theitgirlnetwork · 1 year ago

Text

Earn It

Ch. 5: Pretend With Me

Note: Hello! Thank you for all of the support you've all shown this story. Thank you for the notes, reblogs, messages, and comments I love interacting with you all! We've got our first time skip so I hope it's not too confusing. Once again, I'll remind everyone that the characters are meant to be just as complex as those in the movie and so they will do...questionable things. But that's part of the fun...not being them! So I hope you all enjoy! <3

Warnings: Cheating (fr this time y'all :(), explicit sexual content (MDNI!!!!!), small mention of disordered eating, and some strong language.

Taglist: @spookystitchery@anehkael@fkaams@butterflyybabe@sun2flower @holierthancunt @silkenthusiasts @wolflover384 @liziihorta @summerssover @jackierose902109

Present Day (California) :

“They won’t answer any questions about that, don’t bother asking. Make sure there’s at least one close up on the ring and we only film from the angles we discussed, understand me?” Kiely takes a deep breath, brushes her hands down her dress, straightening out the wrinkles at the bottom and noting to herself that she needs to stop by Target today to get a new steamer.

This job is a big opportunity, she can’t afford to fuck it up. Out of all the applicants they decided to give her a chance. She pushes through the dark front doors, fixing a potted flower plant hanging near the doorway before glancing back sternly at the camera crew and closing the door.

Kiely does wish that her trial week wasn’t the same week as this interview.

She presses her finger to her earpiece to turn on the speaker as her heels click across marble floors, her steps are long strides. “Crews’ in place, we need a clear house, just the family. They want this in one take. Let’s go.”

The blonde woman raises a shaky fist to the Grenadil African Blackwood door, knocking softly once before steeling herself and knocking more assertively the second time.

“Yeah?”

Kiely turns the cold golden door knob and stops right at the threshold of the master bedroom, her back rod straight as she addresses the people in front of her.

“Mr. and Mrs. Donaldson? They’re ready for you.”

12 Years Earlier:

3:22 p.m.: So, that smoothie that you recommended? It’s fucking disgusting.

Heaven giggles at her phone before flipping it over so she can’t see the front of the screen, sliding down into a split to complete her stretches. She hums in satisfaction to herself as she stretches forward to reach her front foot. It’s peaceful like this.

She loves coming to the studio early. After the bullshit classes she takes to remain eligible for the dance program, she rushes here to just dance. No other dancers, no teacher or choreographer watching. Heaven can just be with the choreography.

She has a habit of getting fixated on a piece and doing it over and over until she masters it. Then, she does it over and over until it’s not fun anymore. It’s her award winning strategy, to actually fall in love with the pieces she dances to.

For some reason, she was struggling to become Juliet. She knows she has the technique for the dance, that much is obvious. But something about this role wasn’t connecting for her. She just feels like she can’t force herself to give the vibe of a 15 year old girl whose parents were absent enough to let her fall in love with a 20 year old loser.

Oh and Romeo can’t fucking dance.

Correction. Peter who is supposed to be Romeo can’t fucking dance.

Heaven stands from her split, grabbing her phone with her to respond to the text waiting for her, not noticing the uncontrollable smile that had formed on her face.

3:30 p.m.: It’s not supposed to taste good, it’s supposed to be good for you, Arthur.

They had been texting back and forth a lot since the birthday party. Not many phone calls, but messages here and there. They range from checking in to arguing about the various media they both consume. It’s like an unspoken agreement they have not to talk about Tashi or Patrick. Anytime they did the jokes would halt and suddenly Heaven would feel a rock in her stomach, unable to text back.

Her phone buzzes again and before she can open the little white envelope on the screen she hears several sets of footsteps behind her. Without turning around she rushes over to put her phone in her duffle bag and heads back to the middle of the room, settling into first position next to Peter and staring tensely forward as they wait for the rest of the cast and the premier maitre de ballet, Madame Fontaine. Along with the older woman is her assistant choreographer, Fallon, the only other person who will acknowledge that Peter can’t fucking dance.

“Afternoon, all.” Madame Fontaine offers the group a brief, tight smile as she stands before them, her flats clicking on the stage. “Romeo, Juliet. We will work on the pair of pas de deux performances after warm-up.”

