#DC I AM KICKING DOWN YOUR FRONT DOOR

[starsstuddedsky]

Needles and Knives

red hood!jeno x doctor!reader

...

“Don’t you dare die,” you say, gripping the scalpel.

“Already did that,” Jeno mutters, eyes fluttering. “Didn’t agree with me.”

...

summary: Jeno’s plans never included you yet somehow you worm your way into his life. Being a vigilante isn’t easy - but neither is loving one.

genre: angst except i can’t stop them from making jokes so like fun angst. little bits of fluff here and there

warnings: gore, mentions of death, violence, cursing

wc: 16k

a/n: dc fans i am so sorry. my knowledge of these characters comes from wikipedia. medical workers i am so sorry. the medicine in this is NOT accurate. if ur neither maybe you can fully enjoy this fic. i hope you do :) this is as proofread as its going to get..... as always i appreciate any sort of feedback you can give. i hope this story leaves you as delusional about jeno as i am <3

Not for the first time, you open the door to your apartment to find a man covered in blood on your couch. At least he managed to keep it off the floors this time. 

You can just see the back of his head from the doorway, black hair sticking up from where he slouches on the couch. The head seems to be intact, which is a bit of a relief—being a surgical intern means you’ve become numb to gore, but not fully immune to the nastiness of patching up a tear in his scalp. 

“Still alive?” You ask as you kick off your shoes. Your feet ache from standing for the past eight hours. 

Jeno huffs a humorless laugh. “More or less.” He twists to look at you, holding up a very sad looking plant. “Which is more than I can say for this poor thing.” 

You drop your bag behind the couch and cross to stand in front of him, his head swiveling to follow you. He sets the dead succulents down on the side table. The tuft of white that hangs over his forehead bounces with the movement, stark against the rest of his black hair. 

 His shirt is already off, discarded to the side. At work, you’ve become just as numb to bodies as you have to gore. You haven’t quite managed that with Jeno despite seeing him shirtless on the regular since he seems to find himself covered in blood on your couch at least once a week. Still, you can’t really be blamed for being a little flustered when he looks like… Well, that. He’s got more abs than ribs and broad shoulders that give way to thick arms of pure muscle. But you can never truly ogle because he inevitably is covered in too much blood for you to ignore. 

“I think I just popped the stitches,” he says, referring to the wound on his stomach that is once again bleeding. “No new shit. I think.” 

“I don’t think that’s actually any better,” you say. “You know we usually tell patients to refrain from strenuous activity after they’ve been stitched up.” You retrieve the medical bag you definitely don’t keep stocked from the supply closet at Gotham City Hospital. 

“They usually get pain meds, too,” Jeno grumbles, even though he’s never once complained about the actual pain of being stitched back together. 

You kneel in front of him, focusing on what was once a deep gash. He showed up with it a couple days ago, spewing more blood than he physically should be able to produce. It’s already half healed, though the new stitches will still help. 

“They usually aren’t getting blood on my couch either,” you say. “We can do this all day.” 

Jeno doesn’t answer, staying quiet long enough for you to peek at him and make sure he hasn’t passed out from some injury you don’t know about. Instead you find his dark eyes, filled with an intensity that wasn’t there when you were children. You still find it hard to believe the kid that walked with you to school every day for three years has grown up into this—all hard lines and guarded expressions. Every time you look into those eyes you are reminded how little you know about him. 

Here’s what you do know: Jeno and his family disappeared when you were twelve. Vanished in the middle of the school year, leaving the house next to yours half full of their belongings in the flight. And then you didn’t see him for another twelve years, long enough for you to graduate high school, and then college, and then med school. Long enough for you to get a prestigious internship in the surgical program at Gotham City Hospital, which had you moving three states over into an apartment you had to rent without even doing a walkthrough. It’s this apartment—the one that he sits in now—that brought Jeno back to you. Again, he’s become the boy next door, though you still can’t reconcile your memories of the little boy with this man, who never smiles. You barely recognized him. But he recognized you, and even though he didn’t seem all that interested in having friends, he found out you were a med student and just happened to need stitches. And then he needed help with a broken wrist. And then a black eye. And then, and then. 

It didn’t take you long to figure out he’s Red Hood, one of the newer vigilantes of Gotham City. Or, more accurately, it didn’t take you long to figure out he’s a vigilante. It did take a while to figure out Red Hood, but his eyes eventually gave it away. One look told you he’s cold on the inside. One look told you he’s a killer. 

(Plus you’ve seen the now-iconic leather jacket hanging in his entryway.) 

But though you can’t call his eyes warm now, they aren’t cold either. He regards you with a softness you’ve never seen before, or maybe just never noticed. You duck your head and turn back to the stitches. 

“If you pull these again, you’ll be sewing them up yourself,” you mutter. 

“Well, how else am I supposed to see you?” Jeno asks. “You only ever make time for me when I’m bleeding.” Despite his earlier complaints, he doesn’t flinch as you begin the sutures. In fact, he doesn’t show any sign that he’s even noticed. 

You roll your eyes. “That's because I took an oath. Something about saving lives, and something about ‘no matter how much I want to take a hot shower and pass out for the next twelve hours, I’m legally obligated to keep my weird neighbor alive when he shows up begging for help.’” 

“Who said anything about begging?” 

You pause, needle in hand. “I can leave you like this, you know. You can finish it yourself if you really want to.” And you know he can. You’ve seen the scars. So many scars, which tell the story he hasn’t told you: the oldest on his forearm, perfectly straight, the result of a real surgery; the thick ones on his back that look like they were never stitched up; the cut on his arm that looks like it tore through muscle yet was carefully stitched up; the scar on the back of his neck that looks like it should have broken his neck; and the angry red scar on his left knee that he said he stitched up himself a couple months before you moved in next door. 

You open your mouth to tell him he’s really on his own now, but Jeno says, “I guess I can beg.” 

You pause, then say. “That’s just terrible.” You have to look away so you continue the stitches. “You can do way better than that.” 

“Oh, YN, great saver of lives,” Jeno says, “please do me the great honor of stitching me up. Again.” 

You hum. “Better but still room for improvement.” 

“I would die without you. I would get on my knees if I could. Please, please, do not stop stitching me up.” 

You grin at him and almost get a smile back, his eyes truly warm. You take it as a win—or at least a vast improvement from how he was two months ago. You finish the stitches, sitting up straight. 

“I don’t suppose you’ll sit still long enough to let these actually heal, will you?” Not that you know how long that is. You noticed a while back that most of his injuries heal far faster than they should. He shouldn’t need to come to you for minor injuries yet he does, over and over again. It doesn’t make any sense, but as long as he keeps showing up on your couch, you’ll keep taking care of him. 

Jeno looks at you like he wants to say something but isn’t sure if he should. Maybe this is it. He’ll finally tell you exactly how he gets his scars. How he became the Red Hood. 

Instead, he says, “Nah, probably not.” 

You sit back on the couch beside him, sighing. “I watched a seven hour surgery today, and you know what I learned?” 

“Hm?” He turns, cheek resting on the couch. For a moment you see the boy again, cast in gold from the afternoon sunlight. You can just picture his smile, the way his whole face melts into a gooey happiness. You blink and he’s gone. 

“Surgeons are dicks,” you blurt out, forgetting what you were going to say. “They never want to believe patients, and I get it, sometimes they’re annoying and think they know best, but this girl came in three months ago complaining about pain and Dr. Park called her a junkie. She came back in today and collapsed in the waiting room because he never actually examined her. 

“She was having a heart attack, and if he just listened the first time, it might have been salvageable, but the second one ripped her heart to shreds. Dr. Nakamoto said he’d never seen someone survive a heart that looked like that.” 

“But she did survive?” Jeno asks. 

“Yeah,” you say. “For now. She needs a heart transplant, though, so it’s a waiting game.” 

He nods. 

“I don’t get why Dr. Park or any of the other doctors couldn’t run a simple EKG. It’s not difficult and it would have saved her life but they took one look at her and assumed she was a junkie,” you say, “and I can’t even complain about it because Dr. Lee will just say some shit like ‘medical decisions are more difficult than you think’ because that’s easier than actually checking if his surgical team gives a shit about their patients beyond death rates.” 

You sigh. “The worst part is, they aren’t even bad doctors. They know the medicine, and the procedures they can do—it’s really incredible. I don’t know, sometimes I worry you can only be good at medicine or good with patients, and it’s impossible to be both.” 

“You really think that?” 

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “I’m just tired.” 

Jeno nods, letting silence settle between you. It’s far too comfortable to just sit with him like this, a peaceful solidarity you’ve only ever felt with him. You won’t give it meaning, won’t think about it any more than another afternoon on the couch together. That’s all this is. 

“I should take a shower,” you say. 

“I should get back to my place,” Jeno says. Neither of you move. 

.

.

Lee Jeno doesn’t consider himself to be consumed with rage, despite what the headlines say. Yeah, the mask is intense, but he doesn’t use it to incite fear among all those who look upon his face. He just needed to keep his face hidden from Bruce (and, as much as it pains him to admit Bruce might be right about anything, he can’t deny that keeping his identity hidden is ultimately the right move). 

He tosses the magazine on his desk. He’s got to stop reading the tabloids. They’re rotting his brain. But somehow they’re the only reliable source on the current crop of Joker’s little worshippers. Jeno still can’t believe it took him six months to realize the ads were calling for new recruits to the cult. 

He feels the pit of anger, deep in his stomach, writhing at the thought of that man. Revenge would be too kind. Jeno will take him down, no matter what. 

Maybe he’s a little consumed with rage. 

But he can’t ignore the recent distractions. He’s spent the past week sitting behind the computer doing whatever investigative work he can, any excuse to avoid pulling the stitches again. You really didn’t seem like you were joking about making him do it next time, and it was a bitch to stitch up his knee on his own. The angle alone would make his ribs pretty much impossible. 

Jeno sighs, tapping on his keyboard to bring the computer to life. Three monitors light up, the far left screen featuring the feeds of all the security cameras that show the apartment building that he very legally tapped into. The far right screen shows three different news feeds, local to Gotham, national news, and an international broadcast, volume off, subtitles on. The middle screen remains blank, ready for him to pull up whatever information he needs. 

Hunt Joker. Get revenge. 

It was simple when he first got his memories back. Those were his only goals. But then he had to train, become a better fighter, establish some sort of half-life in the city–which meant figuring out how to pay rent, which meant figuring out which billionaires he could reasonably steal from without them noticing. He admits it’s foolish to have Wayne Enterprises on the top of the list, but the bastard owes him. 

Six months passed by before he finally set this place and a couple other safe houses up. And then another six passed, and Jeno is still no closer to revenge. He is supposed to be better than before, but all he’s done is steal some lunch money from people too rich to notice and take down a couple men who liked to pick on the weak. He hates that he did more in tights than he’s done becoming Red Hood. 

He let his life become too simple. Day after day of hunting criminals and keeping them from hurting anyone ever again. It was freeing, no debriefings with idiots that would tell him that he should have acted differently—should have acted with more mercy. He makes his own decisions and no one is there to judge him. It’s proof he never needed anyone, even if hunting Joker is taking a little longer than it would if he had Wayne Enterprise resources. 

And then you showed up. 

He leans back in the chair, the joint squeaking. Jeno still doesn’t know what to make of you popping back into his life. He hasn’t been the kid you knew for so long he almost forgot about him. That kid died the day his parents yanked him out of school and moved to Gotham city. His parents worked back breaking shifts in one of the factories, while Jeno lasted a month in school before he realized he could stop going and no one would care. He learned how to survive Gotham quickly, and pretty soon he thrived. He barely even noticed when his parents died. 

You bring back memories of suburbs and eating ice cream before it could melt onto his hand. He remembers this one time you were walking back home after school and you tripped and skinned your knee. There was so much blood, Jeno freaked out and thought he’d have to carry you (which he definitely couldn’t do back then), but you just stood up and gritted your teeth and walked all the way back. It didn’t surprise him at all to find out you’re a doctor now, not when you were always so hardcore. 

It came in handy pretty quick, too, though he’ll at least admit to himself that his powers probably won’t let him die. It just turned into a routine for him, a nice way to end his day (though his work “day” generally ends at dawn). 

But nice is for a boy that doesn’t exist, not for the justice he seeks. He can’t keep pretending to be someone he isn’t, and someone as smart as you can’t keep pretending to believe his lies. He focuses on the security feed, watching a dark sedan roll past. 

He can keep avoiding you. It would be easy to clear out of here, especially when you spend most of your time at the hospital anyways. He could do it now—you’re in the middle of one of those endless shifts where you sleep in the hospital. You complain so much about being exhausted that he doubts you’d notice that he left, at least for a month. You’re not friends with him, Jeno doesn’t have friends. You just took an oath to save lives, and he forced you to save him. You wouldn’t even miss him. 

But even as he contemplates it, he knows he can’t do it to you again. Even if all you are is the person that patches him up every other night, you deserve some explanation. A goodbye. 

Rain begins to fall, slow at first, then a steady patter, the gentle wind strong enough to send the rain against the window. 

He hears the truck engine rattling down the street before it finally comes into view on the top left camera. Strange, the bottom right camera covers the opposite side of the street but shows nothing. He keeps an eye on the truck, which rattles by, frowning at the bottom right screen. 

Not just an empty street. Though the sky is dark in the background, the pavement and sidewalk are still dry. Jeno curses, getting to his feet and grabbing his belt. He loads the pistols, clipping on the extra ammo to his belt alongside the gadgets while keeping an eye on the other cameras, trying to see if he missed anything else. Two more screens play on a loop, the transition more obvious with the rain. He pulls on the mask, grateful he made it waterproof. His jacket is last, riddled with holes he never had the time to sew back together. He keeps his knife in his right hand, checking the cameras a final time—all showing empty loops—before ducking out the window onto the fire escape. 

The jacket is thick enough to keep the rain from actually soaking him, but the cold seeps through. It brings an ache to his bones, an empty feeling like his body doesn’t quite belong to him. He presses a hand to his heart, the pressure bringing a new ache that reminds his body his heart still beats. 

He jumps the rest of the way down from the fire escape, landing in a puddle of water that splashes beneath his boots, sending water up to his knees. He needs eyes on the situation. Ideally he’d go to the roof, but there’s too much daylight to be out in the open like that, turning him into a sitting duck. He opts for the alleyways instead, looping around the back of the building to where he can see the street without being seen. Whatever is going on, he needs to drive the action away from his place. 

He scans the road, settling on the dark sedan parked in front of the corner store. It wasn’t on the security camera feed when he left, and as he watches, two tall men with dark hoods pulled over their heads slip out of the back seat. They approach the apartment building with the confidence of residents, though Jeno can tell from here they don’t. He memorized his neighbors a long time ago, but even if he hadn’t, Jeno has seen enough gangs to know bruisers when he sees them. 

But who do they belong to? Who knows where Jeno lives? The people he’s been skimming from? He hasn’t been stealing enough to warrant this kind of a response. No, his life as Jeno couldn’t have attracted these men. 

So it’s Red Hood? Anyone that knows about Red Hood should know better than to send two goons that could be taken out this easily. Jeno switches the knife to his left hand and pulls out a pistol, turning off the safety and cocking the hammer. 

Before he can squeeze the trigger, he senses something, the rain behind him falling on something other than pavement. He drops to the ground and rolls until his back is against the wall and a dumpster protects his front. A bullet buries itself into the pavement where he had been standing a moment ago. 

He moves again, vaulting over the dumpster, catching the man holding a pistol at the end of the alley by surprise. Still in the air, Jeno squeezes the trigger, hitting the man in the stomach. He lands on his feet and crosses the alley in two quick strides to kick the man as he falls. His hood falls off as he lands on his back, revealing an assuming face. Like the other men, Jeno has never seen him before. 

Jeno kicks the gun out of his hand and snatches it from the pavement, slipping it into one of the extra holsters on his belt. He glances between the front of the building and the back. The two goons out front had to have heard the noise, which means he doesn’t have much time before they make it to the alley. But he’s got no idea what might be around the other corner. 

He crosses back to the dumpster, keeping an eye on the man behind him as he waits. The man at the other end groans but doesn’t call out for his buddies. Rain overflows from the gutters, falling in spurts rather than droplets. Thirty seconds pass and Jeno only hears the rain. Are they waiting for him? Circling around to trap him between them? 

He adjusts his grip on the knife in his left hand, holding it so that the blade is nearest to his pinky finger, his thumb wrapped around the bottom of the base. He keeps the blade facing out, stepping to the front of the apartment building. Instinct guides him to the left, giving him enough time to block the bat with his right arm, sending a shock up his shoulder. 

He steps closer, letting the man—one of the goons from before—pull the bat back for another swing. Jeno swings the knife up, catching the man’s jacket but missing blood. He drops the knife and twists, turning so that the man is behind him and ducking to catch the arm still swinging the bat and flip the man over using his momentum and the bigger man’s weight. He hits the pavement hard, sending water splashing all over Jeno.  

The second man catches up from the other end of the alley, firing wild shots that don’t come close to hitting him but force Jeno to step back. Jeno pulls a throwing star from his belt, sending it cutting through the air to knock the gun out of the man’s hand. With his right hand, he takes a shot at the man struggling to get off the ground, catching him in the back. He falls again and this time he doesn’t move. 

The second man charges out of the alley, the throwing star gone from his hand, though it still drips blood. He has a crowbar in his other hand, like these guys want to be stereotypical goons. He moves about as well as the other man, all power and zero agility. Jeno dodges him easily, letting him take a couple swings before he shoots him in the head. The man drops a couple steps away from his buddy. 

Jeno glances around but the dark sedan has left. No one else ventures out to investigate—probably because Jeno still holds a gun. He retrieves his knife and the throwing star, going back to the first man that he shot who still groans at the end of the alley. Blood mixes with the iridescent swirls of run off, red overtaking the blended greens and purples. 

He kneels on his chest. Rain falls on the back of his mask“Who sent you?” 

The man gurgles a laugh. “What’s it to you?” 

Jeno pushes his knee a little harder. “I asked you a question.” 

“Fuck you,” the man says. He tries to spit but the mix of blood and saliva ends up splattering on his own face. The man suddenly turns, moving with more strength than Jeno expected. At the same time that Jeno points his gun at the man’s head, the man pulls a gun from inside his coat, pressing it straight into Jeno’s stomach. Neither of them hesitate to pull the trigger. 

.

.

Caution tape is up in the alley next to your apartment, but the rain seems to have washed away any sign of the crimes committed. It pounds into your head relentlessly, soaking you through your coat. 

Though you’ve been living here less than a year, Gotham’s reputation has held true. Working in the hospital has given you even more experience with the diversity of types of people the city attracts—good, bad, and everything in between. You even worked on a guy who apparently turned out to be a Batman villain a few months ago. 

Between working at the hospital and living in the city in general, you’ve gotten used to dissociating crime scenes with the sense that you’re actually in danger. Besides, you live next door to a vigilante. Who are you to say this is even a crime scene?

You don’t think anything of it until you open your apartment door and catch the unfortunately familiar scent of blood. Wind and rain crash through the open window, pulling your stumbling feet forward to find the source of the blood. 

Jeno didn’t make it to the couch this time. He lies just inside the windowsill, barely sitting up with his back against the wall. One hand clutches his stomach, red blood spilling over the black shirt. His head hangs low, hair soaked by that rain that still falls on him through the open window. The red mask sits in his other hand.

For a scary moment, he doesn’t move. 

You drop your bag, rushing to him. You can’t stop your voice from shaking. “Jeno?” 

He groans when you shake his arm. “Ow.” 

You curse as you slam the window shut and lay him out on his side, keeping his hand over the wound until you can get a better gauge on what it is. “What the hell did you do to yourself?” 

He doesn’t answer, only groaning as you try to reach your medical bag while keeping pressure on the wound. You finally get it to the ground, pulling out the scissors and slicing through the shirt so that you can see the wound—a gaping hole framed by bullet fragments  where his stomach should be. 

“Fuck.” He needs a hospital, a surgeon that’s done more than assist on an appendectomy, but you can’t bring yourself to dial 911. It would bring too many questions on Jeno, who has clearly avoided hospitals for a reason. And he came to you. He trusts you, even if you don’t trust yourself. You have to save him, if only because you’re the only option. 

 You set out the equipment, spraying them with alcohol to sterilize them and get ready to cut. 

“Don’t you dare die,” you say, gripping the scalpel. 

“Already did that,” Jeno mutters, eyes fluttering. “Didn’t agree with me.” 

You gape at him but he seems to have slipped back into unconsciousness. You force yourself to look back at the bullet hole. You can only yell at him if he’s alive, so you push away the thoughts and get to work, replacing any insecurity with arrogant belief that you know what you’re doing.

.

.

Death is nothing like falling asleep. For one thing, it fucking hurts. Jeno supposes the method might have played a factor. He used to think getting shot point blank might be better than being beaten for hours and then blown up (he now has the experience to decidedly answer that question: marginally better). But death itself. It hurts. 

And resurrection? All the pain of death with none of the peaceful end. Jeno remembers crawling out of the ground, forcing his muscles to work even though his body still suffered from the wounds that killed him. 

But it was the pain that forced him to keep moving, the pain that still fuels him now, a never ending ache deep inside that no time will heal. 

Joker may have held the bat, but Batman didn’t stop him. He never stopped him. Jeno remembers the look on his face, the shadowed glimpse of it that he could see. He remembers dying, hearing the Joker cackle, and Batman calling out to him—calling him Robin. 

He remembers the pain. Pain he can live with. Pain makes him who he is. He can’t let go of the pain, not when it is all that he is. 

But the pain ebbs away when you’re around. And for the life of him he can’t convince himself that it’s a bad thing.  

.

.

You manage to get Jeno into your bed after you finish patching him up—which was six grueling hours of pulling bullet fragments from the hole and praying he didn’t bleed out. No one should have been able to survive the amount of blood that seeped out of him but by some miracle (though maybe it’s a curse), his heart keeps pumping. 

He woke up just long enough to let you sling an arm under his shoulders and half carry him into the bed. You spent the entire time praying he wouldn’t pull apart the stitches and bleed out for real, but it seems like luck was finally on your side. 

You should get up. You should clean up the blood, or at least wash it from your hands. You can only find the energy to drag your armchair next to the bed and sit beside him. His chest rises and falls with even breaths. 

Still alive, for now. 

He mumbles again, voice too low to make out any words. His eyes flutter but remain closed. Does a man like him dream? 

“What happened to you?” Your voice cracks. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t show any sign that he can hear you. “You disappear for weeks at a time. You rarely show up when you aren’t bleeding. But you never talk about it, and you don’t smile anymore. I don’t think I know you anymore. I don’t know if I ever did.” 

You managed to hold back your tears, push all the emotions away to keep him alive but they come flooding back now. Tears spill over as you watch him breathe. 

“Your heart keeps beating but are you really alive?” You ask. 

He doesn’t answer. 

.

.

You moved to Gotham in August. The heat was so bad that crime rates were down–making it miserable to carry box after box up two flights of stairs since the building didn't have an elevator. You’d only been here twice before, both times on school trips, never on your own. 

But your friends all live back in your college town, and your parents were busy dealing with a lawsuit against your neighbor for the mailbox war, so you were stuck moving on your own—which wasn’t all that terrible since the apartment came half furnished. Still, you had to figure out a way to get a mattress up the stairs, along with a car full of clothes and all the rest of your belongings. Between the heat and the prospect of stairs, you weren’t exactly stoked about living in the city. 

Two trips had you wheezing for air, leaning outside your door to catch your breath. The door to the apartment next to yours swung open. You hoped someone wasn’t already complaining about the noise you were making. Instead a tall, broad shouldered man stepped out, wearing a simple black t-shirt and cargo pants. 

He turned around, revealing cold eyes and a face that looked like it spent most of its time frowning. But behind it all something familiar called to you, buried deep behind the bitter front. You remembered a boy who cried because he stubbed his toes, a boy who would fight you to make a wish on every dandelion that lined the sidewalk on the walk home. 

He froze, a tiny frown in his brow. “YN?” 

“Jeno?” 

You set down the tote, stepping around it to get a better look at him. Your eyes jumped between his, trying to decipher the hardness behind them. Though it had been over ten years, you still thought of the sweet boy who lived next door often, always wondering what happened to him. 