“Madame.” Heaven nods, turning to go to the bar toward the back of the room. She can feel Peter behind her, looking at her. His cheap ass cologne fills her nostrils as he leans forward to murmur in her ear.

“Think you can actually act like you at least like me today?”

Heaven slips into third position, facing forward as she continues through her warm up, shrugging at his question. “I don’t need to like you, Juliet needs to be in love with Romeo. The dance will show that.”

“Maybe if we spent some time together-”

“I’m in a relationship.” she dismisses.

“Really?” He scoffs. Gripping the bar Peter stretches his leg into the air, watching Heaven do the same, he strains to get his kick as high as hers. “What does your boyfriend do?”

“He’s a professional tennis player. So is my girlfriend.”

Peter’s brows furrow as he watches the woman in front of him wrap up her warm ups, cracking her neck absently as he stares at her. “You…so…”

“Okay.” Heaven huffs, turning to the man, craning her neck and fixing him with a wary look as she stands facing him with her arms crossed. “Yes, I have a boyfriend, his name is Patrick. I also have a girlfriend, her name is Tashi and she is the girl you saw here before. Yes, they are also together, no we’re not looking for a fourth and if we were it would never be you. No, we aren’t open so don’t ask me out again. And Peter, even if I was single, I would literally fucking never fuck someone who can’t do a simple fucking lift.” With that she pushes past him to find Madame Fontaine stopping when she hears him over her shoulder.

“Well maybe if you weren’t so heavy I could lift you easier.”

Heaven doesn’t even bat an eyelash at the insult, instead just pursing her lips and getting into the position for the first pose of the “Love Dance”, the first pas de deux of the piece. As she goes through the movements on the stage no one would be able to tell that Peter had said what he said.

She holds him close and twirls prettily. She leans into him with all of the trust of the world as he butchers his half of the piece, failing in the lift not because of her weight, she tells herself, but because his hand placement is wrong.

Heaven thinks logically, like Tashi would tell her to. Other people have lifted her before. It’s not her.

So she can swallow the lump in her throat until after rehearsal is over.

“Answer.” Heaven bites her lip as she drums her fingers against the steering wheel, her phone is balanced between her cheek and shoulder, vibrating against her ear as it rings. “Tashi, answer.”

Hi, this is Tashi Duncan, leave a message after the beep, thanks.

She shouldn’t have come. Tashi has two matches this week, Pepperdine and then Princeton, she doesn’t need to be distracted. She doesn’t have time to be distracted. That’s not what they do to each other, she knows Tashi needs to focus before a match just like Heaven needs to be distracted before a performance.

But after rehearsal ended, her focus on the beautiful dance, and getting her body to move the way it needed to to tell the story faded. Then all she was left with was the sound of Peter’s voice mixing with her mother’s and the personal trainer she’d hired her when she was only 10. And suddenly she found herself speeding down the road in a silent car, driving 5 hours and 13 minutes to Stanford.

She told herself as she weaved through the cars that she just needed to get away. That this was okay because she was supposed to be heading down the next day anyway. That she was only here to see Tashi.

“Fuck.” The girl huffs, pulling the phone away so hard one of her hoop earrings falls out of her ear, tumbling to the floor as she dials another number. Unlike Tashi, he actually picks up.

“Hey, babe.”

“Hi, baby, hi.” She sits up against the leather seat. “Are you, um, busy, or…”

“Uh, no, not-not really.” Patrick’s muffled voice through the phone settles her nerves a little. “What’s up?”

“Nothing I just wanted to talk to you or something-” Heaven hears laughter and the clattering of glass in the background. She can faintly make out the words to Candy Shop playing in whatever bar he was pretending not to be in. “You’re out.”

“Babe, I can talk, are you okay?”

“Mhm.”

“I hate that ‘mhm’, ‘hm’ shit you guys do just…Heaven, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I had, like, the most shitty rehearsal.” Heaven looks out at a couple of students stumbling drunkenly, shaking her head to herself as she sees a t-shirt with distinct letters spelling out “The Duncanator” on it. “The guy playing Romeo, he’s like a fucking idiot and he wants to fuck me-”

“Don’t most people?”

“I’m not-” Heaven huffs out a breath, head dropping forward against the wheel in annoyance. This is who her boyfriend is. He makes jokes about serious things. He doesn’t take anything serious because it never fucking is. But what is she supposed to do? Berate him for trying to make her laugh when she’s upset. Get mad at him for perpetually being in a state of relaxation that she’s almost never in. Heaven doesn’t want to live in the land of not giving a fuck about anything, she isn’t built like that. “H-yeah. That’s funny.” she forces a giggle, scrubbing her hand angrily at the drops that managed to squeeze their way out of her eyes.

“Good, you’re laughing, m’glad you’re feeling better.”

“Yep, thank you, Patrick.”

“No problem, Hev, look I’m out right now but I’ll see you tomorrow right? You’re coming down to Stanford right?”

“Um, yeah.” She says staring out at the school buildings from the parking lot. “I’ll be there.”

After a couple more slurred jokes from her boyfriend who shouldn’t be drinking while on tour and a couple attempted calls to Tashi, Heaven climbs out of the car, deciding to just go to the girl’s building herself.

She was determined not to go crawling to he who shall not be named. No. She would not see Art, because then he would give her that look. That look he does with his stupid monochromatic eyes that puppy dog look he gets when she’s happy, when she’s sad, when she’s anything. Like he’ll just do anything. It’s distracting and it makes her feel weird.

And she’s taken. So, they’ll stick to texting, that’s safe. So, no, she won’t call him. Not to tell him about her shitty day. Not even to ask him where the actual hell Tashi’s building was.

So instead she planned to wander aimlessly until she saw a building that looked familiar.

She walks along the cobblestone roads, squinting to find something that would remind her which direction she was supposed to be going in.

“Heaven?”

The woman freezes at the voice behind her, cursing herself and whatever god that curated this situation as she slowly turns to see Art. “Arthur.”

Her breath catches as she gets a good look at him. He’s even hotter than she remembers, standing tall amongst a group of his teammates. His racket bag slung across his back, the strap tight against his chest that was currently filling out the dorky ass Stanford Men’s Tennis shirt that he was somehow making look like the sexiest outfit ever.

This college tennis shit was really working for him.

But what brings the wide smile to her face that she couldn’t bite back, despite how much the logical part of her brain telling her she needed to, is those damn puppy dog eyes and the bright crooked smile he offers her.

Art takes a step forward, it almost looks like a reflex, but he pauses, smile dropping slightly as he tucks his hands into his tennis shorts, waiting to see what Heaven does.

And she can’t help it. Her legs move on their own, she can swear she didn’t consciously take three quick steps over to Art. And she didn’t take two more big ones when he met her the rest of the way, arms open as he dips low lifting her up and hugs her waist. And she definitely doesn’t wrap her legs around his waist when they meet. “Hi.” he says softly, swinging her back and forth.

“Hi!” she smiles back.

“What are you” he places her down so close to himself that their chests brush, craning his head down to look at her, brushing his thumbs over her hips through her t-shirt before releasing her fully. “What are you doing here?”

“Um, Pepperdine.” She tries to shrug easily, struggling to focus with him this close.

“You’re…uh, you’re a day early.” Art says, biting his lip a little, rocking on his feet.

“I know, I just had a rough day and I came to, um-”

“See Tashi.” He finishes for her, nodding his head. “You had a rough day?” He asks, eyes searching hers as he ignores the calls from his friends behind him, demanding that he introduce them to his hot friend. Art’s lips part as if he’s planning to say something before he snaps it shut, a beat passes before he trusts himself to speak again. “She’s gonna be on the court until late.”

“Fuck, yeah, she’s gonna be pissed, she hates when I throw her off before matches, she has this whole ritual situation, I just really couldn’t be at school right now.” Heaven groans, tossing her head back in frustration.

“You could, you could come with me. I’m gonna go off campus for a little bit, go to Dave & Buster’s with my friends, you should come and blow off some steam, Hev.”

Heaven glances around suddenly conscious that she drove all the way here in a haze like a maniac and despite telling herself she wasn’t here for Art she managed to be here, standing in front of him, notably not with Tashi. And yet, next thing she knew, she was kicking her feet, sitting on Art’s bed while he took a shower, so they could go to Dave & Buster’s.