It seemed that the years had not been kind to him. Though he grew taller and filled out considerably, he had an emptiness behind his eyes, the kind that comes from too much hurt. He looked like it had been years since he last smiled. He barely seemed to react to you, guarding every expression as if you could be some sort of threat. 

“You’re taller,” you finally said. 

“It has been a while,” he said. 

“I think ten years qualifies as more than a while,” you said. 

He just nodded. “You’ve moved here?” 

“Just today,” you said, gesturing to the boxes. 

“You’re on your own?” 

You shrugged. “My parents are bringing a load later in the week, so it’s really not that much stuff.” You paused but Jeno didn’t run away, so you figured it was safe to ask, “How long have you been living here?” 

“In Gotham since I left.” He pauses, eyes flicking between yours. For a moment you think he’ll tell you everything. Then he says, “Here specifically, only about six months.” 

You should have asked. Maybe it would have made things simpler, maybe you wouldn’t be dancing between fantasy and reality, balancing a tedious act of ignorance. 

Instead you asked him if he’d help you move your mattress and what the pizza delivery situation was like. 

.

.

Jeno wakes up sometime in the middle of the night. You snap awake from your dozing as he shifts. 

“Sit still,” you say. “I don’t think I can put you back together if you fall apart this time.” 

Jeno blinks. Even in the darkness you can see eyes are still glazed over in confusion. 

“You were shot,” you explain. “Point blank from the looks of it.” 

“Ah,” he says. His soft voice carries in the quiet hours of the night. “That’s what hurts.” 

“Never make me do that again.” Your voice shakes despite your best attempts to steady it. The tears from earlier try to weasel their way back out of your eyes. “You should have died.” 

He reaches out, except he really must be feeling weak because his hand barely makes it to the edge of the bed before it hangs limp. 

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles. “Didn’t want to get shot.” 

You blink back the tears as anger courses its way through you. “I don’t think anybody gets shot on purpose,” you snap. 

He tries to snort but it ends up sounding like a short exhale through his nose. “Fair enough.” 

“I’m not a good enough doctor for all of this,” you say. “This isn’t a hospital. I don’t have sterile equipment, or a blood bank, or an extra set of hands, I mean, if anything worse happens, you could be in real danger and there’s nothing I could do about it, and I can’t—” You pause, taking a deep breath. “I don’t like when I have to admit I can’t do something, but with you, it feels like that’s all I can do.” 

“You saved my life,” he says. “It doesn’t really feel like you couldn’t do it.” 

“It was a pretty fucking close call,” you say. “Gunshot wounds aren’t particularly easy, and you had to go and get shot in the stomach.” 

He shifts, hand running over his torso beneath the blanket. “I didn't pop the stitches, though,” he says. “I gotta get some points for that.” 

You glare at him, though he probably can’t see it in the darkness. “Don’t make fun of me. I’m trying to be serious.” 

“So am I,” he says, “it was not easy. I sat still for two full days. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve done that?” 

Ask. Get a real answer from him. Stop shying away from who he really is. You have to talk about it. 

“Well, get used to it,” you say. “You’re staying in this bed. I don’t care if I have to tie you down.” 

Jeno actually smiles. It’s been far too long since you’ve seen that smile, softening the hard lines and curling his face into something sweet. “I could be into that,” he jokes. 

And maybe it’s because there are blood stains on your shirt that will never come out and you haven’t slept in about thirty hours and you came far too close to losing the only person you really care about, but you laugh. “Just shut up and get some rest.” 

“You should rest too,” Jeno says. “You look terrible.” 

“Yeah, well it’s your fault,” you say. 

He pauses then says, “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“Well, don’t apologize.” You sniffle. “It’s harder to be mad at you.” 

He smiles again, and you can’t even pretend to be mad at him anymore. It’s too hard on your heart, which has been through far too much for any more lies. You smile back at him. 

.

.

After a day, Jeno can walk around on his own. You called out sick from work, despite his insistence that he’d be fine on his own. He had to bribe you to convince you to sleep on the couch, since you would barely let him go to the bathroom, let alone move back to his own room. He won’t complain too much, though. He forgot how nice it is to wake up to someone. 

He sways on his feet, holding a hand up to stop you from helping him. He forces even breaths, determined to make it to the couch without any help. 

“You don’t have to do this,” you repeat for the thousandth time. 

“I told you I’m fine,” he grunts. Two more steps and he’s there. He takes a deep breath, ignoring the way his entire lower half screams at him. One more step. 

He collapses onto the couch more than anything, but he makes it. He lets himself slouch a little, head resting against the back of the couch. How many times has he sat here like this? So many hours spent waiting for you, watching the sun inch across the room. But most of the time it’s been like this—you at the opposite end, always a cushion separating him from you. 

The fake wooden floor is stained deep red, pooled around where he laid while you worked on him. He wonders what would have happened if you weren’t there. When he first came back he thought he was invincible, and his healing has saved him from a lot–but he’s never truly put it to the test. Could he have survived without you? 

His mask still sits where he pulled it off underneath the windowsill. He peeks at you from the corner of his eyes, your head turned towards it. Say something. 

You stare at the mask, clearing your throat. “I hope you didn’t pay too much for that shitty costume,” you say. “You don’t even have armor.” 

“YN,” Jeno says but you refuse to look at him. 

“Seriously, walking around dressed like a vigilante is going to get you killed.” 

“YN. You know it’s not a costume.” 

“What, you made it yourself? That’s even worse, I mean, it’s one thing to dress up like these guys but trying to be one of them, that’s just plain stupid. I can’t believe—”

Jeno shifts to the center cushion and wraps his fingers gently around your wrist, forcing you to look at him. “I am one of them.” 

He lets go of your wrist and watches you process the words, trying to figure out any other meaning. Your eyes dart between his, panicked and desperate. For whatever reason, you don’t want to admit it, and it’s been fine. But Jeno is tired of feeling like he’s lying to you. 

“I know,” you finally say, sighing and looking away again. He hates that it feels like he’s let you down. But he won’t apologize for who he is. 

“Why didn’t you ever ask about what happened after I left?” He asks. 

You’re quiet for a long moment. “I think I was afraid. It didn’t take long to realize what you were—or at least that you were wrapped up in something twisted—and then it was obvious whatever happened to you here wasn’t good, and I wasn’t sure if I should know that.” 

Jeno nods, gaze traveling to the window. He can see some scattered rooftops, mostly shorter residential buildings of the area. Farther in the distance, skyscrapers stick out. He’s spent more years in this city than not, grown to love it like family. But unlike family, the city doesn’t love him back. It’s not capable of it. No matter how much of his blood lines the streets, Jeno will only ever be one of millions that call the city home. 

Yes, what happened to him here wasn’t good. But it wasn’t all bad, and it’s not over yet. He won’t give up on the city just because of the past. 

And there’s you now. He has these moments where his heart beats so hard it feels like his chest will burst in the good way. He no longer ceases to exist when he isn’t fighting. Jeno worms his way back into reality, not separate from Red Hood, but no longer overshadowed by him. 

“I’ve had a lot of time to think these past couple weeks,” Jeno says. “Time to figure out what I want. For the longest time, it was revenge. It didn’t matter how I got it, how many people had to die. I would avenge myself no matter what. 

“And then you came into my life, and I would catch myself wondering what would have happened if I could have stayed back then, how different my life would be. I even wondered what would happen if I took off the mask, permanently. 

“But this is all I know how to be, and, I think even when I get my revenge, I won’t be able to leave this life behind.” He pauses, tilting his head away from the window and waiting until you meet his eyes.  “I don’t want to die again. I don't want to live this miserable half life where all I think about is getting back at the people who wronged me. I want to live, and when I’m with you, I feel alive.” 

You stare at him, eyes adorably wide. Maybe he's been a little too good at keeping his feelings hidden. It’s alright. He can wait for you to work it all out. It’s not like he’s got anywhere to be. 

“I like being with you,” he says. “I like who I am when I’m around you, and I like you. I mean, you’re stubborn and you always have to have the last word.” He smiles at your bewildered eyes. “But you care so much, not just about me, or your patients, but about everyone, and everything.

“Like your little houseplants that keep dying no matter what you do. I mean, it’s hilarious that you can save my life but you can’t keep a succulent alive. Or the way you talk about the street cats, and even the rats. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had sympathy for the cockroaches.” He finally manages to cut the rambling off. For a long moment you’re too quiet, and he begins to feel the inklings of fear worming its way up his stomach. 

“I don’t know about that,” you finally say, voice soft. “I think they might be radioactive here.” 

He waits but you don’t say anything else. He knows he shouldn’t ask, that he already has his answer. Still, he can’t help it. “That’s all you have to say?” 

Your eyes slide to the floor. “I… I don’t know.” 

“You feel something,” he says, reaching a tentative hand out to rest on top of yours. You freeze beneath him, eyes darting between his hand and his eyes like you can’t decide which you’re scared of more. 

“Tell me I’m not crazy,” he pleads. “Tell me you feel at least a fraction of the way I do.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, taking a deep breath. “I do care about you,” you begin slowly, “I care about you too much. You have this life, and I know you need it, and I want you to have everything that you want, I just don’t think I can be a part of it when it inevitably destroys you.” 

He squeezes your hand. “It won’t destroy me,” he says, “I won’t let it.” 

“You died.” Your voice shakes. “I don’t think I could handle that.” 

“I won’t let that happen again!” Jeno says. “Things are different now, I’m not the same person I was when I died.” 

He won’t die again. He’s sure of it, not just because he’s learned from his mistakes but because he has something else to live for now. He has more than the family that pushed him to be more than he could, he has his own life, goals outside of revenge. But grounding it all is you, the first person he thinks of, always. He won’t die when it would hurt you this much. 

“Even if you could promise that, it’s not enough.” You look away from him. “I don’t want to die either, and it seems like that’s inevitable around people like you. The loved ones always die first.” 

He opens his mouth to say he would never let that happen but the words die in his throat. He can’t guarantee that, and one look at you proves even if he could it wouldn’t matter. It’s not enough. 

“I think I love you,” he whispers. 

You smile sadly. “I think I love you too. I wish it was that simple.” 

He sighs, resting his head against the couch cushion. “I don’t suppose supreme embarrassment is a good enough reason to let me go back to my own apartment, is it?” 

He watches you purse your lips out of the corner of his eye. He pretends not to see the tears threatening to spill over. 

“I have to go back to work,” you say, voice steady. “I suppose sleeping in your own bed won’t be a problem.” You turn stern. “As long as you swear you’ll actually rest.” 

Jeno winces. “I don’t think I can do anything else.” 

“And yet you will,” you say. Jeno knows it’s worthless to argue, especially when he really can’t promise he won’t do anything. He goes where he’s needed. 

But until then, he’s perfectly happy to wallow in the embarrassment of getting shot and shot down. 

.

.

(please enjoy a brief interlude until i figure out how to fix thing shitshow)

The city always smells cleaner after a good storm. You enjoy walking to work, though the piercing wail of sirens makes it harder to appreciate the way the city almost smells like spring. Green has returned, sprouts of grass and early flowers blooming. You can walk and breathe and pretend like your heart isn’t dragging along behind you. 

Jeno haunts you. You dared to check on him before leaving and found he has reverted back to the one word answers and solemn expressions, a shadow of a person. He barely even looks at you, and you can’t even blame him. You’ve done more than break his heart; you can bear the consequences of doing so. 

Because it doesn’t really matter. He will keep getting hurt and you will keep patching him up. It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that. 

Even if you can’t stop dreaming about him. 

An ambulance wails past, turning into the hospital. You try your best to push the Jeno thoughts away, preparing yourself for the inevitably grueling day. You push open the doors, the security guards now familiar. You smile at them, the movement of the muscles feeling foreign, and take the elevators to the fourth floor, heading to the locker room for the surgical interns. 

You’ve barely changed into your scrubs when Jaemin appears. 

“Wow,” he says, biting into an apple. “You look terrible.” 

You glare at him. “You look worse. How long have you been here?” 

He shrugs. “I got a whole six hours of sleep in an on-call room, so I’m actually doing great. You, on the other hand, look like you spent the two days fighting guys who wear pinstripe suits and call their henchmen goons.” He eyes you for a moment. “And you lost.” 

“That’s pretty much how I feel,” you say. “Though I still think you act like the criminals in this city are cartoon villains.” 

“The aquarium was attacked by a crocodile-man last week and the guy that stopped him cosplays as a bat,” Jaemin says. “I don’t know how you take any of this seriously.” 

It helps when you have a melodramatic version of the bat guy bleeding out on your couch every other week, you think. 

“I don’t know, being afraid for my life helps,” you say. 

“Oh the crocodile guy just wanted to free his people,” Jaemin waves his hand. “He wasn’t going to hurt anyone.” 

“His name is Killer Croc.” 

“Semantics,” Jaemin says. “But seriously, you’re okay? Nothing happened?”  

You shrug. “I just haven’t gotten enough sleep, I’ll be fine. Why are you acting so weird?” 

“You haven’t heard?” Jaemin asks. “Dr. Moon and Dr. Jung were both attacked three days ago. Dr. Jung is in the ICU and Dr. Moon is still missing.” 

“What happened?” 

“Police don’t really know yet,” Jaemin says, “but it’s connected. These big guys in suits with these weird black hoods were seen around both of their places before the attacks. They found Jaehyun in his apartment, beaten pretty bad, he’s been in a coma ever since.” 

“Wow,” you say. You’ve worked with both of them quite a bit. You spent a week learning about skin grafts with Dr. Moon, a star plastic surgeon. Jaehyun gave you an extra shower curtain when you mentioned you tore yours when a cockroach crawled up your shower brain while you were in it. They’re both good, nice people, not the type to get involved in trouble—definitely not trouble like this. 

“Is Jaehyun going to be okay?” 

Jaemin purses his lips and shrugs. “Still not sure. He had some pretty serious injuries, most of which were patched up but apparently he had some bad head trauma. They called in the Lee Taemin from Central.” 

“You didn’t shit your pants meeting your hero?” 

“YN,” Jaemin says sharply, “a good friend of mine was in the hospital, and the best neurosurgeon in the country, the guy I will one day convince to be my mentor, was called in to save his life. Of course I was shitting my pants.” 

“Did you get to meet him?” 

“I thought it would be weird to introduce myself to him, but I did happen to visit Jaehyun while he stopped by, and happened to mention I wanted to pursue neuro when he asked.” 

“And?” 

“And he said it was a smart decision. Or said only the smartest thrive. He’s very confusing.” 

“So basically you’re obsessed?” 

“Yep.” 

You lean against the metal lockers, letting the cold press against the back of your neck. You think about Jaehyun, hooked up to machines with a whole team of doctors, including a star doctor, all working to keep him alive. How long will it be before that’s Jeno, except no machines, no team, just you? How long before you won’t be enough? 

.

.

Jeno has discovered all there is to know about his ceiling. There’s eleven cracks, tiny fissures in the paint that’s at least ten years old. The color is off white, not cream, though in the corner above the door, they did a touch up with a paint that has slightly more blue. He can tell what time it is from the angle of the light coming through the window. 

He’s beginning to run out of things to learn. 

He misses you, so much. He wonders what your ceiling looks like, if it’s got its own little galaxy of cracks. He misses sitting on your couch, knowing that he’d see you soon. 

 He can’t remember the last time he got out of bed, and he can’t even blame it on the gunshot wound. He's not fully recovered, but he doesn’t need to lay in bed all day. He should be up and moving, keeping himself in shape, or at least hunting down the guys who attacked him. All he managed to do was set up an alert with the license plate of the car he saw, feeding it through all the security cameras he could get access to. 

But otherwise he lays in bed and stares at the ceiling. 

Getting this dejected over a rejection makes him feel like a teenager—not that he ever went through this during his teenage years. He can put on the mask and be Red Hood, but Jeno? He doesn’t know how to be Jeno alone, he doesn’t want to learn. He had his parents when he was younger, then Bruce, and Dick, and the family that began to grow among them. Despite all he used to whine, he’s never truly been alone. 

Will he be alone now? Will Jeno even exist without the people around him to keep him going? Or will he truly become Red Hood, letting the man behind the mask cease to exist. 

He knows what Bruce would say. The mask can’t exist without the man. But Bruce is the reason he put a mask on in the first place. He can philosophize all day long, it’s his fault Jeno ever died. He doesn’t have to listen to the man’s words. 

Jeno rests his hand over the wound. He hardly feels the ridge where the stitches are. He wonders how the wound will scar. 

It doesn’t make any sense but even though his body heals unnaturally fast, the scars remain. It’s like his body remembers dying and wants to remind him—even though he came back once and he’s stronger than ever before—he’s still human. 

And there’s nothing more human than a broken heart. He should be grateful it’s only metaphorical. 

Jeno sighs. The worst part is he knows how dramatic he’s being. But it’s only been 28 hours. He can allow himself a little bit of time for the dramatics. Bruce takes like a month off when a civilian dies under his watch. 

He pulls his blanket closer, wondering if it’s too far to put on some music—something loud, maybe. 

Instead he hears a ding, a notification from his computer. He sits up a little too fast, feeling a tug on his stitches, though they don’t fall apart. 

He can’t spare too much thought to them, not when his screen lights up with feed from a security camera, zoomed in to show the license plate of a dark sedan, the numbers he remembers. It rolls past, camera shifting down the block as Jeno drops into his chair, typing rapidly until the screen zooms out. The larger screen reveals the sedan is one of many, traveling in a line together. 

He sets up the second monitor to plot their movements across the city, a bright red line tracing the few turns they take. 

The windows of each car are tinted, concealing those within. But, with his previous encounter, it’s safe to assume there’s plenty of hired muscle in the six cars. It could be anywhere between fifteen and thirty men, headed this way. 

He watches them draw closer, tapping his finger on the desk. They caught him by surprise last time. On a good day, he wouldn’t sweat odds this bad, but it’s not a good day. He can still feel his insides healing. 

It’ll be a tough fight, but he’s planned for this. He’ll rig the place, take down as many as he can and get to one of the other safe houses. 

The Jeno that lived here will disappear. And it will be for the best. 

He changes into his suit, moving as fast as he can without hurting himself. He stuffs as many weapons as he can into his pockets, his belt weighing extra heavy around his waist. 

Then he gets to work on the bomb. A smaller explosive, more of a popper than a true bomb, but enough to take out his computer and all of the evidence he’s left behind here. 

He wonders if the police will come. Will they question you? Surely someone has noticed he spends a lot of time with you. You’d never give him up, but would you defend him? Would you go on television, tell the world Red Hood is just a man? You’d look good on television. 

You wouldn’t though. You wouldn’t say a word, not to the cops, not to anyone. 

He’s really going to miss you. 

He checks the map. Still five blocks away. Except… The cameras first picked up the sedans in the upper east part of the city, by the Sprang River. They mostly traveled west from there, they’re still north of him. 

They stop at a light, just two blocks away. He watches, waiting for them to turn. 

The sedans roll straight ahead, passing the apartment. He frowns, staring at the screen but the cars keep going, one block, two, and then they pull to a stop. 

Jeno curses, grabbing the keys to his bike. It was never about him. 

.

.

The sun peeks through the windows of the hospital, the only sign time passes. The setting sun casts the parking lot in gold, making even the ugliest cars shine. You pause to peek outside, for once not in a rush. You have to scrub in with Dr. Qian in twenty minutes, but until then, you have a rare moment of freedom. 

Because you’re standing at the window, you see the exact moment the cars pull up. They form a line, like a row of beetles, stopping in front of the entrance, blocking the parked cars. As soon as they roll to a stop, the doors fly open, men streaming out all wearing black hoods. They line up in front of the car closest to the entrance, whose doors had remained closed since stopping. The driver exits first, another hooded man, though considerably smaller than the rest. He opens the door to the backseat, head bowed low. 

The man in the backseat takes his time. Pale hands peek out of the carefully fitted suit, the only open skin you can see. He steps out from the car and the line of men bend into sharp bows. He closes the door and you finally get a full look at him: from the suit to his shoes, he wears all black, but most striking is the black mask that covers his face. It melts into his suit, keeping every inch of his skin hidden save for his hands. 

He must say something, because the men straighten and vanish from your view, streaming into the hospital. 

Is it too late to alert security? There has to be twenty men, and with how Jaehyun looks, you doubt they’ll be able to hold them off. 911, then? It’ll take the cops forever to respond, and it’s too late. They’re already here. 

You could call him. He’d come. 

Despite all your instincts screaming at you to hide, you turn around. The lobby is packed with the final rush of visitors, and 9-to-5 staff getting ready to leave for the day. It’ll be safer to pack in with them than be caught on your own, and maybe you can warn security before mass panic breaks out. You rush down the hall to the large open space in the front of the hospital. 

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, but everything feels too normal. A father holds his child’s hand as they walk to the bathroom. A nurse whispers furiously into her phone. An elderly couple hold hands, clipboards to the side of them. You scan the small crowd, looking for a security guard. 

Instead you find a brute of a man, black hood tipping back as he raises a gun above his head and fires it a couple times. 

“Everybody quiet!” He growls. “On the ground!” 

You drop into a squat, hands automatically coming above your head as screams echo. Someone yanks on your coat, knocking you off balance. Your heart nearly stops but it’s just Jaemin pulling you to sit beside him with a wall at your back instead of the open hallway. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. You slide into a seated position, back against the wall. Jaemin crouches next to you, keeping one hand on the wheelchair of the patient he must have been with before all of this. You peek at him and recognize him as Yoon Jeonghan, the guy that got hit by a truck while biking. He looks like he’s trying to decide if he’s included in the “on the ground” order. 

The goons pick on a couple people, shoving them to the ground. 

“Hands above your heads!” One of them orders, pointing his gun at random. You raise your hands again, Jaemin following more reluctantly. 

Ten minutes pass as goons escort people from all over the hospital, the lobby quickly becoming packed. Half the patients are in wheelchairs, clinging to IV drips while the doctors and nurses glare at the men. Finally, it seems they have collected everybody, and a quiet tension falls over the room. 

Then the man in the black mask strolls in. 

“What’s the saying?” He asks, muffled voice carrying in the open space. “If you want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself.” He clasps his hands behind his back, strolling along, peeking at the cowering hostages. 

“He doesn’t have a pinstripe suit,” Jaemin whispers. 

“I don’t even think he’ll call the henchmen goons,” you whisper back. 

Jaemin shakes his head. He’d probably tsk if he didn’t think it would get you both killed. 

“I bet they’ll still beat us up,” you whisper. 

“If you don’t shut up, they definitely will,” Jeonghan mutters. 

Jaemin rolls his eyes and makes a face at you. You bite back a smile. You’ve tempted fate enough. 

“The name you all will know me by is Black Mask,” he announces. 

This time you can’t help the smile, turning away from Jaemin to prevent yourself from laughing out loud. Even Jeonghan mutters, “Very creative.” 

“I have a list, you see,” Black Mask continues, “people that owe me. They know what they’ve done. I promise if your name is not on that list and you don’t make a fuss, no harm will come to you. I’m a reasonable man.” 

Reasonable men don’t play dress up and shoot up hospitals, but you figure he’s due for a dramatic speech. At least he’s explaining why he’s here. 

Black Mask pauses in front of one of the nurses—Shotaro, a good nurse who you’ve worked with several times. He grabs him by the shoulder, sending him sprawling to the floor. 

“This one,” Black Mask announces, waving at his goons to pick Shotaro up. They half drag him away as Black Mask continues to make his way through the crowd. 

“This is more efficient, you know,” he says. “I’ve tried other methods, but there were some complications. So, I thought to myself, if you’re all in one place, why not just go to the source?” He points at another nurse, Sehun, but Dr. Bae steps in front of him. Black Mask pauses, tilting his head to peer at her before gesturing to the goons to drag them both away. Dr. Bae puts up a fight, trying to twist out of their grip, but one of the men tosses her over his shoulder and carries her out. Sehun follows, stumbling behind. 

Dr. Moon, Jaehyun, Shotaro, Sehun, and Dr. Bae, though it seems like she wasn’t originally a target. All good, hard workers, not the type to make mistakes, definitely not collectively. You watch as Black Mask creeps closer and closer. 

You’ve worked with all of them. Only a few months ago, a case of a man with terrible burns on his face. Your blood runs cold as Black Mask stops in front of you. You stand up, a heartbeat before he points. 

“You,” Black Mask says, venom seeping into his voice. “You owe me.” 

“I remember you,” you say, keeping your voice soft. 