Art knows that what he’s doing is not…healthy. It’s not good that he’s currently out with his best friend’s girlfriend (though one might still argue that Patrick had two and Art had none.) and he was enjoying the fact that everyone here thought she was his.

It had started with his teammates. They’d seen the movie scene-esque display of Art lifting the girl in the air in excitement upon seeing her and suddenly, murmurs of the fact that Art doesn’t really entertain any of the girls who talk to him on campus seemed to make sense to them. They nudged him as they walked and wiggled their eyebrows as he held the door open for Heaven, guiding her with his hand on the small of her back.

He’d tried correcting them. Originally. Sort’ve.

Well, Matt asked if she was his girl and he’d responded with ‘c’mon man, what does it look like?’

Jesus, maybe there is a reason me and Patrick are friends.

But they were having so much fun, playing games and Heaven had been smiling so much. At him. And he didn’t have to share it. He was fucking happy.

“Let me get you something to eat, on me, Hev, come on.” Art says nudging her as he pulls their game card out of the skee ball machine. “Then we can talk about your shitty day.”

Heaven’s nose scrunches in a way that makes Art want to kiss it, her lips, whatever else she has to offer and she snatches the game card from him and takes a couple of steps back, a smirk on her face as she holds it away from him. “Or…we could play some more games.”

“I’m hungry.” Art cocks his head to the side, reaching for the card and laughing when she snatches it away. “And I want you to come eat with me. Please.”

“One more game.”

“Come on, Art, the lady wants one more game.” One of his teammates, Kyle says smugly, tossing his arm around Heaven as he approaches from behind.

Heaven’s lip curls in dismissal for a moment before her expression morphs into something more sinister. “Yeah,” she says sweetly, “M’just asking for one more.”

“Hev.” Art scoffs, holding his hand out again, embarrassed at how irritated he is by Kyle’s arm over her shoulders.

“How about ping pong? If you win, we’ll go get some food and talk about whatever you want to talk about. And if,” her manicured hand reaches up and pats the one Kyle is dangling off her shoulder. “Kyle wins, I’ll play some games with him.”

Something feels so familiar about this moment. The innocent look on her face was only marred by the challenging raised eyebrow that Heaven couldn’t help but have. The look of expectation. It reminds Art of the day he’d lost to Patrick. The expression of ‘is that all?’ on her face.

This is stupid. He thinks, working his jaw as he stares down at the girl. It’s dumb.

“This is really fucking dumb.” he laughs, bouncing the ping pong ball on the table, rolling his eyes when Heaven shrugs, tilting her head as if to say, ‘go on’. “You’re seriously gonna go with him if I lose?”

“You’re not gonna fucking lose.” she murmurs under her breath. “We’re just having fun.”

“You’re trying to get out of talking about whatever you’re upset about, but m’not gonna forget-”

“Kiss for good luck?”

That has him whipping his head to her. He would be embarrassed if he could think about anything other than the offer she’d placed on the table. Like a dog to a bone immediately all of his focus is drawn down to her lips. “What?”

“You heard me, Arthur.” Heaven grabs his hand holding the paddle and brings it up between their faces, switching it’s position so that he’s holding the handle out to her and brings her glossed lips down to it, kissing it softly. “Kay, good luck!” she chirps, bouncing away from him to watch the game.

“That’s not fair!” Kyle calls from the opposite end of the table.

“Shut the fuck up, Kyle.”

As dumb as Art thinks this stupid little was, he absolutely demolishes Kyle. Like it wasn’t even fun, at least, not for Art’s opponent. The blond played like he was at the fucking US Open and didn’t let the guy get more than one point that he only got because Art briefly looked away, eyes following Heaven as she skirts off to use the bathroom. “I think I won that one, Kyle.”

“Jesus, Donaldson, I wasn’t really going to get to go off with your girl. It’s fuckin’ ping pong at Dave & fuckin’ Buster’s.” His teammate rolls his eyes, tossing the paddle on the table before stalking off.

Art feels the heat rise to his face. All night while he’d been enjoying playing pretend he’d somehow avoided Heaven hearing what the guys were saying. He was quite literally ready to tuck his head to hide from the embarrassment when he felt an arm slide and loop with his.

“Oh, what the fuck ever, he’s a sore loser, you were better, that’s why he’s not fucking ranked like you are.”

He wants to ask her how she knows that. Did Tashi tell her or did she look up the men’s teams rankings on her own. But instead he just guides her over to a table to collect his prize.

“Take the last one.”

“Mm no, can’t have it.” Heaven says, taking a sip of her water.

Art’s jaw clenches as he thinks about how the smallest attempt at a bullshit comeback from some dickhead had her questioning herself when Art thinks she’s the most beautiful thing in the world. “He’s an asshole.”

“I agree.”

“And he’s wrong, Hev.”

“Not completely.” she shrugs, swirling her straw in her glass. “Not statistically…for a ballerina.”

He crosses his arms, leaning back against the red booth seat. “Well, maybe male ballerina’s need to work out more then, I can pick you up just fine.”

“Art.”

“I’ll come be Romeo. Put him out of a job and get to kiss you, that sounds like a pretty good deal.”

Heaven laughs, shifting in her seat, lifting one leg into the chair, wrapping her arms around it and resting her cheek on her knee. “Thank you for letting me talk about it.”

“Yeah.” Art smiles, quietly taking a sip of his own water.

“Now say what you wanted to say.”

“I didn’t wanna say anything.”

“Yes you do,” Heaven scoffs, you’ve got that look on your face, you wanna say something just say it, Arthur.”

“I told you I hated that name and you haven’t stopped saying it since.” he snorts.

“It’s your given name.” She exclaims. Her big brown eyes stare up at him from across the table and he can feel his heart racing in his chest. “Okay. Art. You always let me talk to you. Talk to me.”

Art swallows deeply. This is the part where she runs. He gets real and honest about his feelings and she retreats to Tashi’s side or under Patrick’s arm. He knows this isn’t healthy to do to himself. But then he has the shittiest thought that crosses his mind.

This time they’re not here.

He’d won the game today. There was no Patrick to beat in tennis, he wasn’t in a tug-o-war with Tashi. He wasn’t distracted by anything. He should at least try, shouldn’t he?

Like, how long could the situation between the 3 of them last anyway. Here she was again, upset, alone, and where were they. Tashi might have some years on him regarding Heaven but Art knows Patrick. He loves the guy, but he’s not good for them, either of them. This was just some fantasy for him, having two girlfriends, it wasn’t real for him. That’s why he’s here and she’s not. That’s why he was there when Heaven needed him when Patrick was out doing god knows what.

“Why didn’t you call me when you were upset? We text all of the time.”

Heaven breathes out heavily as she nods her head, as if she’d been expecting this conversation. “I called my girlfriend. She was busy.”

“And then?”

“And then I called my boyfriend, Art. Your best friend, Patrick, remember him?” Art scoffs, shaking his head and Heaven sits up fully. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what?” she persists.

“It’s just, what makes him your boyfriend? Because I just…Patrick Zweig isn’t really the boyfriend type, is all.” He shrugs.

“Maybe he changed for me and Tashi. We tend to have that effect on people.” Heaven jokes.

Art laughs humorously. “I know.”

“Oh.”

“I just want you to be with someone that loves you.” He says in a tired tone. “That’s all I’ve been wanting for you-” He knows he should stop here. That placing seeds of doubt wasn’t the way he should win her. This was fucked up. She’s his friends’ girlfriend. His friend.

“And, you don’t think I have someone like that now?” She asks. That same brow raised as she crossed her arms, staring him down. It's the same bone chilling look she gave Tashi when she’d asked her about her audition dance. He can’t help but wilt a little under the stare, not backing down completely but suddenly questioning his decision to open this line of discussion.

“I…I just want you to be with someone who loves you, Heaven.”

Her face softens and Art can breathe a little easier. Brown eyes wide as she takes him in, shifting in her seat back and forth as if she was really thinking.

“You really mean that, don’t you?”

Art nods solemnly, hesitating slightly before standing, stepping out of the booth and walking over to Heaven’s side, holding his hand out to her. “I know what I’m about to say is so fucked up, and if you dont want to, I’ll listen. We’ll be friends, but…let me show you. I’ve, jesus this is embarrassing, I’ve been pretending you were mine all night. Pretend with me for tonight. Let me show you. Please.”