“You remember what you did to me,” he says. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” you say, “and neither did anyone else in this hospital.” 

He raises a hand and smacks you, and before you can react, two of his men grab your arms, dragging you away whether your feet move or not. You try to think of something witty or smart, but all you can think is how much you don’t want to die. 

They take you to the stairs, carrying you up two flights of stairs before depositing you in an empty patient room. One of the men stays with you, guarding the door, while the other vanishes. 

You glare at the man, face stinging. Jeno would tell you not to provoke a psychopath. 

But Jeno’s not here. You shouldn’t want him to be, because even if he could be here, he would only get himself hurt, and you won’t be responsible for causing him any more pain. 

He said he loved you, even after all he’s been through. He wasn’t afraid. 

You don’t want Jeno here, not to save the day. But it’d be nice to apologize to him. And if there was only one person you could say goodbye to before you died, you’d want it to be Jeno. 

Maybe you do want Jeno to save the day. Just so you can apologize. Just so you can tell him you were wrong. Just so you can finally admit the truth. 

.

Jeno’s bike screeches to a stop a block away from the hospital. He parks it in an alley, covering it with a tarp and trusting that the locks will prevent anyone from stealing it. He hopes he’s swiped it from the impound lot enough times for the police to leave it alone too. 

He climbs to the roof of the nearest building, moving painfully slow, between the pull of the stitches and the exhaustion of healing such a large wound. But from here he can see the line of black cars in front of the hospital, the setting sun reflecting on the metal, making it difficult to see. He switches to infrared, the mask buzzing a couple times before picking up on the mass of bodies in the main lobby. Majority of the building is far too empty for a place of medicine. 

From his memory of studying the schematics on an off day, he remembers the west facing wing houses the operating rooms, which explains why the infrared picks up a couple small masses. But with the rest of the hospital empty, the four rooms on the third floor stand out. Each holds two bodies, one significantly larger than the other. 

That’s where he’ll start. 

A better fighter would get a better gauge of the situation. Maybe spend more time determining which are civilians and which are hostiles, or figure out exactly where they’re holding people. But Jeno has always worked best flying by the seat of his pants. He still doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but these must be the hostages important enough to separate from the main group. 

It would be safest if you were on the first floor, just one of many in the crowd, but the selfish part of Jeno wants you to be where he can see you. Where he can save you. 

He can’t waste any more time. He shoots the grappling gun, pulling on it to build momentum even faster and angle himself directly at the window. It shatters beneath his feet, and he tucks into a tight ball, rolling once before springing onto his feet. He ducks as the big man swings a crowbar at him, wincing at the sharp pain near his stomach. He takes a quick strike with his knife, slashing up across the stomach first, then across the throat, finally driving the knife into the man’s heart. He crumples to the ground and doesn’t move. 

Jeno pulls the blade out, wiping the blood from the knife on his pants and sheathing it. He turns around to find a figure in a white lab coat, cowering in the corner of the room, hands over their head, glass shards scattered around them. 

He crouches down in front of you, brushing the glass off your shoulder. You peek up at him, eyes softening as you recognize him even though you’ve never seen him in the mask before. There’s a small cut on your cheek. His thumb moves on its own, swiping at the blood and doing nothing but spread more on your face. 

“Are you okay?” Jeno asks. The modulator of the mask twists his voice into an unrecognizable beast. It’s perfect for protecting his identity and intimidating low lives, not so great for comforting the scared victims. Maybe he should tweak that part of the suit, make it adjustable. But you don’t flinch, standing up and shaking the rest of the glass off. 

“I’m fine,” you say. “How did you get here so fast?” 

“These are the same guys that shot me,” Jeno says. “I had a tracker out on the car, which led me here.” 

“Sionis,” you say. Jeno frowns. He knows that name. 

“Roman Sionis, that’s the guy doing all of this,” you explain. “He was a patient three months ago, really bad damage to his face. He’s targeting the team responsible for his care, doctors, nurses, everyone he blames for what happened to his face.” 

“Which includes you,” Jeno says. 

You nod, eyes tight. “Which means they weren’t after you when you got shot.” 

“Hey,” Jeno says. “I’m fine. You patched me up, and I’ve got the super healing, so if either of us was going to get shot, I’d rather it be me. It’s not your fault.” 

“I know,” you say, though you don’t sound like you believe it. “Should you really be jumping through windows, though?” 

He shrugs. “Didn’t pull the stitches. I swear.” 

You purse your lips but let it go. He wishes you would just say what you’re thinking but you look away from him, glancing at the door. 

“They took three more of us up here, and they probably know you’re here by now.” 

Jeno nods. Resolve the situation, then talk. 

“I’m going to clear out the rooms one at a time,” he says, “then work my way downstairs.” He unholsters a gun, handing it to you. You raise an eyebrow. 

“I’ve never used one of these.” You reluctantly take the gun out of his hands. 

“Point and squeeze the trigger,” he says. “It’s semi-automatic, you don’t have to do anything to reload. If they’re close enough you won’t even have to aim.” He forms your hands around the gun, teasing your fingers into the right position and turning off the safety. He lets his hands linger, waiting for your eyes to meet his, though he remembers a moment later that the mask conceals them. 

“Get the rest of the hostages and stay together,” he says. “I’ll be right back.” He forces himself to let go of your hands but doesn’t step away yet. 

He should say something else. Maybe apologize for what he said. Take it back. But he meant every word of it, even if you did too. He’s said all he can, and if that’s still not enough then at least you’re still alive. 

“Go save the day,” you finally say. “Then… I’ll see you after.” 

He nods, turning away and striding to the door, stepping over the body. “Wait for me to clear the rest of them, then get the hostages out of here.” 

He pulls the door closed behind him, trusting that you will be fine on your own. He doesn’t have time to worry, ducking to dodge the knife that flies toward him. He doesn’t let the man get a second chance, sprinting as fast as he can and burying his knife in the man’s heart. He’s turning a second later, using the man’s body as a shield against the second man in the hall, who doesn’t hesitate to fire a couple shots. Jeno throws the first man’s body on him, his knife following quickly after, burying itself in the man’s forehead. 

Like always, his pains melt away when he’s fighting. He barely feels the tug of the stitches, or the exhaustion he felt earlier. This body was made to kill, and that’s what he’ll do. 

He ducks into the room next to yours, knocking the guard to the floor and stabbing him. The hostage, a woman wearing a white lab coat, stands. 

“Wait here,” he says. “I’ll clear the rest of this hall. Don’t go outside unless you want to get shot.” 

She nods slowly. 

Jeno clears the other two rooms similarly, quick and far too easy. He hesitates at the stairwell. He should clear the rest of the civilians if he wants to resolve things quickly, but it feels wrong to leave these hostages to you—you were a hostage yourself only a few minutes ago. But it’s irrational. He knows you’re capable of protecting yourself, and smart enough not to get yourself killed. He has to trust you and do his job. You were the one that told him to save the day. 

He doesn’t bother with the stairs, jumping in the open space between the flights and using his grappling hook to control his fall. If he wasn’t hurt, he’d just drop the three stories, but it’s only a little slower this way. He retracts the hook with a button and sticks it back into his belt, pulling out his knives. 

He makes it halfway down the hall before he sees the first figure, raising his knife on instinct. He drops it a moment later, picking out the scrubs from here. The nurse sprints past him, barely glancing at him. More and more people follow, until a stream of people flood the hall. They part around him, allowing Jeno to make it to the lobby as it clears. Only a few people remain, mostly patients that struggle to move on their own and the people that stayed behind to protect them. 

Where is Sionis? Where are all of his men? Even in the flood of people, they would have stood out. Did they hear the commotion upstairs and run? One of the men fired his gun a couple times, maybe they went to investigate. 

No, they wouldn’t have let the hostages go if that were the case. He curses himself for not trusting his instincts, turning around to get back to the stairs, but the hallway is still blocked by all the people clamoring to leave. 

It takes painfully long to get to a stairwell, but he finally makes it. That’s when he hears the gunshot—different from the pops before, no this is a sound he recognizes. This is his gun. 

.

.

You wait until the hallway is quiet, peeking out the window for good measure. Nothing moves, the bodies on the floor limp. Blood pools around the three, puddles bright against the white tiles. You wait for another heart beat, holding your breath but the only movement comes from the blood, trickling down the hall. 

The door creaks open beneath your fingers. It feels like your footsteps echo as you hurry to the closest door. You make it to the first door, hand on the doorknob when you hear it—footsteps echoing from the stairwell, the opposite side of where Jeno left. They thunder up the stairs, at least ten men. 

You open the door a crack, whispering a sharp, “Stay hidden!” 

You don’t give whoever is behind the door a chance to argue, closing the door and sprinting to the stairwell as fast as you can. You hear a shout just as you cross into the stairwell, sprinting forward. You take one step toward the descending flight but see dark heads bobbing in the space between the stairs. You curse, turning and heading up. 

Shit, shit, shit. You can only go up. The men from the other end of the hall burst into the stairwell, your heart sending another shot of adrenaline through your body and pushing you to take steps three at a time. Even as you feel your body working harder than ever before, you know it won’t last. You have to find somewhere to hide. 

You burst onto the fifth floor, cringing as the door slams against the wall. No chance they missed that. 

You run as far as you dare, ducking into a storage closet and curling into a ball in the farthest corner, hiding behind a wall of bedpans. You shove a hand over your mouth, trying to cover your heaving breaths. Bile rises in your throat as the sprinting catches up to you but you swallow hard, closing your eyes and praying. 

Jeno’s gun rests in your other hand. The cold metal helps calm you down, your breathing evening out as you hear a door bang open. A moment later then there’s another bang. You hear footsteps in the hall, then another. They must be checking room by room. 

You’re about halfway down the hall, maybe five rooms in. You don’t have much time. 

You raise the gun, letting go of your mouth to hold it with both hands. Your finger drops to the trigger. Point and squeeze, Jeno said. You can do that. You aim it at the door, bracing your arm on your knees to keep them from shaking. 

You flinch at the next bang, feeling the wall shake. They’re in the room right next to you. They trash the room, sending vibrations through the floor, until it suddenly stops. 

You’ll have to move fast, you can’t give them any chance. 

Light cascades around as the door is thrown open. You squeeze the trigger, keeping the gun aimed at the large mass in front of you. There’s a loud bang and the gun slams your shoulder back but the man stumbles backward. You squeeze the trigger again and this time he goes down. 

A second man dodges the falling body, taking a step inside but you squeeze the trigger again and again and again and he falls too. 

Shit, how many shots was that? You clench your teeth but they seemed to have learned the lesson for the moment—nobody follows. 

“Alright, that’s enough fun.” You recognize Sionis’ voice from behind the mask this time. “Come out on your own or get dragged out. Your choice.” 

“I’d really rather stay here,” you say, voice shaking. You force yourself to your feet. 

“Fun way it is,” Black Mask says. This time two men push their way through, one blocking the other. You shoot and it hits the front man in the shoulder but he doesn’t go down. You squeeze the trigger again but nothing happens. 

You throw the gun at him, hoping to catch him in the head but he just knocks it away. You start pulling things from the shelves, throwing as hard as you can. It does nothing to stop them, grabbing you by the arms and heaving you off your feet. You twist and kick and try to bite but they don’t seem to notice. They hold you up in front of Black Mask in the middle of the hallway. 

“You are a feisty one,” he muses, watching you thrash. 

“Let me go,” you say. You try to growl but it comes out more like pathetic begging. 

“I’d like you to calm down a bit,” he says. 

You open your mouth to tell him to fuck off but apparently that was some sort of signal because one of the men raises a fist and brings it down hard on the top of your head. 

It sends jitters down your spine as your teeth clang together. You blink tears away, your head lolling forward a little. The floor blurs beneath you—no it’s your eyes, struggling to focus. 

“Now, on with business,” Black Mask says, clasping gloved hands together. “I—”

You nearly fall to the floor as one of the men holding you—the one you shot in the shoulder—falls to the ground. You tilt backward as the second man goes down but a tight hand around your arm yanks you backward. 

Black Mask pulls you into a patient room, the bed pushed against the wall next to the bathroom. He pulls you away from the door until your back is against the window. He keeps his hand tight around your arm, pressing something hard and cold against the side of your head. Your brain still reels from the hit but you don’t have to think hard to figure out it’s a gun. 

There are a few shouts from the hallway but it falls quiet quickly. Only one pair of boots echo in the hall, solemn footsteps that pause by the door. Then Jeno appears in the doorway. 

Blood splatters cover the shirt, concealing the bat motif. It seeps into his leather jacket, though Jeno himself seems to be unscathed. He holds a gun in one hand and his knife in the other. 

“That’s close enough,” Black Mask says when he tries to step inside. 

Jeno’s mask covers his eyes, but if it didn’t, you’re pretty sure he’d be glaring. “Let the innocent go. Settle this like an adult.” 

“Innocent?” Black Mask cackles. “Sure, I’ll let the innocent go. I already did that.” He grips your arm tighter, pressing the gun harder into the side of your head. “But this one isn’t innocent.”

He taps on the mask. “I don’t wear this for fun, I’m sure you know. But I’m not like you. I don’t hide to protect myself or my loved ones—I don’t even have loved ones, and you know why? Because this idiot and the idiots at this hospital don’t know how to do a simple facial repair!” 

“They were third degree burns, you’re lucky to have a face,” you say. 

“Shut up!” Black Mask screams, shoving you. Jeno takes a step forward but freezes when Black Mask turns back to him. 

“One more step and you’ll be cleaning some brains off your mask!” He takes a breath, lowering his voice. “I’ll be the first to tell you, that’s no easy task.” 

“Let the hostage go.” Jeno sounds cold through the modulator.  

“And you’ll let me go?” Black Mask huffs a short laugh. “I don’t think so. Your reputation precedes you.” 

“Then you know what will happen if you pull that trigger.” 

“Leave now and I’ll leave this one alive,” Black Mask says. 

“What, half mad after you spend a few hours with your tools?” Jeno says. “Your reputation precedes you, too.” 

Black Mask sighs. “Then it seems I have no choice.” The gun presses hard against your head. 

“I’ll be seeing you around,” Black Mask says. You squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for the shot but the pressure on the side of your head vanishes. 

There’s a loud bang, and for a moment you’re sure you’ve died, but then you feel a hard shove on your chest. Your legs hit the wall but it’s not enough to stop you from tumbling out the window, nothing but air beneath you. 

You barely raise your arms out before something tackles into you, an arm wrapping around your waist. You wrap your arms and legs around whatever they find, clinging like a baby monkey to Jeno’s side. 

He raises the other arm, shooting the grappling hook and pulling hard. You snap in the air, swinging up higher than you had fallen until you’ve crested the roof. 

“I got you,” Jeno says, arm wrapped so tightly around you you’re crushed against his side. 

He takes all the weight as you fall onto the roof, bracing the landing with his legs, somehow remaining upright. 

You can only cling to him, waiting for your brain to sort out what happened. You aren’t dead. Black Mask threw you out the window. Jeno caught you. You repeat the words over and over in your head until they almost make sense. 

“We’re back on solid ground,” Jeno says. 

“Mhm.” You don’t let go, keeping your arms tight around his neck. 

“You’re safe now,” he says. 

“I know.” 

He pauses. “You can let go.” 

“Not ready yet.” 

“Okay.” 

For a long moment all you can hear is the pounding of your heart. It lessens and you start to hear tires screeching on pavement down below, people shouting, sirens wailing in the distance. 

“Black Mask is getting away,” you say. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Jeno says. “I’ll get him when I get him.” His hand ghosts over your back. “All that matters is you’re okay.” 

“I’m fine,” you say. “Physically fine, at least. Just trying to sort out my head.” 

He hums, second arm wrapping around you in a true hug. You let yourself linger in the moment, breathing in the sharp scent of blood on his jacket. It smears against your scrubs as you press closer to him, turning them slimy against your skin. The jacket hides the warmth of his body, a hard layer separating you from him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

You lean back, letting go of his neck to rest your hands against the side of his mask. Whatever it’s made out of is hard, a thin metal that curves around his features yet doesn’t bend beneath your fingers. It doesn’t look anything like Jeno, the pale eyes concealing the most human part of him. He reaches up, pulling the mask off. 

Sweat makes his hair stick to his forehead, which is creased with concern. His eyes flit between yours, dark and full of everything. For too long when you first ran into him, he would look at you with cold emptiness. Though you can’t read everything behind them now, he doesn’t bury all his feelings. He lets them shine through. 

“It’s not your fault,” you begin, letting your hands fall to his shoulders. “Too much has happened, and that guy hit my head, and I thought I was going to die, so it’s hard to tell what I want to say. What I’ve been meaning to say.” You take a deep breath, looking at his forehead instead of his eyes, at the white streak of hair that clings to his forehead. “But if I don’t say it now, I think I’ll chicken out and never say it. 

“I’m kind of a coward,” you say. “I don’t want to get hurt—I mean, like, don’t let anybody anywhere near my heart to keep it safe, and it works. I’ll find an excuse, any excuse to push them away. 

“I did it to you. Yeah, I don’t want to die, and I don’t want to think about you dying because it always sends me into a spiral, but those were all excuses. It doesn’t matter that you wear that mask. That doesn’t change anything, and I won’t hide behind it anymore. 

“I love you,” you say, “so much. So much that it’s making me brave. I don't want to be a coward anymore. I want to love you. I’m sorry it took me so long, but I love you, I really, really do.” 

Jeno doesn’t say anything for a long moment, looking back and forth between your eyes. He doesn’t frown or smile, his face a mask itself. 

“Oh,” he says. 

“Apparently near death experiences lead to radical reflections and revaluations of life values.” 

And then he smiles, a real smile that curls his eyes and sends your stomach hurtling in somersaults. He presses his forehead against yours, your hands still resting on his shoulders. 

“Don’t apologize for things that aren’t your fault,” you say. You brush his cheek with your thumb. “Save your applogies for real fuck ups.” 

He snorts. “Think there’s going to be a lot of those?” 

“Somehow I think I’m going to get stood up a lot,” you say. “It’s okay, though. That’s just what happens when you date a superhero.” 

“I don’t know about that,” he says. “I’m no superhero.” 

You kiss his nose. “Whatever you want to call it. But you’re a good man, Lee Jeno, through and through.” 

Jeno brushes his lips against yours, barely a kiss. He moves hesitantly, like he’s scared you’ll crumble in his hands. 

Well, you’re not going to die, he made sure of that. You are here and alive, and so is he. You grip the neckline of his jacket, pulling him into a crushing kiss. You press your lips harder against his and his arms tighten around you, finally kissing you back. 

It’s terrifying, how much you trust him. Like jumping off a cliff and knowing he’ll catch you—which basically he just did—you have to let go of the fear. Even when his arms are wrapped around you and you can feel him with every atom, it isn’t easy—a part of you will always want to run away, protect yourself. But you’re done running. Jeno put a gun in your hand and told you to fight. You can do that for him—for yourself. 

You will hold onto him and you will love him and he will do the same for you. It’s all you can do. 

.

.

Bonus: 

Jeno doesn’t know how you slept on this armchair. The back is stiff against his back and he can’t hang his legs off the side without the arms cutting into the back of his knees. He can tuck his head against the wing but it leaves his neck at an awkward angle. 

It’s for the best, though, since he needs to stay awake anyway. He shifts the chair until it’s against the side of the bed and sets his legs back on the edge of the bed, crossing one over the other and resting his elbows on the armrest. You raise your eyebrows at his feet but don’t tell him to move. He’ll give it a good twenty minutes before he tries to sit on the bed. He wonders if you’ll kick him out if he just asks outright if he can curl up next to you. Better to ease into it. 

You look radiant, wearing a big t-shirt curled under the blankets. Your lips curl into a little smile every time you catch him looking at you (which is pretty much always). 

“I’m going to invest in a big ass taser,” you say, still listing out your plan to keep yourself safe. “And some heavy duty pepper spray.” 

“I can teach you how to shoot a gun,” Jeno offers. 

You make a face, nose scrunching. 

“No?” 

You shake your head slowly. “No thank you. My arms hurt.”  

“How about some hand-to-hand?” He asks. 

“Are you going to be able to keep your hands to yourself?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

You look pointedly at his hand, which has found yours, fingers tapping on your knuckles. Huh, he didn’t realize he was doing that. He raises both hands, holding them up like a criminal waiting to be arrested. 

“My bad,” he says, setting them in his lap. Your bottom lip juts out for a second but you’re too proud to ask him to hold it again. He bites back a smile at the little war behind your eyes. 

“How’s your head?” He asks. 

“Concussed,” you say flatly. 

“You want to sleep?” He asks. 

“Not yet,” you say. You finally concede, reaching out a hand for him. He puts his feet down, slipping out of the chair to sit on the edge of the bed, clasping his hand over yours. Your shoulder rests against his hip. You blink up at him. 

“What?” He asks. “Is this okay?” 

You nod slowly, studying him with piercing eyes. He gets the feeling you see right through him, so he turns his gaze to your intertwined fingers. 

“What did you think of me when you first saw me? When you moved here, I mean,” he asks. 

You pause for a long moment. “Honestly?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I thought you were unemployed for at least two months.” 

Jeno snorts. 

“I mean pretty much every time I knocked you were wearing sweats and half the time you looked like you had just woken up!” 

Jeno scratches the back of his head with his free hand. “I don’t wear sweats that often.” 

You pause for a moment and he doesn’t dare peek at your face. “When you asked me to sew up your scalp, I figured it was either vigilante or something worse, and then I saw Red Hood on the news and I just knew.” 

He looks at you, head tilted down to see the top of your head. “Really?” 

“It looks like you,” you say. You pause before adding, “Plus you’ve got that leather jacket hanging in your entryway. What’s up with that, by the way?” 

“What?” 

“Your ‘suit.’ A leather jacket and cargo pants?” 

“They’re functional,” he says. 

“Your name is Red Hood and you don’t even have a hood. It’s a mask.” 

“Well a hood doesn’t exactly protect you,” he says, “and it strikes fear into my enemies.” 

You snort. “Does the black t-shirt help with that?” 

“Yeah, I can’t defend that one,” he says. “It’s cheap and easy.” 

“No wonder you died,” you say. 

“I take personal offense at that,” Jeno says. 

You yawn. “Okay buddy.” You scoot over a little. “Just lay down already.” 

Jeno grins, shifting to pull the covers up and slide his legs down them. He stretches out, rolling as close as he dares to you. His arm hovers over you until you shake your head and pull it over your waist, shifting until he all but lays on top of you. Your shoulder presses against his chest, his head resting on the same pillow only a breath away from you. 

“If you wanted to cuddle you could have just asked,” you say. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

You turn your head to meet his eyes, nose brushing against his. He could melt into your eyes, so warm and full of a happiness he hardly recognizes. He hopes he looks a fraction as happy as you do—and he hopes you know it’s only a fraction of how he feels. 

He didn’t think he’d ever feel happy again. Even if he finally got his revenge on Joker and Batman, it would be bittersweet at best, the end goal of a bitter fight that started when he dragged himself out of that grave. 

But he is happy. It’s the warmth that courses through every fiber of his body, the way his heart pounds every time he looks at you, the hope he feels when he thinks of the “after.” 

“You know it’s been years since the last time I smiled?” He says. 

“Yeah, I could tell.” Your eyes soften impossibly more. You rest your hand against his cheek again, fingers soft and careful as they trace the lines of his smile. They work their way to his lips, ghosting over the soft skin. 

“I think that part is over,” Jeno says. “Hating the world.” He presses a kiss on your thumb. “I’d like to be happier now. 

“Red Hood is a part of who I am, and it always will be. But Jeno is too, and I won’t let go of that.” He tightens his arm. “I’d like to hold onto you, too, though.” 

You grin. “I’d like that too.” You press a short kiss to his lips. “But my head hurts and right now I’d really just like to go to bed.” 