They're quiet the whole way back to campus. Heaven held Art’s hand, or maybe she let him hold hers…neither of them were quite sure. And they made their way back. And they both waited. They both were on the edge of their seats to see what happens next. They waited for Heaven to open her mouth, to ask him with indignity to direct her to Tashi’s dorm because, surely, the girl was back from the gym now.

They waited for the wave of guilt to hit Art, for him to remember who she actually belongs to, to remember that she’s only his in his fantasies and send her on her way to wait for Patrick to get here tomorrow. But instead, when his phone vibrates in the cupholder of his car with a text from his best friend, he simply flips it over before Heaven can see.

Once they’re safely inside his dorm Heaven is basically shaking next to him and he pauses, brushing his thumb against the smooth skin of her cheek. “Sweetheart, we don’t have to do anything.”

I’ll just die if we don’t, that’s all. He thinks.

Her eyes are shut tightly but she leans her face into his hand. “I’m scared. Meeting you guys was just supposed to be fun. This feels…” serious. “I’m…I’ve never felt like this for anyone other than her. So I was trying to avoid you.” she whispers, finally opening her eyes to look at him.

His heart almost hurts because he’s causing her stress. Almost. But this was the first time that she’s been clear that she’s feeling what he feels, and he physically cannot stand not kissing her. “I’m sorry.” He breathes, leaning down, brushing her lips with his own. “M’sorry.”

The gap finally closes between the two of them and Art feels like he’s really breathing for the first time. Like, up until this point he’d been holding his breath his whole life, like he had a taste of real air when they’d kissed in that theater and now he was breathing. The only air worth breathing is Heaven’s.

Heaven’s head swims as Art lifts her up, laying her down onto his small bed, placing her gently as if she was fine china. It feels unfair. She didn’t know that something could feel this good. Being with Tashi and Patrick, it’s the first time she’s really felt something. Tashi was the first person Heaven ever loved. But it was so alarming how quickly Art was making all of that feel less all consuming. All she could think about was him. The only time her mine was this clear, this focused, was…when she danced.

Art places kisses along Heaven’s cheek, jaw and neck before making his way to her ear, groaning when he feels her hand in his hair. “Heaven, baby, let me touch you, please.”

He pulls back to look at her to wait. He needed confirmation. He needed to know she was okay with it. That it would make her happy. “Okay.” she looks up at him from his pillow with a soft look, lifting her hand to his cheek and smiles gently as he kisses the palm of her hand.

“Yeah?” He asks desperately as he kisses his way up her arm.

Heaven brings Art’s hand to her lips, mirroring his action and kissing his palm before nodding.

That’s all he needs.

He has to focus hard as he breathes in her sweet, flowery scent as he drags his lips along her torso before he reaches the edge of where her t-shirt meets her pants, nudging the fabric up with his nose to expose the skin of her stomach and kissing his way back down. He feels himself hardening in his own pants and wills himself to calm down so he doesn’t cum before he even gets to really touch her. He reaches his hand down, undoing her buttons on her pants and looks up to the ceiling briefly as he hears her kicking the fabric down her legs, counting backward from 20.

“Kiss me again?” she asks sweetly.

The question barely leaves her lips before he’s racing up to meld their lips back together, humming in relief when he gets to breathe from her again. When he finally lets her get some real air, she takes his dominant hand this time holding it in both of hers. “I love your hands, Art. They’re strong,” she kisses one finger, “and talented,” she kisses the next, “and part of you. Let you play some really good fucking tennis.”

Art’s laugh turns into a moan when she places the two fingers into her warm mouth, staring up at him through her lashes. “Oh fuck, Heaven.”

She pops his fingers out of his mouth and she wraps her arm around his neck to hold his face close as Art slides hand down her body, holding the wet fingers away as he pauses briefly to squeeze her breast, drinking in the sound she makes. He would say he wants that noise as his ringtone, but then other people would hear it. Heaven. That’s what she is. His own personal heaven.