Jeno nods, shifting away only to turn off the lamp on your bedside table. He curls back around you, tucking his head against your neck and pulling you as close to him as he can. He is Jeno, he is Red Hood, and he isn’t alone anymore. 

thank you for reading!! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated

[kokoa-la]

Prompt from @help-i-need-a-cool-username

Danny was tired of his neighbor’s bullshit. Above his head rested the well known crime lord of crime alley, Red Hood. Now, Danny used to be a vigilante, he gets it, truly, but that did not mean he forgave the other for the sheer amount of wake up calls he’s gotten. He knew he was a light sleeper, has been ever since the portal opened and since the portal was shut down by yours truly, but the amount of noise was still unacceptable. Did the guy not know he lived right below him? He knew that the building was in a rough patch, but it wasn’t deserted. He wasn’t the only one here ya’ know. By now the halfa had had enough. He had a class at 9 am tomorrow in literal physics. He needed sleep if he didn’t want to pass out in the lecture that he 100% needed for the midterms in 2 weeks. He would have gone up and complained in person if he wasn’t, you know, on the run. So he sat in his bed, grabbed earbuds, played one of his sad playlists and tried his best to sleep. 

.

.

.

That was it, Danny was going to actually kill the Red Hood. Here Danny is, minding his own business, writing a paper for the English class he had to take for extra credits, and in storms 5 men kicking down his door with all sorts of weapons. They were in all black with hoods and bandanas covering the bottom half of their faces.

“Where’s Red Hood? We know he lives here!” 

The half had had enough. Here he was, on page 2 of a 5 page paper, while on 9 shots of espresso and 3 energy drinks to make up for the lack of sleep he got last night because of the same very guy this gang is looking for. He was going to strangle this man, hands down, screw the GIW. 

“I’m literally a college student trying to live off of a minimum wage salary, if all of us could be crime lords and afford an apartment without a day job, we’d all do it.”

“Where is the Red Hood?!”

The guy in the middle had yelled before pointing a gun right at Danny’s head. He sighed before standing and putting his hands above his head. 

“I don’t know. He’s not here, and I don’t even think he lives in the building.”

He didn’t know why he was covering for his neighbor's ass, but he already had one foot in, so why not the rest of him?

“Don’t bullshit me! We know he lives here!”

“Are you sure it was this building, and not the one across the alley?”

Dany inched closer as the main guy looked over at the goon next to him and started arguing. By the time they looked up, Danny was right in front of the gun, merely inches away from the barrel now pointed at his chest. 

“Boo.”

His eyes glowed a vibrant neon green before the lights turned off leaving the apartment in pitch black. 

.

.

.

Red Hood cursed as he realized how careless he’d been. One of his men had informed him that they received a warning from one of their informants. Apparently, there was a new gang on the rise with the sole purpose of taking him down. Somehow they’d followed him to his apartment one night and were staging an attack right now. Luckily, it didn’t seem like they knew his civilian identity, but he didn’t know that for sure. Plus, if they broke in and he wasn’t there, he didn’t want to know what they’d do to the others inhabiting the complex. 

It took him about two minutes to get there using his bike. He scaled the side of the building and got in through his window only to find his apartment exactly as he left it. Had his men lied to him? Or had the gang just not arrived yet? 

Well, that’s what he thought before he heard gunshots below his feet. He scrambled down the stairs and ran to the apartment below him, taking out his gun and slowly walking towards the door. It was dead silent. It seemed that the last noise to leave the place was that one stray bullet, since then not a sound. 

Hood cursed under his breath before turning the corner and moving the broken door out the way. Inside was a pile of 5 men in all black knocked unconscious with a man sitting on top of them criss crossed holding a bat with a green sticker on it in one hand while the other typed on the open laptop sitting in his lap. The vigilante didn’t even move. He lowered his gun to the floor and just stared at the scene at hand. Eventually the man looked up at him with ashy blue eyes and a tired look about them. He sighed before closing the laptop and resting his chin on the small end of the bat. 

“Dude, it’s 3 am. Can you please tell your enemies to stick to acceptable invasion hours?” 

Hood didn’t even know what to say. He just stood there at the door, even clocked his head sideways in confusion. The other sighed.

“I have a class at 7 am tomorrow and this paper is due like yesterday, so can you just, I don’t know? Schedule this shit? Or at least make sure they have the right apartment. I didn’t complain about the noise before, but this is ridiculous.” 

Yeah, Jason couldn’t believe his eyes or ears right now. Was this man serious? He cleared his throat before finally speaking.

“Right… sorry about that? I guess? I’ll take them off your hands. No promises about the schedule though. I can’t exactly control when people try to kill me.”

He stepped forward only for the other to raise the bat at him threateningly. He still sat on the 5 men, and still was pretty far away from Hood, so why he raised the bat he didn’t know. 

“Do you want them in your house or not?”

“I want you to stay right there and pay for the bullet holes in my walls.”

“You just said-”

“Oh, I know, but you agreed so readily I’m testing the waters.”

What the fuck was up with this guy, seriously. 

“You know I have a gun right? I could shoot you”

“Well so did they, and look where that ended them. Gunless and knocked out.”

Touche, Jason wanted to say, but didn’t. One of the men on the ground started to move and groan, his neighbor, without breaking eye contact with him, spun the bat in his hand and hit the man dead center on the head, knocking him out once more. 

Was Jason attracted to this? Maybe.

[brianwashere]

How do you feel about a bat family x male reader in which the reader (adopted or biologically Bruce’s, up to you) figures out for himself that he is trans and struggles with telling the family

*laughs maniacally* how do I feel? How do I FEEL???

I was very excited omg :333

I wrote this at 1:00 am so I’m so sorry if it’s not as good as my usual stuff

**I do not own any characters or part of the franchise from DC Comics**

Pairing: batfam x trans!brother!reader

Genre: slight hurt/comfort? There’s a happy ending

Summary: look at req

Tw: unintentional use of deadname, slight mention of skin picking

The Hardest Answer

You’d figured out you were trans a few months ago.

You didn’t wanna believe it at first. You didn’t wanna think about what being trans meant for you. For your family.

Eventually though, it became too much to bear. Weighing down on your chest and slowly suffocating you. You soon came to the horrifying realization you’d need to tell your family.

You knew at least three of your brothers wouldn’t have a problem with it. Hell, Tim had a boyfriend. But what about Damian and your dad?

Damian was obsessed with living up to the Wayne name, no matter how much he pretended he didn’t, and your father, he was always in the spotlight. Always pressured to be perfect, and by extension you were too.

The media was feral when they found out there was another biological child of The Prince of Gotham.

It was the Wayne’s monthly family dinner. It was awful, everyone kept calling you by that awful name. That name that just wasn’t you. It filled your ears and you had no choice but to respond to it.

“Hey ________ can you pass the salt?”

Or

“________ what do you think about doing our hair together tonight?”

You couldn’t handle it. So many people and none of them knew who you really were. You kept your eyes low and messed around with the various foods on your plate.

Tim was sitting next to you and seemed to catch onto you just picking at the food on your plate and not interacting with the people at the table.

“You good, _____?” He whispered to you.

You clenched your jaw and shrugged, forcing yourself not to scream about how you weren’t whoever the hell he thought he was talking to. How you weren’t a girl.

By now Damian’s attention has been caught and he was eyeing you up and down as well.

“_______, seriously if there’s anything you need to talk about I’m—“ Tim started.

“It’s nothing.” You deadpanned harshly.

Dick nudged Jason and they also looked at you with concern.

“If there’s something you’re not telling us, ______ you should really—“

Something in you snapped. You couldn’t handle it anymore.

“Oh my god! I’m not fucking _______! That’s not my name that’s not who I am!” You screamed.

You abruptly stood up and stomped off to your room. Leaving your family, their minds reeling and processing what you had said.

You slammed the door and locked it. You fell against the door and slid down burying your head in your knees. Tears welled in your eyes and you let out a gross sob.

You heard conversation downstairs but didn’t bother to listen. This was it. They were gunna kick you out or send you to conversion camp, or completely ignore it and act like everything was fine.

You heard steady unhurried footsteps echoing off the walls and approaching your room. You kept yourself quiet when they stopped in front of your door.

Two gentle knocks. Alfred. You stayed silent, picking at the carpet

“If there is something bothering you this badly I strongly suggest you talk about it.” He stated.

You noticed how he didn’t address you directly. You were grateful for such a small consideration.

“Did Master Tim say something to offend you?” He asked politely.

You sniffled, wiping your tear-stained cheeks and snotty nose. You slowly picked yourself up from the floor and unlocked the door, cracking it only enough to see Alfred.

“It wasn’t Tim.” You mumbled, looking at Alfred’s shoes.

“Mmm. I see. Something else then? Something deeper, maybe?” Alfred tried.

He caught on. He knew. You knew he knew. He’s observant like that. You pursed your lips, you felt tears full your eyes again but forced them down. You nodded.

“Well Young Master Wayne, how would you like to be referred to?”

You smiled and told him.

“An excellent name.” He complimented, a twinkle in his eye.

“Are…are you gunna tell the others?” You nervously asked.

“It is not my place. But if I were to give you advice, I would suggest you do tell them. They’re all quite worried, you know.” He rested a hand on your shoulder.

“They’ll accept you.” He reassured.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

You walked downstairs and pushed the large doors to the living room open; Alfred had gathered them all there.

Damian was on the floor, petting Titus. Tim was sitting in a small armchair, legs dangling off of one of the arms. Jason was lounging on the couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table. And Dick was sitting crisscrossed on the other couch. Bruce was in a large armchair watching you with knit eyebrows.

You gulped and stepped to where all of the could see you.

Picking your cuticles and watching the floor, you cleared your throat.

“I’m—“ your voice cracked. “I’m sorry for lashing out at dinner but there’s something that’s been bothering me for a while now.”

Everyone watched with anticipation. You took a deep breath.

“I’m trans. I use he/him pronouns. I am not a girl.” You say strongly.

There’s no response. You get nervous, your eyes start to water.

This was all a big mistake you should have never—

Arms were around you. You looked up to see your Jason hugging you. You sobbed into his chest.

“Hey hey, you don’t need to cry. I’m so fucking proud of you.” He assured and pat your back.

“What’s your name, kid?” He asked.

You told him and he smiled.

“That’s a damn good name.” He responded.

The rest of your family caught up quickly. Tim and Dick hugging you and apologizing profusely as well.

Damian walked up to you. You looked down on him. He had his arms crossed.

“I guess one more brother couldn’t do any harm.” He said passively.

You pulled him into a hug as well; he was confused at first but then hugged you back.

Then your father approached you. You held your breath. He embraced you then pulled back to smile at you.

“You make me so proud, son.” He remarked.

You grinned and hugged him again.

Yeah, you were gunna be just fine.

[mrmaybank]

FEM ALLEGED DNI

Fandom: DC

Titles: Just Come Home

Series: Wheres My Love? (1/??)

Character(s): Jason Todd, Wally West, Dick Grayson, Clark Kent, Wally West, Connor kent, Stephanie Brown, Bruce Wayne, The Joker

Request: No

Genre: Angst,

TW: death, Joker(he’s seriously his own tw),

A/N: Reader is superman’s sidekick, Connor is superboy, (Y/S/N) stands for your superhero name, and it’s also a little rushed at the end

Masterlist

April 27th, 2016

You stood anxiously in the batcave, it should have been a quick and easy mission. Get in, stop the joker, get Jason, and get out. What was taking so long? You were good at masking your distress it was something you learned, when you first became Superman’s side kick. But there was one person who could always see through the wall you built.

That person being Connor, even though you weren’t blood related. If him being a clone and you being human, you two were brothers. The closest thing two of you had to family. He placed a hand on your shoulder, “He’ll be okay,” he assured you.

You hoped he was right, you went back to looking at the door to the batcave willing it to open. For Bruce and Jason to come in, then was Dick ran into the cave with Wally following not far behind. “He’s here!” Dick exclaimed. No one need to say anything else all four of you rushed to the door, the seconds feeling like hours as the door finally opened.

The four of you quickly moved out of the way letting Bruce drive the batcar in. You expected him to jump out of the car with Jason’s in his arms rushing him to the med unit but he didn’t. He stayed in the car, no one moved until he finally did. His helmet was gone, revealing the pained expression on his face. His baby blue eyes filled with tears.

No one moved. No one said a thing. For a good couple of minutes before Dick spoke up, “Wheres Jason?” He asked. Everyone knew, deep down they knew. They knew the second Bruce stepped out of that car, where Jason was. But nobody wanted to believe it not even Bruce himself who had just seen it happen.

Bruce for the fear of admitting he just lost his youngest son, Dick for his younger brother, Wally for the little brother he never had, you for your boyfriend and partner in crime, and Connor for the person who made his brother the happiest person ever.

Bruce stared at the four of you before clearing his throat, “I got there,” Bruce took a deep breathe, “I didn’t have much time to get to him before the bomb went off. I fought my hardest to get into the building but there were too many of them. And by the time I was about to open the door It was too late, the bomb blew and he was gone,” the tears began falling down his face, “i waited till the smoke cleared to look for him.

And once i did that’s when I saw him, the joker. He stood there in the middle of the wreckage, a crowbar in his hands and he was laughing so hard. Jason laid at his feet, I rushed over there. I tried everything but he gone,” Bruce told them.

Tears filled your eyes, you placed a hand over your mouth. “No,” you mumbled, you shook your head, “No,” you sobbed.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce told you, “I should been quicker.”

June 21, 2017

You read the headstone to yourself over and over again. Repeating in your head mantra like somehow, someway he would came back.

Jason Peter Todd

“A true hero,”

August 16th, 2001 - April 27th, 2016

It had been a year and you still weren’t over it. You still couldn’t believe he was gone, you sat down in front of the grave placing the flowers, you had brought with you, down at the bottom of the grave. “Hey, babe,” you smiled, “I miss you, everyone does,” Your smile only widened, “Bruce found a new Robin, he’s really sweet and funny. You would have liked him, his is Tim.”

Your eyes quickly lit up as you remembered something, “Oh! I almost forgot, I’m becoming independent, I’m no longer superkid. Connor is now the the only sidekick of Superman. I am now (Y/S/N), it’s cool I know,”

Tears filled your (E/C) eyes, “I really wish you were, it’s not the same without you.” You stared at the grave once again reading it like mantra, you were pulled from your trance like state by your phone going off.

You pulled it from your pocket, it was message from Dick. He needed you at the batcave, you responded with ‘be there in a sec’ then shut off your phone placing it back in your pocket. “I have to go, Dick needs me. I love you,” and with that you were off.

May 31st, 2018

You stared at the green haired man in front of you, anger filled your eyes. He just smiled at you, then extended his arms outward. “Do you know where we are, (Y/S/N)?” He asked.

You looked around quickly, never really taking your eyes off of the man before looking back at him. “No, please enlighten me. Where are we?” You asked.

The clown’s smile only grew, “Warehouse eight,” he whispered to you. The name sent a shiver down your spine, he must have seen your reaction because he began laughing manically. You looked around once more then confirmed what he said, you were at remains of warehouse eight. How couldn’t you have know? You asked yourself. “This is where your pathetic little bird boy died.”

“Don’t call him, he wasn’t pathetic,” you spat. The joker began laughing harder at your comment, staring at you as if you were the insane one.

“Oh but he was, you know. As I beat him with that crowbar, he begged for you,” he began to mimic Jason’s voice, “Superkid, save me.”

Rage built up in your system, you always knew the joker was crazy but you never he would slump this low. Killing a innocent kid, then mimicking his finally moments like it was some joke. The clown began talking again pulling you from your thoughts, “You know, he called for everyone, Batman, Nightwing, Arsenal, Kidflash, Superboy. But he called for you the most,” he shook his head as he took a step towards you, “but you didn’t come.”

That’s it, you thought as you lunged towards him. He must have seen this coming because he quickly moved out of the way. You pulled two Kunais out of the secret pocket on your boots. You through them at him, one grazed his left arm and the other one hit forearm making him stager back.

He stared at you in shock, “You bitch,” he mumbled. That was when the real fight began, you had the advantage with the state his arm was in. So within seconds you got him on the floor, you began delivering punch after punch to his face.

You too lost in your murderous rage to realize two other vigilantes, as shown up. They called your name but you didn’t hear them, all you could hear was the thumping in your ears. You felt yourself being pulled off of the Joker but you fought against whoever grip it was.

(Y/S/N),” they said, you knew that voice. Dick, you thought yourself. Rage slowly drained from your body as you calmed down. You realized Dick wasn’t the only vigilante here, Stephanie was too. She looked at you with genuine fear in her eyes, “What the hell was that?” Dick asked.

“I…I don’t know,” you told him. You looked at the joker and grimaced at his appearance, then it dawned upon you almost killed him. You wanted to kill him.

June 3rd, 2018

You felt Connor and Clark’s eyes on you as placed your clothes into the suitcase, “How long will you be gone?” Connor asked.

You didn’t look at Connor just keep your eyes on what you were doing, “if I have it my way, I won’t be coming back,” You told him.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and you didn’t need to look to know it was Clark’s, “You can’t do this,” he told you.

You shook your head and closed your suitcase before turning to your mentor, “Do what you?” You asked.

“Run from your problems,” He replied.

You pinched the bridge of nose and sighed, “Listen Clark, I’m not running from my problems because I don’t have any problems,” that was the lie and everyone in that room knew it. You had problems before Clark and Louis took you in and you problems after too.

“I know about what happened with the Joker,” you froze. How did he know? “Dick told me,” Clark said as if reading your mind.

You huffed, “oh fuck him,” you exclaimed, “look i’ll be honest with you, that shouldn’t have happened but it did. And me leaving doesn’t have anything to do with it, I’ve been thinking about leaving for a while now,” You explained.

“So that was, the thing that sent you over the edge?” The black haired man asked. You sighed as realized he wasn’t gonna let this go, you sat on your now sheet less bed. Clark and Connor both joining you, your on your left and your mentor on your right.

“Look, I didn’t know what I was doing. I was fine, when the fight first started as I chased him away from town. Then I just, I just got so anger and then the next thing I know in remains of warehouse eight. And he starts talking about how pathetic Jason was and then he was telling me how Jason scream my name.

And something inside of me just broke. I was blinded by rage, there was something telling me kill him and I would have if Dick and Steph never showed up. The joker would be dead and it would be all my fault, and as Dick was screaming at me asking what the hell was wrong with me I realized that.

I realized that I was gonna kill a man. He was gonna die, and then I,” You looked at Clark, “thought and Louis,” then you turned your brother, “and you and I thought about how disappointed you would be. And I wondered would you even look at me the same? What would have happened if Dick and Steph never showed up? I kept asking myself these questions. And it became clear, I need to leave because as long as I am here. Everything is gonna bring me back to that night,” You told them.

“But you didn’t kill him,” Connor replied.

“But I could have, and I can’t leave like that knowing every time I fight the joker and even see or get close to him. I might kill him. I can’t do that,” You explained.

Clark sighed and the both of you turned to him, “You know, (M/N). I always thought I did wrong with you, that I could have raised you better but now looking at you now. I know that me and Louis did well with raising you. You turned into a wonderful person and now I need to know. Is this really what you want?” He asked.

“It is,” You replied.

“Then i’ll be here to support you in anyway I can,” Your mentor replied, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Thank you.” Connor and Clark helped you pack and soon you were on a train out of gotham. You had decided to head to New York, where you would stay with a friend. You made a promise to Clark, Connor, and Louis call them once you got to new york.

Prev/𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭

[themaribatpit]

The Lost Wayne: Chapter 4

Synopsis: On the night of her parents’ anniversary, Marinette was shocked to learn that all this time, she had been the long forgotten daughter of an American businessman named Bruce.  When she is given the chance to visit him that summer, she learns that she’ll also be spending the summer with his many other children.

Rated T: Language

Ships: Gen

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! It has been a while, and not helped by the fact that I’ve been busy with life stuff. DC Boy and I take time to brainstorm, edit, proofread, and we do it together. We’ve got continuations of ongoing stories coming, plus some other ideas that have been sitting in notes apps and Google Docs for a while now. This community of people who enjoy this crossover have been nothing but kind and supportive, and we appreciate your patience as we return to trying to post fanfic chapters more regularly. - Maribat Girl

Taglist: @laurcad123, @k8s-things, @miyatalksshit, @raeuberprinzessin, @jeminiikrystal, @jjmjjktth, @tinybrie, @angelwreckedd, @talia-scar123, @maybeanalien0-0, @depressed-bitchy-demon, @timetravelassasin, @its-maemain,  @lex-am, @iloontjeboontje, 

Chapter 3 - Chapter 5

Chapter 4

Next morning, Marinette walked down to an empty dining room. She awkwardly took a random seat and sat quietly for a few moments; she hoped that the family would join her for breakfast. After about 10 minutes she gave up waiting for them, “Um, Alfred?” she asked in what she assumed to be an empty room. Alfred, almost by magic, appeared before her with breakfast. 

“Good morning, Miss Marinette,” he greeted, “Today’s breakfast is an assortment of pastries and a cup of chocolat chaud.” 

“Thank you, Alfred, where is everyone?” Marinette asked as she gestured to the empty table.

“Ahem, Master Bruce is a late riser as he is usually up late. Master Dick returned late last night, so he won’t be up until later. Master Jason stayed up into the night reading, so he won’t be down for breakfast either. Master Tim has been awake for over 48 hours and I've made him rest. Miss Cassandra has left early for ballet practice, and Master Damian has fencing practice and would rather not be disturbed,” Alfred recited, his explanations prepared long beforehand. 

“Oh,” Marinette muttered, “All right then.”

“You know, every month, we all gather and chip in to help the people of Gotham. Master Dick will be going to local orphanages tomorrow. Why, Master Damian goes to the animal shelters every week. Would you like to follow me to help give food to the homeless?” Alfred offered.  Marinette blinked for a moment as she tried to picture Damian, with his usual sour scowl, being surrounded by cute animals.

“That sounds great Alfred, would…would anyone mind?” Marinette asked.

“Not at all,” Alfred said before leaving. 

Later, Marinette sat in the back of the limousine with a few baskets beside her, all filled to the brim with sandwiches made by Alfred. Her heart sank the deeper she went into Gotham City. She could never truly get used to the state of the city. “Where are we?” Marinette asked.

“Gotham City’s East End,” Alfred answered, “where most of the unfortunate souls reside.”

The car slowly came to a stop in front of a small alleyway. The entire street grew silent as everyone focused on the car. It wasn’t everyday a luxury car came to this part of Gotham, it attracted all sorts of attention. Alfred got out first and locked the car, and as he walked towards the side to open the door for Marinette, he was accosted by a man.

“Nice ride old man, wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to it.” The man spoke with a malicious glint in his eye. 

“Let’s keep this amicable, Gentlemen. Please go away.” Alfred answered monotonously.

One man drew his arm back for a punch, only for Alfred to deliver a swift kick to the groin. The man instantly collapsed and writhed on the floor. Alfred opened the door and Marinette nervously stepped out and watched the man on the floor in worry and pity. She whispered a quick apology to the man. People on the street began to gossip, was this girl the heiress to a crime family? Gossip began to die down as Alfred gave them a stern glare, and people began going about their business.

Alfred quickly collected the baskets, “Miss Marinette, please stay close.” Marinette followed Alfred through the streets until they reached a shanty town filled with children. 

Marinette gasped at the ragged children living on the streets and took an unconscious step back. Tears pricked her eyes for a moment as she saw the conditions they lived in, but this was replaced with a determination as she walked up to them and offered a sandwich. The children eyed her suspiciously, the closest one slapped her hand aside. “How stupid do you think we are?!”

Marinette froze at the hostility coming from the children, “But…I…” she stammered.

Another child shouted, “That's how they kidnapped Bob and Bill last week, two people came in dressed as the Mayor's Homeless Outreach Project. They threw Mackey through a window and even killed old man Steve.” 

Marinette began to panic as the children of Alleytown began to yell at her. "All right, that's enough," a voice behind her boomed and all the children were silent. Marinette looked back to see Jason standing behind her.

“Jason?” Marinette said in shock, “What are you doing here?”

“I just happen to be around," he said unconvincingly. He turned to the children, “She’s with me,"

“Well well, if it isn’t Jason Todd, what brings you and your friend to Alleytown?” a voice came from nearby. Marinette turned around to see a blonde woman perched on the sill of an open window with one leg crossed over the other. 

"Holly," Jason greeted plainly, "Marinette's a friend visiting from Paris. She just wants help out while she's in town." Marinette felt a twinge of shame, did Jason not refer to her as family out of contempt? She looked down at the floor, unable to meet Jason's eyes. "She's one of the good few, trust me."

Marinette looked up tentatively at Jason. She wasn't sure how to react, but here he was vouching for her to strangers. "I brought some food…" she said as she held out a sandwich.