As he pushes his fingers into her his own grunt frustrates him as he tries to memorize the gasp that falls from her plump lips and chases it with his own. He pushes his fingers in and out of her again and again to hear her voice pitch as she chants his name and gasps obscenities. His own moans and whines fall from his lips and his ears and cheeks turn red at how loud he is.

His suitemates have to be used to the sound of him cumming with her name on his lips by now, especially considering his one attempt at not being in love with his best friend’s girlfriend that led him to stumble home from a bar just off campus with a sorority girl who promptly slapped the shit out of him and stormed out of the suite screeching when she’d given him head and he cried Heaven’s name when he came. To be fair, he’d gotten her off first…and apologized immensely.

But this? They weren’t gonna wanna room with him next semester. Fuck them.

He shivers as he feels her tugging his shirt over his head before pulling him back down to her, kissing him deeply again. “I’m gonna cum.” she whimpers, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Wait, wait, wait, please let me look at you.” Art pleads. Heaven’s head falls back against the pillow as her back arches slightly off of the mattress as she reaches her peak and Art nearly loses it from the sight. Not yet.

“Shit.” Heaven breathes kissing his cheek and neck, running her hands through his blond hair. “Let…let me-”

“One more.” Art blurts, sitting up and looking down at her, smoothing his hand along her body in awe. “Let me have one more, please. Let me taste you, baby. You’re so pretty, Hev. You’re,” he kisses her lower stomach, blue-brown eyes on her as he bites her panties, pulling them down with his teeth. “You’re a goddess. I want…I love you.”

“Art-” she gasps, pushing up onto her elbows to look down at him between her legs.

“One more, Heaven, please.” He pleads one more time, stopping just short of his destination to give her time. If…if she didn’t want it he wouldn’t do it. But he’d die. He would, he’d fucking die.

But all she does is bite the collar of her shirt. And Art could fucking cry at how good she tastes. He kisses her center deeply, licking his way up her slit, sucking on her clit, holding her legs open as she squirms above him. Murmuring against her through his own moans. “I know, baby, I know.” He reaches his hand up tugging the fabric of the shirt to pull it from her mouth to stop her from muffling her cries. “Heaven, beautiful, talk to me, honey, please.”

“I-I’m, it feels so good.”

“Yeah? I wanna make you feel so good.” he whines against her thigh.

“Fuck, Art-” she turns her head to muffle into the pillow, squeaking when he gently tugs her down the bed away from it.

“Please don’t fight it. Cum for me baby, please. One more, Heaven.”

“Fuck.” She gasps.

This time when she cums Art can’t help it. Between her sounds filling his ears, her scent in his nose and her taste on his tongue, he was moaning out her name and cumming in his pants before he could stop it. He breathes heavily and sits on the bed because he’s genuinely worried he’s gonna pass out, the black spots in his vision apparently an after effect of coming harder than he’d ever had. “Fuck, Heaven. Heaven?” He breathes, confused when he can finally see again and the girl is no longer in his bed and his room door is open.

She comes padding back through his door and Art thinks if he wasn’t empty, he could cum again to the sight of her stumbling back on wobbly legs, wearing his shirt, holding a washcloth. “Least I could do since you tried to kill me by making me nut.” She sits next to him and he intakes a breath as she unbuttons his pants, coaxing him out of them and his boxers and taking the warm cloth and cleaning his dick.

“Fuck, baby-” he whines, burying his face in her hair. “Okay-”

“You know you sound like you’re having sex when you play tennis? Or you’re playing tennis when you have sex. Since you played tennis first.” She smiles, smoothing his messy blond hair.

“Fuck tennis, I wanna do that.” He jokes, lifting his head and reaching for a clean pair of boxers from his drawer before climbing into his bed and holding his arms out for her to climb into.

“As a pro? That’s prostitution, handsome.” she smiles, laying herself between his arms and entangling their legs.

“M’not chargin’ you.” he mumbles sleepily, kissing her head.

“Shut up, go to sleep.”

#oc #love #art donaldson #art donaldson challengers #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x tashi duncan #art donaldson x oc #art donaldson x patrick zweig #patrick zweig x oc #patrick zweig x tashi duncan #patrick zweig #tashi duncan x oc #tashi duncan x reader #earn it #challengers spoilers #challengers movie #challengers 2024

142 notes · View notes