Holly leaped off the window sill and landed in a roll, she strolled towards Marinette and picked up the sandwich offered to her. Marinette seemed a little startled by the ease with which Holly managed to do that. "Well, don't mind if I do," she said as she took a bite. Marinette nervously looked at Holly chewing, all the Alleytown kids stared too, suspicion still in their glares. "Hey, this is good. Come on and have some," she told the kids. In a split second their suspicious glares disappeared and the kids crowded around Marinette for free food. 

The children swarmed and overwhelmed Marinette, she frantically gave everyone sandwiches.

They then quickly dispersed back into hiding after taking their portion, Marinette, Jason and Alfred were then left alone. Marinette breathed a sigh of relief and wiped the sweat from her brow.

“Would you like a lift home, Master Jason?” Alfred asked as he gestured to the limousine.

“Sure, why not?” Jason shrugged. Alfred got into the driver’s seat and Jason joined Marinette in the back. Marinette sat quietly beside Jason, refusing to make eye contact with him. Instead she preferred to stare at her feet the entire ride home.  As the car made its way back to Wayne Manor, there was a deafening silence in the back seat.  Marinette felt like her siblings simultaneously wanted nothing to do with her, and yet one of them was nice enough to vouch for her back there.

"What's wrong?" Jason asked bluntly. 

“Nothing, I’m fine,” Marinette snapped back.

Jason sighed and crossed his arms, “For the last two days, you looked as if someone kicked your puppy. Didn't think Gotham would make you miserable that quickly.”

“What's it to you?” Marinette asked, almost grumpily. 

“Because there's only room in that manor for one miserable person and that's usually Bruce. And it seems like you inherited Bruce’s ability to brood for days too. Now are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

"Did I do something wrong?" Marinette whispered, her voice slightly cracked.

Jason looked at her in confusion. "Do you even think of me as family at all?"

"Is it because I called you a friend back in Alleytown?" Jason asked, Marinette nodded.

"It's something the public isn't ready for yet, it's to protect you. The moment someone finds out, you can kiss goodbye any privacy you have." Marinette nodded slowly as she processed Jason's words. "If it makes you feel any better, you're probably the only normal kid Bruce has," Jason said offhandedly, only to suddenly grimace. He swore internally at the careless remark. Marinette perked up at Jason's comment and looked towards him curiously. "Dick, Tim and I are all orphans. Unlike those two, I grew up on the streets similar to the kids you helped back there. Eventually we were all adopted by Bruce, one way or another. Cass ran away from an abusive home, and Damian’s mom travels around a lot.” he recounted, carefully wording it with half-truths. “And even though Steph has her mom and isn’t adopted, her dad was always in and out of jail."

Tears began to form around Marinette's eyes as she listened closely to her siblings' life stories. By comparison, her mother and father cared for her all her life, she couldn't even begin to comprehend what they have all been through. 

Jason sighed and pondered what he could do to calm Marinette down. After a few moments of tolerating Marinette’s crying, he tentatively placed a hand on her head. “Still, you did good. Not many people would reach out to help the children of Alleytown. I’m sure it meant a lot to them.” 

“Thanks…”Marinette sniffed. “I just did what I felt was right.”

Jason’s face changed to one of annoyance, though he turned to look outside the window. He groaned internally, at the very least Marinette wasn’t a Robin or a superhero of any kind. He was sure the very first thing she would do would be to jump in front of a bullet out of pure selflessness. 

Early the next morning, not long before sunrise, the family sat around Batman. "I have bad news…"

"Well, that's ominous," Nightwing quipped.

"Just get on with it," said Red Robin.

"Marinette has caught the attention of Vicki Vale," Batman admitted, the entire room erupted in groans. "Quiet." Batman ordered. "Alfred and I have discussed it and we decided we should take the initiative. We have agreed to reveal Marinette but on our own terms."

Alfred spoke up, "We hope to cultivate a positive reputation for Miss Marinette and her family in Paris. Who knows what nonsense these tabloids can spew."

"So that's why you suggested to her to give food out yesterday," Red Hood summarised.

Alfred nodded, "Yes, I took photos too.”

“Any suggestions?” Batman asked.

Spoiler rubbed her chin for a few moments, being the only person in the group who actually reads tabloids of her own free will. “Why not a photo shoot? Have her look her best.” 

Alfred took out his notebook and began writing. “Not a bad idea. I was considering a debutante ball or a formal introduction at the next gala. Though, she will require etiquette lessons.”

Red Robin raised his hand stiffly, “Will there be an interview?” he asked.

Batman nodded in response, “Yes, Ms. Vale is asking for one.” 

“Then I suggest it be pre-recorded then broadcasted, or at the very least a strict script for both Marinette and Vicki to follow,” Alfred suggested.

Nightwing sighed and facepalmed, “I hate the paparazzi,” he groaned. “This is our fault for not being careful. We need to make sure her and her family’s reputation stays intact.” 

Red Hood laughed, he grabbed Nightwing by the shoulder and with his free arm waved across the space in front of them “I can see the headlines ‘Gotham's Homewrecker!’” Nightwing elbowed Red Hood in the ribs. “Come on, this is exactly the kind of shit to expect.” 

“He’s got a point,” Oracle chimed from the screen, “The Gotham Gazette can be ruthless.” 

"Then it's settled, I'll break the news to her later," said Batman.

After another quiet breakfast alone, Marinette quickly went back to her room. She curled up and sat on her bed, her knees against her chest.

"Are you okay?" Tikki asked.

"I want to trust my family, to trust my father and siblings. I want to believe in Dick, Steph and the others. It's just…been hard, especially with what we saw out there."

"Hmm, I understand how you feel. Maybe it is just your father, after all, he did mention most of the others were adopted,” Tikki remarked, “Besides, Dick, Cass and Steph seem nice."

"You might be right Tikki. Who knows, maybe the adoptions were publicity stunts,"  Marinette said.

There was a knock on her door, Tikki quickly flew into Marinette's sleeve. "May I come in?" asked Bruce from outside. Marinette slapped her hand over her mouth, worried that he heard what she just said. She shakily opened the door slightly to peer out.

Bruce gave her a polite smile, "Good morning, how are you?" 

"I'm g-good" she stammered as she opened her door to let him in. Bruce stood inside for a few quiet moments, he ran his hand through his hair nervously. This in turn made Marinette more nervous. 

Bruce broke the uncomfortable silence, "It seems, the paparazzi found out about you," Marinette's eyes widened and was about to speak before Bruce interrupted her. 

"I've decided that, if we don't have a choice, we need to make sure your introduction is flawless."  Marinette quietly nodded as she listened to her father. "Alfred will provide you the details, and he will give you lessons on etiquette. We have a photo shoot planned and you'll be formally introduced during the next gala." 

Marinette continued to nod, an awkward silence enveloped the room again. "Just be careful, gossip magazines can be ruthless. This may also affect your family," Burce said ominously.

Marinette didn't respond, she just looked down at the floor. Bruce checked his watch, "I'm sorry, I have an appointment soon. See you later,” Bruce then quickly left the room. He had hoped he conveyed the message to Marinette that all this was for her sake. 

Once he was out of earshot, Marinette slumped onto her bed and screamed into her pillow. Tikki flew out and tried to console her. "I can't believe it, that jerk! Now that his secret love child has been revealed he expects me to be the perfect child? All for what? To protect his reputation?!" 

She sighed deeply, before turning on her TV, she flipped through the channels, and froze as the news came on screen. “Mr. Wayne! Mr. Wayne!” the reporter yelled as she pushed through the crowd. The cameraman followed the best he could, the camera shook as he pushed past the large group of people gathering. The view slowly came into focus and she saw her father in a fancy suit, scantily clad models on either side, his arms over their shoulders. She didn’t have the energy to be any more shocked, she could only stare at the screen blankly. Watching billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne appear before a large crowd at some party. He was chatty, sociable, flirty, he winked towards the camera with a bright smile. It was as if he was a completely different person in public. Frankly, it made Marinette feel uneasy and reaffirmed her earlier beliefs, Bruce Wayne was someone who valued his reputation above all else. And it made her sick.  The interview that followed was vapid and uninteresting, though she was amazed to see her father acting like an absolute airhead.  She stared in shock as she watched her father act like a loveable fool for the cameras, she was almost impressed by his acting. 

"Why don't you go for a walk, try to clear your mind?" Tikki suggested. Marinette signed and nodded, she got up and left her room. 

She wandered the empty halls of Wayne Manor aimlessly. She spent much of her time staring at the floor instead of its architecture. Fear began to slowly creep up as she thought what would happen when word got out, what would happen to her? Her friends? Her parents? Would an angry mob try to burn down the bakery? Just as her anxiety began to spiral she noticed a familiar pair of shiny shoes in front of her. She looked up to see Alfred in a frilly apron dusting a few portraits.

"Ah, what brings you here Miss Marinette?" asked Alfred as he worked. 

Marinette took a closer look at the portrait, some man who, from what she gathered, passed centuries ago. The entire length of the hall was decorated with portraits of serious looking men. Their stares felt judgmental, as if all her ancestors deemed her unworthy. "Uh, I just wanted to know who the people in all of these portraits are," she said.

"These are portraits of all the heads of the House of Wayne, starting all the way back to 1640 with Nathaniel Wayne," Alfred explained as he walked to the corresponding portrait. 

"The Waynes have been here for that long?"

"Indeed, the Waynes have been around since the founding of the old Gotham Town. By the way, has your father told you about your predicament?" Marinette nodded. "Good, first we should focus on your photoshoot and interview. I've arranged an appointment at the tailor's later and asked Miss Cassandra and Miss Stephanie to join us."

"Actually," Marinette interrupted, "I was wondering if maybe I could design my own dress for the event? In fact I did design something for Gabriel Agreste." Marinette thought this might save her from being poked and prodded by a seamstress while everyone argued over what would look best on her.

"Why, that's wonderful" Alfred said with a smile, "we can just get the fabric as well as any tools you may need. Why don't you wait for Miss Cassandra and Miss Stephanie in the living room?"

Alfred opened the door and ushered Marinette into the living room, she froze slightly as she saw Tim sitting on a sofa. He seemed busy as he worked on his laptop. Marinette awkwardly walked in and sat across Tim, on a different sofa. The two sat in silence until Cass and Steph walked in.

"Hiya Marinette," said Steph as she entered while Cass gave her a wave. "Ready to go shopping with us?" 

Marinette glanced over at Alfred, who gave her an encouraging nod, before walking towards them.  The two girls ushered her out of the room, waving back at Alfred behind them.

Before they walked out, Marinette said, "I was hoping to make my own clothes, I want to be a fashion designer. I even designed something for Agreste Fashion."

"What? no way, what did you design for Gabriel Agreste?" Steph asked excitedly as she sat beside Marinette.

"Sorry, wait, you designed something for Agreste Fashion?" Tim said as he looked up from his laptop.

Marinette nodded, "Yeah, it was for a competition at school. My design was featured on the front page of a magazine," She took out her phone and showed them the photos of her hat in various stages of production along with the front page with Adrien as the model. Everyone crowded around Marinette's phone to take a look at the hat she designed. "I also embroidery my signature into it, as proof of authenticity." She turned her phone upside down and lo and behold the golden etching spelled her name.

Everyone's jaws dropped, as Marinette's name was spelled clearly in the hat.  The three of them crowded around her phone screen to get a better look.  Marinette was starting to get overwhelmed from their excitement, she took a step back to try to compose herself. Lucky for her, Alfred had stepped in just in time. "Ahem, shall we make our way to the tailor's?"

Tim had decided to join their shopping trip at the last minute, Marinette sat quietly unsure as she hadn't really interacted with him other than mealtimes. Steph and Cass conversed with each other, it was more like Steph doing the talking for both of them.

"So other than fabrics, what else do you need?" Tim asked.

"Um, let's see…" Marinette thought of what she may need, she considered her budget based on the pocket money she brought with her. "Some pencils, a ruler, thread, needle…" she listed.

Tim listened intently, before turning to Alfred. "Alfred, do we have any empty rooms near Marinette's for her to work her dress?"

"Yes, Master Timothy, there is an old unused study near her bedroom," Alfred responded quickly without even taking his eyes off the road.

Shopping at the tailor's became a blur for Marinette, she was introduced to many materials, each with their own pattern. She struggled to decide which to pick as she didn't have inspiration just yet, she was a very long way away from the place in Paris where she used to sit and sketch out  her best ideas. Normally her work would be based on the materials available to her, yet this new found freedom of choice made it hard to pick a specific fabric. At Tim's suggestion, they purchased almost all the fabric available at the shop. Tim even offered to pay for it all, much to Marinette's surprise, she tried to stammer a protest that this was too much but she was cut off by the others.

Next came the tools, she asked for a simple set much like hers back home. A needle and some thread, with some basics like pencils and rulers. Just like earlier, Tim had again purchased all the tools needed, an entire sewing machine, a mannequin, tables, chairs, racks and shelves for all the fabric. 

After a long and hectic day of selecting everything she needed to make her dress, that and so much more, she sat in her new workshop in awe.  Her workshop looked like a professional tailor, in fact even better equipped than the tailor she went to earlier that day. She slowly walked around, examining each and everything in the room, Tikki quietly followed behind her. Marinette reached out to touch a piece of the fabric, vicuña wool, the world’s most expensive fabric. Beside it, a large roll of guanaco, she ran her hands through the roll of the finest wool she had ever seen. But at what cost? Perhaps this was their way of showing their support and helping her, at the same time, it felt like she was cheating her way to the top. It felt like a dream come true, she now had a studio beyond her wildest dreams. But at what cost? She now had to make a dress like her life depended on it.

[kayhi808]

Challenge Accepted - Part 6

Billy traveled to a shooting range to get out of the city, Frank invited himself along. Bill's been acting weird for a couple of weeks and after seeing him last night with you, he know's something's up. After going through a couple of drills and targets. Bill's currently on his stomach trying to hit targets 300 yards out. He still hasn't said anything. "Last night was fun. Shame you left early."

"I'm trying to shoot here. Mind shutting up?" Bill tries to ignore Frank. Frank shrugs & wait for Bill to begin pulling the trigger to start talking again. "Curtis' friends were cool."

"Will you shut the fuck up? Lemme shoot!" Billy's annoyed.

"You're supposed to be good at this shit. You're going to let a little talking mess you up?"

Bill goes back to taking his shot. Again, Frank waits until he's ready to pull the trigger before talking, "So what's going on with and Y/N?"

Bill's shot goes wide, "FUCK!"

"Man, you suck! You're getting rusty. You should have gotten that one."

Bill sits up and glares at Frank, "What the fuck are you doing here?? Why'd you come along?"

"I'm trying to figure out what your problem is."

"You're my fucking problem." Bill starts packing away & taking apart his rifle.

Frank laughs, "So, Y/N…how do you know her? You knew her before last night." Bill's quiet. "Ooooh. You fucked Sam's girlfriend."

"She ain't his girlfriend," he hisses. "She's known him for years. They're friends."

"So, like how you & her are friends?" That earns him a glare & Bill walks away & Frank has to catch up. "Maria said you made Y/N uncomfortable last night."

Bill stops & turns, "Why? What did she say?" Frank laughs at him. Billy gives him the finger & stomps off to the car. Bill starts the car before Frank has a chance to get in, so Frank has to hustle.

"So, its like that." Bill ignores him. "She just moved here. That's quick work, even for you."

"I knew her when she lived in DC. She'd travel back & forth, so we'd meet up if I was in DC or if she was up here."

Frank looks confused, "How long was that going on?"

Bill shrugs, "About a year."

"A YEAR?!" The muscle in Billy jaw starts to tick. "Why am i just hearing about her now?"

"It's nothing."

"No, you tell me about your 'nothings'. Hmmm. You and Y/N."

"There's no, me & Y/N."

"Great because Maria wanted to fix her up with her brother." Frank pulls out his phone to text his wife & Billy knocks it out of his hands. Frank cracks up even harder.

"Don't!" Billy growls. "Fine! I don't know what the fuck is going on with her. Don't let Maria fix her up with her brother."

"So….you're not dating her, but no one else can?"

"Yea! Exactly."

"1. That's fucked up. 2. Maria's not going to agree to that. Don't tell me she turned you down." Bill is silent. "Then again, she isn't like your usual women. She's got her shit together."

"I don't do relationships."

"Then why can't Maria fix her up? You don't want her. Its been a year, either you like her or you don't."

*****

"You either like her or you don't."

Bill's sitting in front of your apartment door again. His brain in overdrive. You're not home. Are you with Sam? Did Bill fuck up so badly it drove you to Sam? If you're with Sam, are you even coming home? Does Bill have to sit out here all night? What if you bring Sam back here? Bill will have to kill him. Will you forgive him if he kills...elevator chimes and Bill stands up. You turn the corner, thank fucking god you're alone!

*****

Oh, God!

"You need to stop breaking into my building," nudging him out of the way.

"Or you need to find better neighbors who give a shit about security. They held the door open for me," smiling at you and follows you into your studio.

You take your jacket off and kick off your shoes trying to stall and gather your composure. "What are you doing here? Why don't you call instead of just dropping by?"

"You'd tell me to stay away," giving you a crooked smile. "This way, I'm here." He's stinking cute, but you're not falling for his charm.

"Bill..."

"Wait, can we just talk? Please? I'm not good at this. Us. Relationships. Emotions."

"You make me sound like a disease."

"That's not it." Bill sighs heavily, "Babe, I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm here. I'm trying."

"I'm sorry. Go ahead. Say what you need to say."

Billy swoops in for a kiss. His fingers are in your hair. His lips are firm, but the kiss, gentle. He doesn't seek entry, satisfied with the feel of your mouth against his. He pulls back, brushing your cheek with his thumb. He has a small smile on his face and he places a palm against his heart. "No one makes me feel...this." He taps his chest, "Honestly, I don't know if I like this feeling. But this is the feeling that keeps drawing me back to you. I...I can't control it. And I like to control everything."

You step back, needing to put some distance between you two. Billy's kisses always overwhelm you, but you needed to think with a clear head. "You can't do this to me."

"Look, I like being with you. The thought of you being with anyone else..." Billy shakes his head. "Seeing you with your friend Sam? I didn't like it," his jaw clenches.

"I'm not a toy to be owned, Billy." You sit yourself in the corner of your couch.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"You're here because you think someone else showed interest in me."

Billy starts to pace, dragging his fingers through his hair. "No! I'm here because I think...I think YOU are interested in someone else." He subconsciously rubs the spot over his heart. "People will always show interest in you." Bill stands by the window looking out onto the city. "I was brought up believing relationships made you weak. Vulnerable. It opens yourself up to hurt and betrayal."

You're aware of how tense Billy is. This is the most he's ever spoken about his feelings or his past. "I was brought up in foster care. My mother dumped me off at the fire station. Safe Haven Law protected her." Billy gives a harsh laugh and his New York accent thick as he sneers, "I thought we were going to visit the fire station to see the fire trucks up close." Billy turns his angry dark gaze on you, "She loved her drugs and her dealer, more than her own kid. She never came back for me. I bounced from family to family and ended up at the Ray of Hope until I aged out and joined the Marines."

That was not the story you were expecting to hear. Your heart breaks for the little boy that was abandoned, and aches for the man before you who is obviously still so strongly hurt by that betrayal. "That's a violation of trust no child should have to go through. I'm so sorry you went through that." You stand & walk over to Bill. You don't touch him even though your hands itch to pull him to you. You don't want him to think it's pity that you have for him. He'd hate that. You bite your lip and look up at him placing your fingers over your heart, "That feeling you have? I have it too. And it's just as uncontrollable."

He breathes out your name, brushing his thumb over the spot on your lip you were just biting. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"Knowing the reputation you hold and moving into your city and the challenges that brings. I don't care. I'll accept those challenges. I don't want anyone else. I want you for myself, Billy Russo. Again, I need a commitment from you. We both don't want to be vulnerable but we can't do this without a little trust and faith. I'm not asking you to marry me." Billy smiles, pulling you near. "If it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out. But don't humilate or betray me."

"I can do that."

"Yea?" Billy nods and seals the deal with a kiss.

[kaitokrush]

My heart is chained to yours; a Junkrat and Roadhog fanfiction

Chapter 2

Preview

My sleep is disturbed by the noise of my apartment buzzer, I drowsily check my phone. 7:10 am, Jesus fuck, I was supposed to wake up an hour ago!!! Stumbling out of bed, I make my way to the speaker butt-naked!!!

"MAKO!!! Uhhh good morning, mate?"

"I've been trying to get you up for like 10 minutes, how heavy of a sleeper are you?"

"Damn, I didn't realize heh. Well, I'll buzz you up, but give me a minute to shower. Wanna look nice and sparkly for ya."

I gather my clothes and run into the shower. Cleaning every inch of my body I could as I simultaneously brush my teeth. Unfortunately, got soap in my mouth, so I tried to rinse my mouth with shower water. Spitting and coughing like a cigarette-addicted smoker. When I get out of the shower I don’t bother to brush my hair and start getting dressed. I wear a black long-sleeve that has Shadow the Hedgehog on the front, and a pair of baggy jeans shorts that cut off at the knee, I belt the shorts and put on some plain socks with a red stripe around the top.

Exiting the bathroom I see Mako sitting on the floor. Looking down at his outfit he has a black bomber jacket that has pins and patches, a pair of baggy pants, and some DC shoes. Glancing back at his face and his mask is the same as usual, with the cute pig face on the side. His dark eyes have some messy eyeliner and his silver hair is down. Fidgeting with the gold rings on his right hand, he also tugs his fingerless glove on the other hand to make sure it's on tight.

"Mako, why are you on the floor?"

"I didn't want to break your bed…”

Getting up, his eyes wander around.

“…your room is cleaner than I thought it would be and smaller too. You should do laundry though."

"Hey, I don't look like the type of guy to have a messy room right?"

Grumbling to myself, we crowd around the exit.

“Also the laundry mat is temporarily closed.”

Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I put on my steel-toe shoes. It’s a brown exercise bag that I thrifted years ago that carries all my shit. Such as my knife, protein bars, pain medication so it doesn’t feel like my nerve endings are being ripped out in my arm and leg, my phone, headphones, and napkins. Anything the average Aussie bloke wouldn’t complain about.

"You kinda do, considering your workbench. Saw you clean that like five times yesterday. Expected a bomb would’ve gone off in your room."

Impulsively I kick Mako in the shin with my steel-toe shoes.

"JESUS, ARE THOSE THE ONLY FUCKIN SHOES YOU OWN!?!!"

Jumping up, he holds his shin.

"Yeah, what about them? Well, I got some runners but I don’t want to wear them."

Vengefully he kicks me in the shin back.

“OW, WHAT THE FUCK!?!!”

"Shall we get going?"

Holding the door open like a cocky fuckin cunt, we both stumble out holding our shins. When we make it out he opens the passenger car door like I'm a princess.

“Oh, Mako you shouldn’t have!!!”

Jokingly I sway my hips as I grip the strap of my bag like a girl, cheekily grinning. Without warning he cups my face into his hand, the surprise embrace causes my heart to skip a beat.

“M-my Mako, you’re becoming more out of pocket by the second.”

Now available on AO3+Wattpad

[nightmareinfloral]

kon gets jon a little leather jacket for his birthday and jon loves it because kon wears one and kon is the coolest big brother ever and now i get to be cool and match him. he wears it everywhere and rarely takes it off.

[lacontroller1991]

Sleep Deprived (Rick Flag x F!Reader)

Gif by @edwardbaldwin

Inspired by this gif

Main Master List

DC Master List

Warnings: Heavy PTSD themes, nightmares, language

----------

The first time you notice Rick's lack of sleep is during a meeting where his head lols to the side. You're quick to kick his leg from underneath the table, causing him to jolt awake. He offers you a small smile in return as he focuses back on Waller.

The second time you notice it is when he starts dosing off at his desk. You're quick to give him a cup coffee but it does little to wake the Colonel.

The more and more you stay at Belle Reve, the more Rick seems like a vampire, always roaming the halls or at his desk at all hours of the day (and night) but never at home. In fact, you barely see him eat anymore.

Reading the clock on your computer, you lean back in your chair and stretch your body out. Hours of work and you're finally able to shut down your computer and clock out. Grabbing your bag, you collect your items and make your way down the hall. Most of the agents are gone by this hour, but Rick isn't. Sighing softly, you lean against the door frame and wait for him to look up from his paper work. When he doesn't notice your presence; or he does, he just doesn't acknowledge you; you sigh and cross your arms.

"You know, Colonel, it's 2 am. Most people would be asleep right now," you comment as his tired eyes look briefly up before looking back down to the paper.

"You're still here, so why can't I be?"

"I don't think I've seen you go home once or eaten anything in days, Flag. I'm worried about you."

"Well don't be! I'm fine!" He snaps at you but you don't flinch, instead you venture into his office and plop down onto a chair in front of him, tapping your fingers onto your phone case. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm busy and stressed. What do you need?"

"It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see you're not eating or sleeping. Why don't you take a break and go home, get some rest and a nice hot meal?" Rick gives you an exasperated look and drops the pen.

"I can't."

"Why not?" You lean forward, your elbows resting on your knees.

"Because I can't! I can't sleep and I can't eat!" He yells at you and cringes, regretting his word choice, but you remain calm and impassive.

"Rick... Tell me what's wrong, please." He sighs and leans back in his chair, looking to the wall as his jaw clenches, not really sure if he should burden you or not.

"I've been having bad dreams every night, and no matter what I do, what I take, they won't go away. So why sleep? Not like I would get any anyways," he admits while fuddling with his fingers, still not looking at you. If he's being honest with himself, the last mission messed with his head more than he would like to admit and with all of his other horrors of his life, his anxiety and PTSD has been at an all time high and as a result he hasn't been getting the sleep he needs.

You lean back in the chair and look at him. His eyes carry dark bags underneath and his frame is leaner than it normally is and you feel bad for him. You know how bad PTSD can get, especially with him, and all you want to do it care for him. "Come home with me." The words slip out of your mouth before you realize what you say and it causes Rick to look at you.

"What did you say?"

You gulp and stand up, offering him your hand. "Come home with me. Try to sleep, please?" He nods his head and shuts his laptop before grabbing his coat.

"Alright, I'll try."

----------

The next day Rick wakes up with the sun on his face and a warm weighted blanket wrapped around him. Looking down he notes that it is not a weighted blanket but it is in fact, your arm and leg trapping his beneath you. Rick's face instantly blushes a deep red, not having expected waking up in your arms.

Laying there for a minute, he tries to recount the previous night. He isn't able to recall waking up several times in a cold sweat, nor does he remember any bad dreams. Maybe it's because he's so exhausted or maybe it's because he finds your embrace... oddly comforting, but for the first time in over 2 weeks, Rick feels like he got a solid night of sleep.

Gently picking your arm off him, he makes a move to leave the confines of the blanket but the movement wakes you up and you're quick to pull him back into your embrace. "How'd you sleep?"

"I think I slept ok actually. I don't know why though," he admits as he relaxes into your embrace, not really sure what it means for your and his work relationship, but for now he doesn't think about it. "I wish I could sleep like that every night."

You rest your head on his shoulder as your body nestles into his side, limbs wrapping tightly around him. "You can. You can sleep here if it helps you."

"I don't think it's the place to be honest, I think it's the person," he comments as you snort, burying your face into his body.

"Well, I'm always down to be used as a cuddle buddy if you need it, especially if it helps you sleep." Rick looks down at you for a brief second before wrapping his arms around your body.

"Yeah, I think I'd like that."

General Tag List: @marvelousmermaid @yelenas-lova @himbovillain-anon @babblydrabbly @a-reader-and-a-writer @fairchildflag @infatuatedjanes @niki-xie

Joel Related Tag List: @aestheticallywinchester @loverhymeswith @xoxabs88xox @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o @witchygagirl @the1redrose @ratcatcher2world @green-socks @heart-0n-fire @weallhaveadestiny @yourjacketisnowdry @rachelh1992 @a-girl-who-loves-disney @knivesareout @bubblegloopswampwitch @waspswidows @mattymurdocksbitch @bb-skyrunner @edwardbaldwin @burntghoost @katjnordstrom96 @yespolkadotkitty @heresathreebee @klmurr @madkovacs @wxr-zxne @wtfobiwan @alieninoklahoma

[jerzwriter]

(Not) Keeping Secrets (4/4)

All Casey asked for was to keep their engagement quiet until they told their parents on a scheduled visit two weeks away and to hold off on the baby news for the first Trimester. Well, Tobias let it all slip to Ethan on day 1. Then Ethan nearly tipped off Bryce. Thank goodness T & C's kinkiness gave her an out for the "baby girl" bear just yesterday. But, today... Tobias may just push her over the edge. (Drabble Below.)

Book:                   Open Heart (Post Series)

Pairing:                Tobias Carrick x F!MC (Casey MacTavish)

Category:            Fluff  

Rating:                 Teen

Words:                 995

Tobias & Casey Baby & Wedding Stories Masterlist (Part 1, 2, and 3 of this series will be posted here.)

The late afternoon sun was shining in Casey’s office. One day after the “baby girl bear” incident, she was proud of herself. Tobias and Ethan had been warned, Bryce was no longer suspicious, there was no evidence of her engagement or pregnancy in her office, and she even managed to hide her never-ending morning sickness from her friends. She was planning on telling Tobias to nominate her for an Academy Award as soon as this was over because even she didn’t know how she pulled that last one off. Six more days until they took a road trip to tell her parents in Philly and his Mom in DC. She rubbed the spot on her finger where the ring should be and smiled tenderly. They just might pull this off after all.

“Hey!” A boisterous voice interrupted her thoughts. 

“Jackie! What are you doing here? I thought you were off today.”

“I was, but I came in to check on a couple of my residents. They have some tricky cases, and I didn’t want to leave them alone.”

“Aww, look at you,” Casey smiled. “I always knew you had a heart under there!”

“Let that get out, and I will personally frame you for murder. Besides, I’m just doing my job.”

“You’re doing it well, Jackie. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks. But I was here for a favor.”

“Shoot!”

“Do you mind if I crash on the couch for twenty minutes? I’m exhausted but waiting for Sienna’s shift to end. If I go to an on-call room, others will see I’m here on my day off, and….”

“Say no more! Mi sofa, es tu sofa.”

“You’re taking this learning Spanish thing seriously.”

“Sure am,” she smiled. “Now go to sleep.”

The next fifteen minutes passed quietly as Casey finished her paperwork, unbothered by an occasional, gentle snore from Jackie. But five minutes before Jackie’s alarm went off, that quiet came to a halt.

“Hey, babycakes!” Tobias blurted joyfully as he walked into the office. 

Casey chuckled to herself and thought, great, another term of endearment we can’t use for our baby. She motioned toward Jackie, ready to tell Tobias to keep it down, but he was already scrunched on his knees in front of her.

“What are you doing?” she exclaimed.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he smirked devilishly with a wink. “Take it easy; the door’s open. Maybe when we get home. I just got you a present.”

“Another present?”

“Yeah, I got you new shoes.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Jackie grumbled through a yawn from the other side of the room.

“Jackie!” Tobias startled. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

“Of course, you didn’t. If you did, you wouldn’t be kneeling before your girlfriend, ready to slip on her newest pair of “fuck-me” pumps.”

“Bold of you to assume they’re fuck-me pumps,” he sneered.

“Are you telling me they're not?”

Casey removed the lid from the shoe box and lifted one of the most matronly white shoes she had ever seen. Now, she wore sensible shoes for a job that put such demands on her feet, but this was… extreme. Jackie looked on curiously with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh, T?” Jackie asked.

“Yes.”

“I thought you’re grandmothers were both dead?”

“They are.”

“Then how the hell do you explain giving Casey their shoes.”

“Very funny! I bought these for her because I did some research and found these are considered to be the most slip-resistant shoes made.”

“What?” Jackie stammered.

“Uh…” Casey jumped in, gently kicking Tobias to play along. “See, Tobias and I have been researching the effects of workplace falls. It’s a study for the Massachusetts Workers’ Compensation Board. We’ve seen quite a few horror stories, so he’s just being overly cautious.”

“So where are yours then, Dr. Carrick?” Jackie asked with crossed arms.

“They didn’t have my size in stock,” he fibbed. “So they’re being delivered to our home.”

Jackie took the shoe from Casey’s hand and examined it. 

“I think my shoes are slip-proof enough,” she said. “But you two do you. Sienna just texted me, so I’m out of here. I’ll close the door, so you can do whatever disgusting things you normally do when no one else is here.”

“I appreciate that, Jackie,” Tobias laughed after her. But his laughter ceased when the door closed, and he saw his new fiance’s face. “What?”

“Tobias Charles Carrick!” She yelled. “Can you go one day, just one day, without outing us?”

“How is looking out for my beautiful… girlfriend… and wanting her to be safe outing us?”

“Because Jackie is right! The only shoes you have ever bought me have been, well… not these. You’re lucky I’m quick on my feet, regardless of shoewear, and saved us again. I manage to hide my morning sickness from everyone, well, except Ethan… and you will be the one that gives us away!”

“I’m sorry, baby, I just….”

“Nope! No more sorry!” She said, jumping to her feet.

“OUCH!” he yelled, “What are you doing?”

“I’m practicing being a mom! I’m pulling you by the ear to Ethan’s office. We’re asking for the next two days off to go tell our parents. I have no faith that you’ll be able to make it another six days.”

“Excessive,” he smiled. “But, you know, it kind of turns me on….”

“Ugh,” Casey groaned, dropping her hand at once.

“What!?” HE chided, “I’m serious! Maybe next time we….”

She cut him off by pulling him in for a gentle kiss. 

“I adore you, Tobias. And I’m eager to let everyone know we’re engaged too. Maybe if we release that pressure valve, you can keep quiet about the baby a little longer. Can you do that? For me?”

Looking up at him with her beautiful blue eyes, he knew he couldn’t deny her.

“For you,” he placed a kiss on her head, “I’ll do anything. Now, let’s go find Ethan. We have a road trip to take.”

Next stop, telling Vivian...

Tobias & Casey Baby & Wedding Stories Masterlist (Parts 1, 2, and 3 of this mini-series can be found here)

Perma: @a-crepusculo @animesuck3r @annoyingmillenialnewbie @bex-la-get @binny1985 @bluebelle08 @bluerosesbloom @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @danijimenezv @differenttyphoonwerewolff @dorisz @genevievemdd @jamespotterthefirst @jennieaustenn @kingliam2019 @lady-calypso @liaromancewriter @lucy-268 @mainstreetreader @parisa-kh @peonierose @potionsprefect @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @rosebudde @schnitzelbutterfingers @secretaryunpaid @sillydg @spookycolorpeanut @socalwriterbee @thegreentwin @trappedinfanfiction @writer-ish @youlookappropriate @zahrachoices @kachrisberry @fayeswiftie @choiceskatie @ofmischiefandmedicine @annfg8 @cariantha @forallthatitsworth @inlocusmads @lilypills @mysticalgalaxysstuff @aishwarya26 @onikalover @peonyblossom @toadfrog26 @jerzwriter2

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[chocolateheart]

Door number 12

Title: Door Number 12

Word count: 7937 (I know, I'm sorry)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: A noisy neighbour is bringing you a lot of emotions. What if this bubbling tension and frustration will finally find their way out?

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex (please, wrap it before you tap it), creampie, fingering, handjob, pinning to the wall, clothes tearing, biting, scratching, a lot of kissing, strong eye contact, sex noises, tension, some swearing, noisy neighbour, arguing, stealing food, property damage, I don't know, porn?

Bingo Square Filled: Neighbour AU for @spnmixedbingo

A/N: Yes, another porn. Please, don't judge me, I couldn't help it. I won't say much, that fic just sorta happened. I hope you'll like it! Enjoy babes!

A/N: As always huge huge huge THANK YOU to my dear beta, angel and Queen @winchest09 for giving this piece a look. Love you Tabbs <3 Still, mistakes are mine!

A/N: The gorgeous divider designed by incredibly talented @talesmaniac89 <3

Throwing your bag on the counter along with your keys, a deep sigh left your chest. You numbly looked around your apartment as you began to take off your jewellery. Why did this place always look like a pigsty every time you got back home? Your necklace and bracelet joined your bag when you tossed them to one side as a yawn escaped you.

This day was exhausting, to say the least. Maybe your work wasn’t that demanding but sometimes it was just tiring to the point where you wanted to cry. After shrugging your jean jacket off, your feet took you to the couch and you just collapsed down on it with a pained grunt. Your body was stiff and aching, your head was pounding from pain and as soon as you felt a pillow under it, your will to stay awake had started to fade. You knew you shouldn’t take a nap now as there was still so much left to do today, but for god's sake, it was Friday evening and you had been working for the past 5 days at top speed. An hour of rest was something you definitely deserved.

Without standing up, you lifted your hips to take off your jeans and wrapped yourself in the blanket you always kept on the couch. Relaxing your body with a deep breath, you closed your eyes, already halfway to dreamland. But as soon as you felt yourself drifting completely, a loud sound of guitar suddenly sounded in your ears, making your eyes snap open.

No, not again!

Fisting the pillow, you felt the anger growing as you knew exactly where the loud rock music was coming from; recognising the band as AC/DC. When the volume increased, you hid your head underneath the pillow, desperate to cut off your aching skull from the noise. But it didn’t work, the sound still bleeding through the cushion. It didn’t take you a minute to shoot up on straight legs and pull on your sweats while marching towards the front door.

Mumbling inappropriate words, you entered the staircase for your building and immediately went down; hearing the power of the music increasing with every step you took. You found yourself on a floor below, with your jaw and hands clenched, eyes glued to door number 12 as you approached it. Once you stood in front of it, you lifted one of your fists and hit the hard on the wood a few times, ready to murder the person on the other side. Of course he made you wait till the song ended, causing you to repeat the punching a couple of times.

When the door finally opened, you were fuming with anger, eyes shooting lightnings towards the tall man on the opposite side of the doorstep.

"I swear to god, Winchester," you hissed through gritted teeth, a loud melody almost muffling your words. "If you won't turn that down, I will physically harm you." Your threatening pulled a laugh from him which only acted as another oil drop to the fire.

"Sweetheart you can't do anything to me," he said, leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed on this broad chest. "Besides, I don't understand what your problem is." Dean shrugged as if nothing had happened, making your brows shoot up.

"You don't understand?! This music is driving me crazy!" You took a deep breath and while not breaking the strong eye contact you had with him, you started to enlighten him on what exactly was wrong. "I’ve had a terrible day, no, week actually. Everything hurts, my head is pounding and this music is shaking my walls which in turn, is not letting me sleep. So if you could be so nice and turn that off because I swear on what's holy, if I lose my goddamn mind, your name will be the first one I'm gonna mention once they ask me how I ended up in mental hospital." Words just slipped out of you in one unbreakable line and you took shuddering breath after, composing yourself.

However, the smug smirk didn’t leave your neighbour's face; he didn’t give a damn about your monologue. After you finished, he only put a hand on your shoulder and delivered his response.

"It's a Friday evening and we live in a free country. There’s no rule saying I can't listen to loud music, unless it's lights out. What's more, you're the only one who can't stand this, I don't see anyone else coming here to complain, so maybe the problem lies in you, not in me," he simply said, as he flashed you a fake, sarcastic smile and closed the door. But not before saying, "have a nice evening."

You looked up to the ceiling, asking for patience but the frustration and anger were huge. You growled, kicked Winchester's door with your socked foot and cursed, feeling pain going from your toes to the tibial bone.

On your way back to your apartment, you were mumbling out every possible, offensive name that came to your mind when you thought about that green eyed man. Your relationship had been heated ever since he moved into the building. He made your blood boil. Loud music, meetings with his friends, watching movies on full volume on his surround speakers after dark in the middle of the week, noisily cooking at midnight; even his one night stands apparently had an unfulfilled opera career.

You were having a battle with Dean, on average, twice a week. Knowing you weren’t the only one who couldn’t stand his behavior, you asked others for help, but Dean’s charm was way bigger of an opponent than you had expected. He could just use a sweet smile, say a few, flirty words with this deep voice and Ann from the end of the hall would walk on wobbly legs with stupid smile on her face for the next four days.

You couldn’t really blame her, the man was ridiculously attractive but you were looking past it. Dean was an annoying asshole and the only reason you had not yet clawed out his eyes was the fact that visiting the jail wasn’t exactly a wooing thought.

Shutting your door behind you, you leaned against it and ‘Sweet Child O’ mine’ came on. You growled once again, hit your wooden barricade with your head and looked down, trying to find calmness in your floor. Once you stopped radiating fury, knowing that the person below won't let you rest for at least two more hours, you chose the second drawer in your kitchen, searching for painkillers. If you were being made to stay up, you were gonna be productive. Swallowing two aspirin, you decided to clean the place so you could focus on college work tomorrow.

If only you could actually focus on college work.

After waking up at 8 am the next day, you opened the window on your way to the kitchen, craving coffee. It wasn’t normal for you to get up at this hour on the weekend but your finals were coming and you had way more work than you expected.

Thankfully, the weather outside was pleasant; the sun was already shining, creating morning shadows and the soft wind streamed inside your apartment, tickling your ankles as you sat at the table, eating breakfast. The smell of spring made you smile, always bringing back good memories. After the meal, you didn’t bother to change your pajamas for the actual clothes and you just took the laptop to start working on your college sheets. You were sitting with one of your legs bent, heel leaning on the chair, messy bun on your head, sipping on the second coffee while listening to the birds singing happily outside. Words were flooding out of you, making you feel certain that it wouldn’t take you long to be done with your essays. But that blissful moment was cut short when a loud rumble of a car’s engine resonated under your building, causing you to jerk in your chair and almost spill your drink.

Recognizing it straight away, you looked up, trying your best to not get angry again but as the sound of his loud engine revving l continued, you smacked the table with your palm and stood up. As you leaned on your window sill and gazed out, you spotted black, slick Chevrolet with the driver's door, trunk and hood open. Tools were scattered around the vehicle, a jean clothed leg was sticking out from the inside and you greeted your teeth, knowing who that was.

“Hey!” you yelled out, not caring if probably half of the residents could hear you. “I’m trying to study here!”

Dean peeked out and up at you, smiled and got out of the car, leaning his elbow on the hood in a nonchalant way.

“Good morning to you too,” he said and flashed you the oh-so-charming smile.

“It would be good if you didn’t interrupt it with your loud junker,” you spat back, leaning on the window frame and smiled when his face fell; he hated it when someone insulted his Baby, and you were very much aware of that. “Now, could you please lower your generic volume because I have a lot to do and you’re the last thing I want to deal with today.”

“Nobody tells you to. I’m minding my business, you go mind yours, I ain’t stopping you.” He gestured towards you with his grease covered hand.

“No, but your car is making noise that shakes all the dishes in my cabinet.”

He just shrugged and you narrowed your eyes, seeing that he didn’t care about whatever your problem was. “Then I suggest closing the window.”

After saying that, he dived inside the vehicle and seconds later you heard the strong twang of a guitar. Again. This man was very successful in making you hate rock music. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, stopping yourself from throwing a flowerpot at him; only because it was a very nice pot and you were emotionally attached to it.

“I need fresh air! I’m not gonna close the window! Turn that off!” you screamed, but he only frowned and pointed to his ear.

“Sorry sweetheart, can’t hear you!” You could see the smile dancing on his lips and you really wanted to break something on his head. “The music is too loud!”

Clenching your jaw you gave up. Another defeat, but it wasn’t the war you lost; it was just a battle and he was yet to feel your comeback. Showing him your middle finger, you closed the window and went to the bathroom, not being able to hear the soft chuckle that left him.

Maybe to an outsider, Dean’s behavior wasn’t such a big deal, but the longer he acted like that, the more annoying and tiring it was becoming. You couldn’t focus on basic activities because he was giving you a headache in various ways and for some reason, you couldn’t just talk it through with him. Every attempt at trying to get to an understanding with him, ended up with a fight.

Winchester was just a pain in the ass.

Thankfully, he vanished before noon; his car was gone and there was a blissful silence that you made the most of, and finished the majority of what you had to do.

Surrounded by papers and books, you were sitting down on your fluffy carpet, leaning back on your couch, typing away on your laptop. Glancing at your clock again, you frowned. It’s been almost 85 minutes since you ordered pizza; your stomach was rumbling, unhappy with the fact of still being empty. Finding your phone, you dialed the pizza parlor’s number once again. Standing up, you stretched your muscles and looked outside, watching the sunset sky as you waited for someone to pick up. Finally, the lady’s voice spoke to you down the line, asking you how she could help.

“Hi, I made an order from you and I still haven’t received it? It’s been over an hour,” you explained politely, scratching the back of your head.

You didn’t like situations like that; delay was understandable, but it had been way too long. However, you hated to call someone out, you never wanted to make someone’s job harder than it already was. Giving your address to the lady so she could check where your food was, you spotted the black vehicle under the building and your brows shot up. He was home and it was still quiet; it wasn’t normal.

“Miss, the system says your order was delivered and we have a confirmation of receipt.” You frowned hearing her words as what she said was impossible.

“Are you sure? There was no delivery here.”

“Yes, I’m positive. It says someone picked up the order twenty minutes ago.” Pinching your nose, you took a deep breath.

“Could you check the address precisely, please? Maybe your driver made a mistake?” you suggested being already sure someone else got your food.

“Rosenhouse Street, building 4, apartment 12,” she read and the last number made you flinch.

“Apartment 20,” you corrected her, but she denied.

“No Miss, the order was picked up by apartment 12.” And just like that the level of your anger reached three digits in a second.

“Okay, thank you so much,” you murmured and disconnected the call without a goodbye, already storming halfway across your place, getting ready to leave.

Slamming the door, you took a very well known path downstairs and you banged on number 12 as soon as you stood in front of it. Feeling the urge to punch the person who was supposed to open, you inhaled deeply, clenching your teeth. Just... keep it cool, Y/N.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” you growled the second Dean came into your view in his domestic clothes, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie.

“Whoa, what?” he tilted his head with an uncomprehending look.

“Listen,” you pointed a finger at him. “Loud noises, annoying car, your mean behavior, fine, okay. Screw it. But stealing food? That is childish. Can you go any lower?!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he said with a smile dancing on his lips. “What food?”

“My pizza,” you muttered through your teeth.

“Oh, right!” He smacked his forehead, acting like he just now understood. “Yeah, pizza was great.”

“You stole it!” you exclaimed, a little too high pitched.

“No I didn’t,” Dean stated, giving you a small, I-know-better smile.

“Yes, you did. I ordered it and you just pocketed it!” You really wanted to stamp your foot like a little girl to tick your fury.

"No sweetheart, I didn’t," he said, crossing his arms and straightening his back so he could tower over you, making you look up. "The guy came in with pizza, said he's supposed to bring it here, so I paid for it and ate it."

"Oh! Because it's normal to pay for the food you didn’t order and keep it to yourself. And stop calling me sweetheart!" You puffed out irritated, making him smirk.

"You're cute when you're angry." Your face fell and you felt your palm itching. What would he do if you slapped him?

"Dean," you warned him but he chuckled.

"No, seriously." He reached to your forehead, wanting to brush it with his finger. "You have this cute, little wrinkle in the middle-"

"Don't touch me." You smacked his hand away and pointed a warning finger straight into his face. "One more action like this and you're gonna regret it," you growled out and walked away.

"So it's threatening now, huh?!" he called after you, coming out to stand in the hall.

Before you stepped on the stairs, you turned around with such a force, that your hair flipped over one of your shoulders and you showed him your middle finger. Hearing his low laugh bouncing on the wall, you scoffed annoyed as you stomped loudly going back upstairs. You swore that if you were supposed to become a murderer one day, that this man was gonna be victim number one. This whole 'lets annoy her' process would be great fuel for you to slice that slender throat of his.

Shutting the door again, you walked into the kitchen, dived in the fridge and decided to stuff yourself with pancakes. Screw Dean and his pizza, you were not going to give him satisfaction with ordering anything else tonight.

“So, he’s a confident man,” Jo stated after you told her about Winchester’s behavior.

You came to Harvelle's to grab something for Sunday dinner; they had the most delicious menu in the whole town and no one could change your mind. You were sitting with a blonde girl at the table, outside their restaurant, sipping on some light drinks Ellen had prepared for the two of you. Ash was already working on your meal in the kitchen while Jo was taking her break so she could sit with you and listen about your neighbour under the floor. It took you way longer to describe everything and you felt kind of bad for that. You weren’t the type who whined about such things and forced friends to hear about your bullshit, but now you were desperate to get it all off your chest.

“Confident asshole,” you corrected her, “I just wish he could finally get his ass kicked, you know? I can’t live with this man! He’s an arrogant, offensive, little, annoying dickhead!” you said, crossing your arms on your chest.

After a few seconds of silence, you looked up at Jo. She was watching you, clearly trying not to smile; her lips were twitching and small dimples had already appeared. You knew her long enough to know that she was all ready to tease you about this whole situation.

“What?” you barked at her and she lifted her hands in defense.

“Nothing!” She shrugged. “Just, your relationship with him seems to have been… rough since the very beginning.”

“It is! I really wanna punch him!” Jo lifted her brows, a smile breaking on her face.

“Just punch him?” The suggestion was shining in her eyes and your shoulders fell down at the subtext.

“Jo!” she started giggling when she heard your resigned tone. “Just because I’m having a heated exchange with a hot guy doesn’t mean that I wanna fuck him!”

“Oh, so you think he’s hot?” she asked innocently, taking a sip from her glass.

“Yes, but he’s an idiot and I would never let him in my panties, come on,” you scoffed as you rolled your eyes. The last thing you would ever do was having sex with this man.

“Sure.”

And you knew Jo didn’t believe you. To be honest, if you thought about it really, really hard, you weren’t sure if you believed yourself…

The door opened and Ash came out with a smile, your food packed in a thermal box.

“There you go, girl. We do not accept any complaints,” he said, winking at you and you chuckled, taking the meal from him.

“Thanks, Ash.” He saluted you and vanished as quickly as he appeared. You glanced at your phone laying on the table and sighed seeing the time. “Okay babe, I’m gonna go. School’s calling and I bothered you enough anyway.”

“Oh stop it, you’re not bothering me, don’t be stupid,” she said smiling, and hugged you tight. “Text me when you get home.”

“Sure thing.” You winked and walked backwards, watching her disappear inside the RoadHouse.

Smiling to yourself, you turned around and crossed the street. At first your thoughts were filled with Jo who could always put you in a good mood but then they gradually transitioned into someone else.

You didn’t know if it was your overworked system or what Jo had teased you about that caused Dean to stick inside your mind, but you wanted to scream; it was like he had nested in there. Not only was he disturbing your living space, but he was now invading your mental space as well. What’s more, it wasn’t exactly hard to not think about him in a nasty way, and you hated it. The truth was that he was attractive from his fluffy hair to his toes, and more than once you had caught yourself daydreaming about his hands and mouth on you.

You couldn’t help it. The way he looked was not fair and Jo made you realise that if not for his attitude, you would have slept with him a long time ago. Thankfully, in the moments you felt weakness for him, he was doing something that pissed you off to the point where you wanted to bite his head off.

You really wanted to get even with him, you had to bounce the ball. The need to bite back was so big that you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw the paint store. The bulb in your head flickered on and a devil smile angled your lips. Maybe it was a bad idea, maybe it was childish, maybe it was crossing the line, but you had suffered enough thanks to this jerk.

Buying one can of pink chalk paint, you were muting your common sense that was currently shouting at you. As the saying goes - you only live once. He wanted a fight? You were going to fight. He started to play a strong hand? You were going to do the same. He thought playing with you like that was fun? Well, you were gonna have some fun too. Besides, he wouldn’t realise immediately that the paint would easily wash off, but seeing him panic thinking that his car had been defaced was revenge enough.

With a few last strokes of a paintbrush, you were finished. Straightening your back, you looked down at your work and smiled, satisfied with pink flowers you had drawn on the black surface. They were a nice contrast and you really liked the shape. In all honesty, it kinda burned you to paint this four wheeled beauty, but it wasn’t your fault her owner was a douchebag who deserved a lesson.

The impala was parked in her usual spot, next to the building that was mostly asleep. There were no cameras and due to the late hour, the chance of someone spotting you was small. Besides, you were just a hooded figure, no one would recognise you anyway even with the dim light from a lonely lantern. It was risky, but you were too far gone in your revenge to care. It had been done and you wished you could see Dean’s face in the morning.

Gathering your things you looked around, checking to see if there was anyone you should avoid and you got back to your apartment. After closing the door, you took off your clothes, staying only in leggings and a t-shirt, and decided to make some tea. You had this weird energy bubbling inside of you and it would be a waste to not use it on college papers. Getting comfortable on your couch you started going through materials for one of your projects.

Not expecting any visitors, you jumped slightly while hearing a rapid knocking on your door an hour later. You frowned and stood up, finishing your tea on your way to the entry. What you saw on the other side almost made you smile like an idiot. Dean was boring into you with his eyes; if looks could kill, you would surely be a beautiful corpse by now. His chest was rising and falling heavily, jaw clenched to the point his cheek was twitching and you could see the slight blush coloring on his face. He was wearing his leather jacket but was also in sweats so you assumed he was about to make a quick grocery run or something.

“What the hell?!” he growled at you before you could say a word. Ohhh, he was angry.

“What?” You shrugged innocently, ignoring the weird chill that ran down your spine after hearing the vibrations of his tone.

Dean took a deep breath, doing his best to not shout out. “I wanted to go get some beer and burgers, but guess what. Someone screwed up my car. And you know what? I think it was you.”

He pointed a finger at you, holding keys in his hand. You laughed and leaned on your doorframe, ready to confront him. Satisfaction already tickled your insides, but there was one thing that you had to admit - he was hot when he was angry.

“You really think that I have nothing better to do than mess up your car?” you asked, amused by his flaring nostrils.

"Don't you fucking dare play with me like that," he said firmly, not wanting to yell. "Do you know it's property damage? You broke a law and I can easily get you in trouble."

He was fuming with anger and you were sure that if it was possible, there would be smoke coming out of his ears. You smiled and stood your ground, finding it adorable how he thought he had anything useful against you.

"You have nothing on me. No proof that I was the one who defaced your car," you started, taking two steps to stand inches away from him. "Call the cops and I'm gonna tell them all about the nuisance, the stealing, manipulation and manifestations of aggression all coming from you.”

You stared straight into his eyes, a smart smile not leaving you even for a second; feeling confident in your words. Maybe he had a point, but you weren’t empty handed. You could get punished for what you did and so could he.

“What is your problem, Y/N?!” he asked, pinching his nose, clearly irritated with you. “You keep whining, making problems out of nothing and now painting my damn car?”

“You’re not letting me live in peace!” you raised your voice. “Your loud music, loud car, loud tv, loud you in general! I can’t sleep, I can’t study, I can’t do anything because you’re always there to disturb me!”

“Then leave!” he suggested, raising his tone as well. You were taken aback; lifting your brows you blinked a few times. Was he joking?

“Leave?! Are you kidding me now?! This is my home and just a friendly reminder, I was in here first so maybe you should back off!”

“But you’re the only one having a problem with me!” he yelled, spreading his arms, highlighting the obviousness of his argument.

“Because you’re a manipulative ass! You use your charm, this fucking smile, your shining eyes, and nice language, and the whole building is yours! Even Ian from the 4th floor and he doesn't even like people!”

“Ian is a cool guy!”

“Good!”

You took a breath and opened your mouth to say something more but no words came out. Again, you were convinced that there was no way to come to an agreement with this guy. Further arguments were pointless. Looking at him you shook your head and brushed your hair to the back. The soft smile and look you gave him next, made him frown a little.

“You know what? Fuck you,” you said simply and went to close the door, but his retort didn’t let you.

“You wish.”

Freezing, you locked your eyes with his and in a split second, something shifted in the air. The atmosphere got thick and the tension you had been building for months, now came into play, kinda taking you both by surprise. Dean felt it too, you could see his expression changing. He was trying to read you, trying to understand what was buzzing between you. A part of you wanted to explain it, to show him that you already knew it was sexual tension saying ‘hi’, but as soon as you realised that, you swallowed and forced your rational mask back on.

Shaking off the urge to take steps towards him, you scoffed and sending him one last look, you shut the door without saying anything. Taking two deep breaths, you leaned your forehead on the wooden barricade and closed your eyes.

There was no way in hell you would give in and break. He had everyone else in his fist, but not you. The only person that didn’t fall under his spell, the only one that didn’t let your craving inside take better of you. Dean was still your enemy and a pain in the ass; it was a matter of honour and dignity to stay away.

However, soft knocking made your eyes snap open. No. Darting your head from the door you looked at it, knowing who was behind it but that didn’t even register when you pulled on the door-handle. Dean was supporting his body on his arms that he had placed on both sides of your door, blocking the way. He was looking at you intensely, his breathing quicker than moments ago.

You could see the exact second he made a decision. You knew he was going to do something he shouldn’t and yet, you let him close the gap between you and crush his mouth to yours, cupping your cheeks at the same time. The force he hit you with made you take steps backwards, encouraging him to come in and turn you around so you could unconsciously close the door. His grip was firm, long fingers digging in your neck as hot lips forced yours apart. But your stubbornness caused you to push him away, breaking the connection.

The look you exchanged was a mix of emotions; hate, passion, frustration, lust, confusion, hesitation. This was something completely new for you; needing him was unfamiliar, strange, but at the same time stronger than anything you had felt before when it came to Dean. There was this quiet voice telling you that it was already too late; you tasted it and you wanted it, obviously. The other voice was louder, trying to make you aware of how messed up it's gonna be after, but somehow you didn’t want to listen. Not this time.

"Fuck it."

Saying that, you approached Dean and gripping him by the back of his neck, you pulled him down for a kiss. It was sloppy and deep, all teeth and tongues. He inhaled through his nose, bending down when your nails clawed at his skin. Grabbing you by the waist, he used a little pressure so you walked backwards. You didn’t expect to be pushed against the wall and a surprised gasp escaped you when your back hit it. Looking up at Dean, you noticed how his hungry eyes flickered over your figure and a cocky smirk formed on his face. You mirrored his expression and lifted your chin, so you could suck in his lower lip, biting on it softly. His response was immediate and fierce; he pressed his body to yours, pinning you to the wall completely, kissing you even deeper than before. The heat flooded you, making your cheeks burn and a sweat break.

You moaned and that seemed to spur him on because his hands started travelling all over your body. Doing the same, you aimed for his jacket, pushing it off his broad shoulders so it could land on the floor. The thought of finally discovering what was under his clothes took over your brain and you started to pull on his t-shirt, hazed and eager. But Dean grabbed your wrist and pinned it next to your head, not letting you undress him. You twisted and tugged, trying to break free, but he slid his fingers between yours and you instinctively clenched your palm.

“Don’t fight,” he breathed out, leaving your lips as he dropped to your neck, letting you take a much needed breath.

Leaning your head back you gave him the access to your throat where he licked and sucked, french-kissing your flesh. Your knees buckled a little when his hot lips closed on your pulse point, sending shivers down your spine as his stubble prickled you. Feeling his second hand sneaking under your shirt, you held your breath and jerked on the skin to skin contact. He wasn’t delicate; his long fingers were squeezing and digging, a firm touch making it all the more intense. Using your free hand you fisted his hair, pulling on it. Dean purred, nibbling on your flesh, making your eyes roll. It was like playing tennis, back and forth; you had an answer to each other's movements.

The hunger inside you was growing fast; you were getting more and more impatient and being caged by Dean only made you feel limited. So, naturally, you rebelled, trying to take control; with Dean it was always a competition. But your attempt only caused him to press his body more, his knee coming between your legs, making it harder for you to move. The thin material of your leggings was a weak protection to his touch and you whined when your sensitive area met his thigh. Fidgeting even more, you made him chuckle.

“Stop fighting,” he whispered into your ear as he pulled your earlobe between his teeth.

Growling, you turned your head and sunk your teeth into his neck, tasting sweet and salty. Dean hissed and backed away, looking down at you with a surprise in his eyes, brows slightly furrowed. You smiled and angled yourself to speak against his lips.

“Don’t act like you don’t like a fight, Winchester.”

The suggestion was clear and he seemed to understand. Your relationship was already a ticking bomb so why not have a little fun?

The challenging look you gave him was a last jolt and his mode switched. Before you could do anything, he kissed you firmly, letting go of you just to grab on the front of your shirt. Pulling with two hands Dean ripped the fabric in half, revealing your torso, making you smile a devil’s smile. He shook his head in disbelief that you were actually going along with it and grinning, he attacked your jaw. Scraping it with his teeth first, then kissing and going down passed your neck, to your collarbone. Bending his knees so he could reach lower and lower, he proceeded to shrug the destroyed clothing off you and focus on your breasts. Placing sloppy kisses on the curves, Dean moved his hands on your back and unclasped your bra. As soon as it was gone, he sucked in one of your nipples, causing you to arch your chest. Pulling his hair, you grabbed the back of his head, letting him know you enjoyed his work.

Every time his lips touched you, they left burning spots and you could feel yourself getting wetter. Not holding back anymore, you started to roll your hips, seeking the friction his leg could give you. Still playing with your boobs, he caught your hips and added the power to your moves, dragging a moan from you. Glancing down, you spotted the bulge in his sweatpants and realised he was still wearing too much clothes.

“Take that fucking shirt off,” you panted out, grabbing on the piece of clothing on his back.

This time he allowed you to do what you needed, lifting his arms to make your task easier and the second his chest was bare, you used your nails to leave red lines, making him grimace from pain before he kissed you. Caressing his newly exposed body, you felt firm muscles of his strong arms flexing. He wasn’t a gym type of guy, he was soft in some places but firm and strong in general, and that turned you on to the point your stomach flipped.

Suddenly, he pushed on your hips until your butt touched the wall behind you and pulled away from you, straightening himself. You looked at each other, panting and flinching in anticipation. Keeping the eye contact, Dean cupped your face, brushing his thumb over your swollen lips and slowly slid his hands down your body. You swallowed hard when he hooked his fingers behind your waistband and pulled your leggings down, crouching in front of you.

With a thumping heart you looked down at him, meeting his dark eyes watching you as he kissed your knee, your thigh, your inner thigh; his hands travelling up your legs, leaving goosebumps. You shivered when his hot breath hit your still clothed core. He placed a kiss on your damp panties, making your pussy clench and stopped. Leaning his forehead on your lower stomach, he tried to remain self-control, breathing strongly to calm himself down... and he failed. This whole situation was too much and he had wanted it for way too long to stop now.

Shooting up, he claimed your lips, driving his fingers inside your briefs at the same time. His digits went through your folds, gathering slick and found your clit, making you gasp into his mouth.

“Yeah? Right here?” he whispered and you sucked the air in through your mouth when he drew a circle, pressing harshly on your little nub.

Feeling him smiling, you clung to his neck, keeping him close when he started to make circles on your button. Moaning laughs escaped you, mixed with short breaths as you felt fire filling your veins, tickling sparks running from your clit to every nook of your system. For a moment you lost yourself in the feeling, but your brain woke up when he nudged you, rubbing his dick on your leg.

Opening your eyes, you locked them with his, tracing your palm down his chest and stomach. Somehow, you managed to turn you both around so he was by the wall. You didn’t care about teasing him through his pants so you pushed your hand inside and grabbed his hard shaft. Dean jerked and choked on his breath; the whole foreplay made him ridiculously sensitive.

You smiled satisfied and began to pump him, making his head fall back on the wall. His exposed neck was shining with sweat, throat moving as he swallowed hard. Your biting kink was begging for you to bite him, but the view was too good to not watch. His breathing quickened along with your strokes, his jaw flexing when he opened his mouth to chug. A thick vein popped out on the side of his neck, a guttural whine coming from him when you rubbed your thumb on his tip. Finally, you gave in and closed your lips on his jaw, light stubble pricking your lips. Dean turned his head and palming yours he brought you in for a kiss but you broke it fast, having enough.

"Come on," you said, taking his hand and leading him to your bedroom.

Not being able to stay away from each other, you stumbled towards the room, kissing and laughing, getting rid of the rest of the clothes on your way. Hitting the bed you let yourself fall on it, pulling Dean behind you. He hovered above you, using his tongue to play with your nipples as you both climbed up to the headboard. Adjusting the pillows beneath you, you felt his body pressing down, arms sneaking under yours as he kissed you deeply. Rolling his hips, he drove his cock between your folds, poking your clit and you automatically lifted your lower body up on your heels, feeling the electricity running through you. Dean bit down on your lip and pulled on it hard with his teeth, smiling when you hissed.

Without thinking much you just reached between your bodies and guided his cock to your entrance, making him freeze. The look he gave you was a mashup of a question and disbelief, and all it took was your evil smirk. You felt him fisting the sheets under you and with one, mild thrust he slid inside of you. Arching your back you inhaled, digging your fingers into his shoulders. He was stretching you; your walls fluttered around him when he bottomed out, making the two of you give silent moans, your voices stuck in your throats from intensity.

Watching you, he began to move, making you both more and more comfortable with the feeling. Gradually, his pace increased and so did the noises. Your breathy moans and growls filled the room, mixing with the sound of skin slapping on skin as Dean's hips waved between your thighs, faster and faster. New layers of sweat covered your bodies as the temperature increased; you felt the omnipresent, pleasurable burning.

Dean kept the rhythm, only stopping for just for a moment to kiss you. Not letting the opportunity pass, you pushed on him and flipped over so you were on top. Looking at you with a smirk, he palmed your asscheeks as you sinked down on him, continuing the activity.

The passion and sensuality made your head spin; Dean’s lustful eyes devouring you alive weren’t helping. You dragged your nails on his flesh again, making him hiss between the sounds. It wasn’t easy to breathe, to think or control yourself; your body started working by itself, speeding up, making you bounce on him while leaning your hands on his chest for support. Dean couldn’t decide where to touch, what part of you he should grab next; his hands were everywhere. Wrapping his fingers around the back of your neck he sat up, changing the angle and gave you this eye-rolling kiss. This asshole knew what he was doing.

A new position allowed you to only roll your hips and you laid back, grabbing Dean’s ankle to make your moves more fluent. He took a handful of your ass, helping you, watching himself sliding in and out of you, growling in pleasure. Tangled together you moved in sync, matching the other’s moves, grinding to empower the sensation. Feeling the coil tightening in your stomach, your head hung back and you exhaled, wailing quietly. A hand flattened on your back and Dean violently pulled you up, pressing your forehead to his. With closed eyes, panting against each other's mouth you chased both of your deliriums. Your pussy fluttered, your nails dug into his neck as you clasped it; the feeling started to overwhelm. The way Dean was moaning and clinging to you made it clear that he felt the same.

Your strength was fading and you found yourself slowing down. Dean’s attempts to continue were in vain as he was becoming weak too, exhaustion and his upcoming release taking over him.

“Y/N,” he warned you and you opened your eyes, looking at him when he reached between you. “I’m gonna-” you kissed him, cutting him off, tugging on his lip with your teeth.

“Stay inside,” you whispered, watching the surprise flash through his features.

The serious, assuring look on your face made his eyes roll back and the noise he made, clamped your stomach. Using your last strands of your power, you sped up, Dean joining you by hitting the right spot inside you. His fingers found your clit again, rubbing on it fast and you moaned loudly, feeling your muscles tightening.

A few more strokes, a few more moves and the crushing wave of pleasure hit you; your inner walls pulsated, squeezing Dean’s cock as you grabbed firmly on his neck, holding on for dear life. His thrusts went more erratic but also were more powerful; he was pounding inside you slow but hard, putting his forehead between your breasts. You were shaking and his breath fanning over your tummy only added more goosebumps.

Then you felt his arms wrapping around you and he hugged you tight. Pulling you close, Dean thrusted for the last time and with a low, throaty groan he stilled; his cock throbbing inside you, allowing you to milk him as you were still coming. The two of you were shivering, entwined in each other, panting and sweaty. Your heart was hammering and you could feel Dean’s galloping as well.

After calming down a bit, he let go of you and fell back on the bed, hitting the pillows with a sigh. Licking your lips, you looked down at him and smiled, seeing his eyes sparkling with joy and bliss. He laughed, caressing your thighs and then pulled you down for a kiss. It was sweet and soft, without tongue, just lips brushing yours; completely different then those earlier.

Oh, so he could be gentle too.

Cupping his face, you pecked his mouth a few times and then rolled off of him, standing up to make a quick run to your bathroom to clean yourself, leaving the door open.

"Hey!" you heard him yelling not even two minutes later, after you splashed your face with cold water. "Is it weird that I wanna cuddle?!"

You smiled on his words, shaking your head. Asshole also appeared to be a softie cuddler. Can this evening be any weirder?

"Yes!" you yelled back, laughing as you put down the cloth you were using to dry yourself.

"Cool!" he announced and then changed his tone, "I don't care."

Chuckling, you turned the light off on your way out and grabbed a random, oversized t-shirt from your drawer to put it on, letting it slip from one of your shoulders. Dean was making himself comfy in your bed, watching you carefully with his arm under his head and a stupid grin on his face.

"What?" you asked as you climbed on the bed, joining him under the covers.

"Nothing," he shrugged and shifted so you could fit in, resting your head on his chest.

Throwing your arm over his middle, you hugged him as his fingers came to trace the skin on your shoulder. A comfortable silence fell over you as you cuddled, enjoying the warmth, but you knew his mind was running, just like yours.

You didn’t like this tendency of yours to overthink, but the current situation was not only unexpected but also confusing. What now? Lovers? Relationship? Friends with benefits? Enemies with benefits? Because, you had to stay honest, if he did something that would piss you off, no matter how good he was in bed, you would still punch his perfect nose.

"I'm sorry." His words surprised you, detaching you from your thoughts. "For being a noisy neighbour."

You could hear the genuine guilt in his voice and that immediately made you feel like a bitch, so you said the first thing that came to your mind.

"I'm sorry for screwing up your car," you mumbled and quickly regretted it.

"Ha! So it was you!" His victory voice made your eyes roll and you poked his side, annoyed by the fact he dragged a confession from you so easily.

"But if it makes you feel any better, the paint is made of chalk so it’ll easily wash off," you said, unable to help the silly smile that spread across your face when you saw the relieved but shocked expression that he wore.

“Well played,” he chuckled, the sound rumbling under your ear which you found oddly comforting. So you snuggled more, melting into the intimacy.

You had to look the truth straight into the eye; maybe he did infuriate you like no other but there was something else. A pull, an urge to blow off the constant steam forming between you. You wanted him and something was telling you that from now on you won't be knocking on door number 12 just to fuss about loud music.

And once Jo finds out, you wouldn’t hear the end of it.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it :) Feel free to leave some feedback. ASKs and DMs are open, don’t be afraid to message me. Every word from you is gold <3

Tag list is open! :)

If something is not working, you weren’t on the tag list even if you wanted to, you can’t send an ask or you didn’t receive the notification about me tagging you in any of my fics, please contact me in DM’s.

Tag list: @deanwanddamons @jay-and-dean @katehuntington @winchest09 @talesmaniac89 @roonyxx @bunkerconfessions @akshi8278 @snffbeebee @lady-pswrld @rvgrsbrns​ @polina-93 @teresa-67 @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @mrspeacem1nusone @flamencodiva @cutiecowgirl @waywardbaby @flashxspn @lyarr24

[clonecyare]

I Can Handle Myself

Summary: You were perfectly capable of handling yourself when it came to matters of your safety. But that would never stop Fox from doing his part.

Pairing: Commander Fox x senator!reader

Tags: assination attempts, protective fox, senator!reader, republic gala, canon typical violence/shenanigans, banter, secret relationship, kissing, suggestive ending,

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: The 2nd instalment of my outfit series. This one is based on this outfit submitted by @murdertoothpick for Fox. Each fic in the series can be read as stand-alone fics.

1st instalment: Playing a Dangerous Game - Captain Rex x medic/!reader

|| Masterlist || Tag list ||

----

“I am going to say this one more time, Commander. I do not need a babysitter for this Gala, I am more than capable of handling myself.” You said matter-of-factly as you walked through the halls of the senate, datapad in hand, tapping perhaps a little passive-aggressively on the screen.

Commander Fox chuckled under his bucket, and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“With all due respect, Senator, you were the target of an assassination attempt 4 days ago.”

“And I survived. Nobody would be stupid enough to try a second attempt at Republic Gala, not with the Senate present.”

Fox chuckled and fell in step with you, bumping shoulders with you as you walked. “Maybe so, but it’s the wishes of the Chancellor that you have a member of the Guard escort you, while the rest patrol the Gala.”

You stopped outside the entryway to your office and put one hand on your hip, datapad and a stack of flimsi files clutched under one arm and pointing accusingly at Fox with the other from behind the death grip you had on your caf. “You’re enjoying this.”

You nodded politely to Hound who had been standing guard at your office, and he saluted with a polite, “Ma’am.” He took his leave as Fox took his place, leaning against the doorway with his head tilted as you punched in the keycode. The doors slid open, and he followed you inside, removing his bucket with a gentle hiss and holding it under his arm against his hip.

You couldn’t help but stare a little, just briefly. He was sporting a few soft grey hairs at the sides of his neatly trimmed hair. It made him appear just a slight bit older and more sophisticated, the neat locks of loose hair framing his handsome face.

“Perhaps a little. I do get quite the kick of you not getting your own way.”

His smug comment brought your attention back to the present and you muttered something in response with narrowed eyes. Dropping the stack of files and the datapad on your desk, you hopped up to sit on the edge and crossed one knee over the other. The lightweight fabric of your skirt sported a high slit, exposing the skin of your legs and upper thigh.

You sighed, resigned to your fate and leaned back on one palm, swirling the steaming caf in your paper takeaway cup.

“Who will be my knight in shining red armour, then?”

You asked as you blew on the hot caf and took a sip.

Fox, whose eyes has been previously occupied following the slit of your skirt up to your thigh, snapped out of his daydream and plastered a handsome smirk on his face.

“Oh, that would be me. I’ll pick you up at 7 sharp, mesh’la.”

“Wha-” You did a rather ungracious spit take withyour coffee, as the Commander slid his helmet back on and moved through your office doors with one final look back at you.

“Oh, and don’t be late.”

----

Leaning into the mirror you carefully applied the deep crimson red lipstick, treating the task with the utmost delicacy, lest you waste your look entirely. You stepped back once you were through and took a moment to admire your handiwork.

Dressed head to toe in deep, rich red tones and soft fabrics, you felt you had outdone yourself this time. If you were to be on your Commander’s arm all evening, the least you could do was make an effort, right?

You smirked softly, tilting your head in the mirror. Yeah, this would show him.

You had decided to go for an elegant gown for this evening, floor-length and a deep wine red in colour. The upper portion was a bodice lined with velvet and fitted to your body, with sleek black linear detailing down the front. Around the upper edge and over the shape of your chest was lined with intricate gold detailing.

In the centre of your chest, just under the hollow of your throat, sat a delicate golden brooch, which held from each side 2 long strips of the same wine-red material from your dress, draped prettily back over your shoulders, accentuating your chest and neck.

You had chosen several simple gold jewellery items, and tied your hair up into an intricate bun, completing your look and signature red lip. You were just touching up the corners of your lipstick when there was a firm knock at your door.

You headed for the door, opening it with a smile.

“Good evening, Commander.”

You smiled, voice sweet like honey. Your Commander, to your delight, was stood frozen in the doorway looking at you. In one hand he held the cap of his dress greys and in the other, a bouquet of Queen’s Heart flowers.

“Fox?”

You smiled softly and reach a hand out to touch his forearm. The gentle touch broke him from his stare and he quickly cleared his throat, offering you the bouquet with a bow. “For you.”

You smiled and took them with a courtesy, “they’re beautiful, come in, let me find a spot for them.” You stepped aside to let him in, finding the perfect spot for the flowers on your table.

When you turned back, Fox was watching you again, though this time he was smiling handsomely. You smiled back, “well, how do I look?”

“Mesh’la. Truly mesh’la.” He smiled as he offered his arm. Your cheeks flamed a pretty pink, bringing a satisfied smirk to the Commander’s face as you slid your arm through his own.

You locked up the apartment and made your way strangely quiet Senate District. The air was crisp against your skin, cooling the warmth you felt where you were brushing arms with the soldier lightly.

“You know, you clean up pretty well outside of all that plastoid.”

You smiled playfully, looking up at him. He smiled back, chuckling and shaking his head lightly, hair bouncing lightly in the gentle breeze. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm. I would go so far as to say a 10/10.”

Fox groaned deeply in his chest, head hanging sightly. You swore it was to hide his smile.

“I hate you.”

You smiled fondly and pressed into his side, free hand resting on his arm that was holding yours.

“No, you don’t.”

----

Perhaps you may have been wrong about the Gala. Fox had his reputation for being a little… prickly, at the best of times. But, as the over the top affairs go, the Commander had proven himself quite the charmer.

He has stayed dutifully by your side most of the evening, So, having a bodyguard was, as it turned out, a blessing in disguise - though you would never admit as much to anyone else. Far fewer senatorial aides tried to approach you upon spotting the head of the Coruscant Guard on your arm. Even several of the more conservative senators passed you by upon receiving his death glare.

At one point, towards the end of the evening, you had even managed to convince the stoic Commander to join you on the ballroom floor to dance. Well, sway, would be more accurate. The two of you moved around the room in a gentle sway, you humming softly along to the tune while Fox rested his cheek atop your head.

You raised your glass of Algarine wine to your lips in an almost mini toast, “Well Commander, it seems we had noth-”

Your words died in your throat as the glass suddenly shattered in your hand. The blaster bolt that has cause it clipped your right cheek, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. A roar of commotion suddenly filled the room, with several masked individuals pushing through the crowd. Most of the shots were trained on you, but you now noticed a group of them firing off into the guests as a distraction.

“Get down. Now!”

Fox barked, crowding you to the floor. Thire and Thorn were already pushing through the crowds, firing at 2 of the intruders and calling in backup.

“Commander!”

Hound threw Fox’s blasters towards him and took off after one of the assailants, Stone calling for backup. The leader of the group was faster, though, taking another shot that you managed to dodge as Fox tackled him, throwing himself between you and the hitman, and knocking his blaster from his hands. The pair wrestled for the single DC-17 that had fallen between them, each landing several punches.

In the end, the hitman got the upper hand. Blood rushed to your ears, cancelling out the commotion behind you. As soon as he pulled the pistol on the Commander, you were behind him, panting heavily, pistol to the back of his head.

“Drop it. Now. I promise I’m faster.”

Fox looked at you with wide eyes, before the dropped to your exposed thigh and the small holster secured around your upper thigh, soft brown irises slowly darkening. Discreet, made for a small pistol like an ELG-3A.

The man dropped the blaster and Fox grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, binding his wrists and looking over his shoulder at you with a chuckle as he pushed the man towards one of the Corries that had arrived.

The room was emptying now, only a few shaken aides left milling around, and few vod who were cleaning up and securing the room. Fox lifted a hand to brush a few hairs back behind your ear, and you smiled.

“I told you I could handle myself.”

Fox laughed, holding your cheek as his calloused thumb swiped over your cheek, wiping away the trail of blood. “Yes, you most certainly did, cyar’ika.”

You turned your cheek into his palm and pressed a light kiss, looking up at him.

Fox took one precursory look around the ballroom and bent down, kissing you hard. It wasn’t soft or sweet like you knew they could be. It wasn’t careful and quick, like so many of your kisses had to be in order to remain a secret.

It was rushed, and desperate. You could practically feel the adrenalin rolling off him in waves. It was an oddly comforting feeling, one you had grown to know only too well. The kind Fox radiated after gruelling sessions guarding the Senate. Or after the occasional run-in with the cesspool of Coruscant’s underworld.

But it was most notable in these moments. When you had found a way to put yourself in the firing line again. When he couldn’t let his mask slip, when he couldn’t treat you as more than a senator under his protection. When all he could do was his job.

It was these moments afterwards that he needed you the most, that you needed him. It was in these moments, you knew exactly what you both needed.

You broke away, eyes never leaving his own as you took his arm.

“Take me home, Fox.”

----

Tag list:

@captainrexsfuturewife

[boldlyvoid]

ain't it fun? | Part five

Summary: reader just needs an NA meeting before they have a meltdown, they end up with the best friend they could ever make.

Warnings: pregnancy, chronic illness, spencer's career chance - he's a high school teacher now, they have a 1-year-old, smut at the end but not graphic.

word count: 2.8k

a/n: I imagine this is in season 10, so they've been together at least 7 years-ish now, I just jumped well into the future because I wanted to! also, Cordelia's nickname is Edie and pronounced Ee-dee !!

P1 P2 P3 P4

“No.”

Spencer sighs, “are you going to like any of my suggestions?”

“When you give me a baby name that isn’t from some weird old male book character, then yes, I’ll take them into consideration,” she replies, hand on her stomach as she lays back against the pillows.

She was huge, 9 months pregnant and so, so close to the finish line. She was swollen and in pain and exhausted. Going off every single medication and recreational drugs to make a life was a commitment and a half, she was doing well but she was so ready to be done. To do a few more months of breastfeeding and then go back on her medications.

Spencer was terrific. He was googling and asking Penelope to research things, he had called doctors he knows and friends and did everything in his power to find a way to ease her pain even before they got pregnant. He’s taken the last 3 months off of work and he doesn’t know when he’ll go back. He has just been so, so incredible the whole time.

Naming a child was hard. You had to not only think about all the nicknames and what their initials spell, but you also had to think about how they’ll like it; if it’ll fit their personality and spirit. And most of all, is it going to get them bullied? There are some terrible kid names. Like Richard… how do you name a newborn Richard?

“I want something meaningful with a nice nickname and works with our names and her siblings,” she whispered towards him. “They need to all work together.”

“What are some of your favourites?” He asks, moving in closer and finding a way to cuddle in with her and her pregnancy pillow who has all but replaced him lately.

“I like earthy names, like Lennox, Juniper, Aspen, Elowen,” her voice is really soft, she bites her lip at the end as she thinks them over again. “And old things like Cordelia and Winnifred.”

“Which one sounds the best with Reid?”

“I like Cordelia Reid the most, and then we can call her Edie and I was thinking you can pick her middle name?” She’s been thinking about it for a while, but too afraid to know his opinions.

“Cordelia means core in Latin, which makes sense cause she already has my heart,” Spencer teased, he has made it very clear that their little girl is going to be spoiled, loved and a daddy's girl.

He took all his fears of being a bad dad and threw them out the window. He knew that just being there was all he wanted from his dad, and so that’s what he was going to do. He left the BAU for the time being, he was doing the odd lecture at the academy and answering calls for cases. They couldn’t just stop using his brain, there were some things too pressing to not ask the walking computer, but other than that, he was done.

He was looking into other jobs for when he finally decides to go back, he was unsure how long of a paternity leave he wanted. He was really content with just staying home all the time now, but he did miss going out and being useful during the days. The job he was most interested in, however, was a high school teacher.

A prep school in DC is looking into adding an Anthropology, Psychology and Sociology course to their curriculum, and they wanted Spencer. They thought he would be perfect for the seniors, he is fun and young and attentive, he can control a room and keep them entertained, and he’s probably the best teacher a kid could get.

It was going to make him a good dad too.

“I think Jade is a nice middle name,” he adds after thinking it over for a few minutes.

“Cordelia Jade Reid,” she says the full name for the first time and it just feels right, like they already know her.

—

She was very calm for a newborn baby.

She liked to just look around and blink, she licked her lips a lot and she was constantly breaking out of her swaddle. She was always happy to have cuddles with her dad and she pooped every night at exactly at 3 am, without fail. She didn’t cry a lot, but when she did it was still wonderful to hear.

They were so in love with her, she was absolutely perfect for them. She fit right into their sleeping schedule and their life, she ate like a pro, she slept most of the night and she was growing way too fast for their liking.

One day they’re crying over the fact they made a life in a tiny little hospital room, and the next thing they know she’s about to turn 1.

She’s sitting in bed with Y/N, she’s sitting in her lap with two handfuls of hair and a story to tell. She’s been babbling so much lately, she hears them talking all the time and she wants to join so badly. They indulge her, asking her to continue her thoughts and gasping at her gossip.

“No way, and what did you do next?!” She asked the little one sat in her lap.

Edie babbled on once more, smacking her tongue on the roof of her mouth as she pushed air past her vocal cords, humming and making the funniest sounds. She went on and on, she was so enthusiastic, like her father, as she waved her arms around to make her point.

“That is so fascinating, you are so cool, little Edie,” Y/N hyped her up, smiling at her as she leaned in close and pressed their noses together.

Cordelia laughed and it finally made Spencer giggle too, he had been watching from the doorway as his ‘wife’ and daughter talked in bed. They were best friends already, always talking and snuggling, learning or reading together. She was always happy when she was with one of them, she was needy and snuggly and very co-dependent but they didn’t mind, they preferred all the attention from her.

“Look who’s home,” Y/N whispered and Cordelia shot a glance towards the door, she smiled and screamed as she saw him.

“Hi Edie!” He waves at her with a smile, he takes his bag off and places it by the dresser followed by his blazer.

He gets into the bed and she instinctively reaches for a hug. He wraps her up and she snuggles right into his neck, with a fistful of his shirt, she just holds him there. She didn’t understand why he wasn’t home all day anymore, she missed him for lunch and at nap time but she loved the new routine of a snuggle when she woke up and he got home.

Spencer leans back against the pillows beside Y/N, turning his head to capture a kiss from her lips. They always just spend a quick second kissing when he gets home, even if it’s just a peck or a full-on passionate make-out, he always kisses her when he comes home. He smiles at the end of the kiss, pulling her into a hug too.

“I love Fridays,” he whispers, “Edie do you know what Fridays mean?”

She pulls away and sits up, she loves to listen to him. “Friday is the last day of the school week, which means I get to spend 2 whole days with my favourite people now.”

Edie smiled, almost like she understood what he meant, and then she was talking again, it was completely incomprehensible but they imagined she was telling him about her day.

“You forgot the part where we went to the park,” Y/N added.

Cordelia looked at her with wide eyes, “dada,” was the only word she said before babbling on again and they both stopped.

“Did she just?” Spencer was shocked and frozen still after asking.

Y/N sat up and looked right into Cordelia’s eyes, “who is that?” She pointed at Spencer.

“Dada!” She said it again and they were suddenly all squealing, even Cordelia was suddenly excited as she kept screaming dada over and over again.

“Can you say, mom? Or mama? Mummy?” Spencer tried his hardest to find an easy way for her to say it.

“Mumm,” she pushed her lips together to hum her M sound and Spencer was floored, he bounced her up and down a small amount as they cheered.

“Smartest girl in the world!” Spencer cheered her on before pulling her into another hug.

Y/N was crying softly, little tiny dreams that she didn’t even know she had were coming true every single day with them. She knew she wanted to be a mom when she was growing up, all those dreams died when her illness got worse and they all warned her that having kids would put her at risk of being moneyless and that working wasn’t an option to even support them. Let alone the threat of them taking them away just because of her autism or depression possibly being considered ‘too bad’ to care for them.

Spencer took all those fears and he kicked them out. Every day she got to experience the most precious gifts the world had to offer, her daughter was perfect and her husband was incredible. Together they were a perfect little family that ran on trust, love, and communication. Always talking, always hugging, always there for each other.

—

They crawl into bed much later than they expected to. Cordelia didn’t want to go to bed, she was trying her hardest to keep staying awake to spend time with them but eventually, sleep won. They finally placed her in her crib with her white noise and her complete darkness and closed her door for the next few hours of peace.

They both let out a deep sigh before rolling to face one another. “How was your day?” He asks, like always.

“Good,” she smiles, “I think having a kid and getting on her schedule was the best thing I’ve ever done actually, cause I’m sleeping on time, I’m eating when she does and I’m outside a lot more. She’s given me this purpose and it’s rewarding on my body.”

Spencer moves in so he can kiss her nose, “I love hearing that.”

“How was your class today?” She asks back, loving his little stories about all the 17 and 18-year-olds that were fascinated by him. As well as the kids who thought it was cool to try and pick on him before getting the shit verbally kicked out of them in front of the whole class.

It was interesting seeing him in a form of authority, he never really took charge at the BAU, she’s never seen him yell at his friends and he’s never really yelled at her either. He’s been incredibly calm, so to see him verbally tear someone apart by acknowledging their biggest flaws to make sense of why they feel the need to bully, it was pretty intense.

“They were a lot better today, they enjoyed the lesson and the kids that were giving me trouble skipped, I guess he really didn’t appreciate me calling him out that bad on Tuesday,” Spencer smirked, rolling his eyes like he cared.

“I still can’t believe that he thought it was okay to call you names in front of other students, where is the respect these days?”

“Well,” he’s about to do what he always does. He can never be truly mad at someone because he knows why everyone does what they do and that they can’t help it. “In his file, it says his parents are newly divorced, we get a list of all the kids information on the attendance like allergies and things, but also small info like life changes in case they act out.”

“Doesn’t mean he can call you the f slur,” she whispers, “all because you wore a purple shirt?”

“If I met his father I’d probably get an answer for that,” he adds, “if he’s afraid to show his emotions around his son, it’s probably why his son thinks colours are gay.”

It makes her laugh, “you look hot in purple too so I don’t see the problem?”

“Do I?” He teases, getting in even closer and pressing their bodies together.

She rolls her eyes before wrapping her arms around him and leaning forward for a quick kiss, “I think you look sexy all the time.”

He kisses her as a thank you, “I think the same about you.”

“Even when I haven’t showered in 2 days because she cries if she can’t see me and she cries if she gets wet?” Y/N laughed, annoyed but in love with their little monster at the same time.

“Always,” he reminds her. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she kisses him again after.

There are probably a million more things to share from the day, but they spend their time kissing instead. It’s been too long since they’ve just rolled around in the sheets making out like they did in the beginning. Before they ever had sex, before they had kids and a house and a love as strong as they do now.

A part of them missed the early days when everything was new and exciting, but she also loved the fact that they knew each other so well that they didn’t have to communicate anymore. They ran like 1 unit, always completing the other person's thoughts, needs and wants. They were so unbelievably happy.

She wants him badly and he wants her just as much, and he’s about to take her when she pulls back. “Nope, as much as I love her I can’t get pregnant again for at least another year.”

It makes him laugh as he pulls away and rolls over to look through his nightstand for a condom, “it wouldn’t be that bad?”

“You carry it then, seahorse it up,” she teased. “I like being back on my medicine, I need some time to be okay before I go through all that again.”

Once he’s all situated in the latex and back between her legs, he hovers over her, so close that their lips are touching ever so slightly. “I am fine if it’s just the three of us forever.”

“I’m not,” she smiles, “there will be 4 of us one day, just not today.”

With that, she’s pulling him into another kiss as he pushing inside. It’s a feeling she’s accustomed to but will never be used to, it’s a stretch that shouldn’t be as intoxicating as it is. She holds him closer as she plays with his tongue in her mouth.

He was so good at everything he did, especially the sex. He knew every single part of her body now and exactly how to push all her buttons the right way. She could live in the moment of his pumping in and out of her while his thumb circled her clit and his other hand groaned her breasts. Eventually, he kissed down her throat and she was a mess of breathy moans and low gasps.

Writing in the sheets, her legs wrap around him as she tried to pull him in even closer. It was impossible to get closer but he was still too far away, she wanted to absorb him and live in him forever. He was her safe place and she never wanted to be anywhere else.

As her orgasm bubbled, so did his. The both of them gasping and panting, she whined as she breached the edge and gripped his back, “Spence!”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered before fucking into her harder and faster, pushing her through it as he reached his own.

His movements on her clit never stopped and suddenly one felt like two and she wasn’t sure when the rush was going to stop and she didn’t care when it did. It was powerful, soothing and euphoric. A high she could live in for a while and return to it without problem as long as she had him.

He came with a small moan, trying to keep quiet as he muffled it into her neck, stilling his hips on his last thrust and dropping onto her more. Her hands were all over his back as she pressed kisses to his forehead, coming down but not wanting the love to stop there.

The love was never going to stop there for them. Their love was never-ending, and somehow as she held him there in her arms and felt his breath on his neck, she turned to see the baby monitor with their peaceful child sound asleep down the hall, she loved him even more now somehow.

Loving Spencer Reid was like falling down a bottomless pit. She never knew when she was going to reach the end, but she was content with falling.

smut taglist: @g0lden-cth @doctorspenceryeet @samuel-de-champagne-problems @reiding-recs @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria@reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor @blanchardsbk

[collectivefandomstuff]

Title: A Hindering Hand Type: Fanfic, crossposted to AO3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270097) Status: Complete. Chapter: 1/1. Fandom: DC/Batman Rating: T Warnings: Language. Beta: No beta we die like Jason Todd and also Damian Pairings: None. Word Count: 4k+ Genre: Humour/Comedy Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne. Summary: When Dick is refused the opportunity to coddle Damian, he decides to lavish his other siblings with his questionably helpful assistance. They are palpably ungrateful.

Excerpt: Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up. “Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-” “Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed him. 

”You have got to be kidding me.”

Jason stared at what used to be his perfectly clean kitchen; now a hollowed out shell of its former self. Cabinet doors were thrown open, his carefully organised supplies haphazardly shuffled around. Every single counter and parts of the floor was covered in flour, cocoa, and something wet and heretofore unidentified. He didn’t even want to look closer at the stove or the sink, both filled with sticky, clearly misused, pots and pans. There was a smell hanging in the air, the same one that had set his inner alarm bells off when he entered the apartment: burnt sugar and something that smelled suspiciously like rotten fruit. Jason took a deep breath to stop himself from just whipping out his guns and shooting at the mess. It would be cathartic, but ultimately unhelpful. Instead, he fished his phone out of his front pocket and thumbed through his contacts.

He got through two rings before the line opened.

“He got you too?” Tim said on the other end. His tone reminded Jason of Bruce, which was usually a clear indication that Tim was fucking done.

“How can he be this useless?” Jason ground out.

“He was raised by Alfred.”

“So was I. And you.” “Fine. He was spoiled by Bruce.” “uh-huh,” Jason agreed, daring to move into his living room. Thankfully, the carnage hadn’t spread there, though there was an oven pan, placed strategically in the middle of his coffee table. The contains looked like what Jason imagined “dubious food” in Zelda looked like in real life. “I have to stop hanging out with you,” he told Tim. “Why?” “I just made a video game reference in my head.” “Which game?” “Not the point.” “I mean-” Tim began, but before he got any further into arguing why the specific game was “of import” to the discussion -fucking dweeb -Jason cut him off: “I’m going to kill him.” Tim was quiet for a moment. “What did he do exactly?” “Hi Little Wing,” Jason recited from the note that had been stuck underneath his brand new fucking oven pan Dick you bastard that was expensive. “I made you some brownies!” Jason stopped to look closer at the brown sludge that he was pretty sure was stuck to the bottom of his new pan. Martha herself recommended it, Dick goddammit. “I hope they turned out all right! Don’t work too much! D.” There was a pause. “Did they turn out all right?” asked Tim. “No,” Jason gritted his teeth, “No, they did not.” “He’s really on a spree this week.” “Yeah?” Jason muttered absently, poking at the sludge with his gloved finger. It jiggled. Somehow, that made everything so much worse. “Mm,” Tim said, and Jason could hear the tapping of computer keys in the background which meant that he had about 30% of Tim’s attention. “He hit Cass and Steph a few days ago. I guess since Cass is staying there when she’s in town he thought it was two for one. Tried to do their laundry.” “Why haven’t they killed him?” “They’re working on big drug bust. So, no time.” “Well I have time.” Jason groused, already trying to reorganize his plans for the evening. He would need at least three hours to repair the damage Dick had done to his kitchen. “Good,” Tim said, his voice cold, “because so do I.” Jason stopped trying to figure out how many new appliances he would need to buy to focus for a moment. “What did he do to you?” Tim was silent for a long while, then: “He tried to clean my apartment.” Jason shuddered. On one hand, he understood the compulsion. His replacement’s usual idea “clean” was “nothing hazardous is currently growing somewhere”. Still, the only thing worse than Dick trying to clean was Bruce trying to clean. Or cook. Or do laundry. Or vacuum. The Batman he may be, but Jason had never met a more incompetent homemaker in his life. Once, Bruce had tried to dust a little and they had to call the fire department. “And?” He prompted. “He moved everything,” Tim said, deceptively calm, “and threw out at least thirty-four irreplaceable things.” Oh shit. There was a reason why Jason stomped down the urge to clean Tim’s apartment. He once moved an old magazine when the younger boy wasn’t even there and the next day he got received three upset calls and a computer virus for his trouble. “He re-organised my desk. My cases. My clues.” Tim continued to rattle off. “And he didn’t even manage to clean properly. I’m pretty sure he tried to scrub my TV with vinegar.” Jason bit his lip to keep from laughing. Looks like Tim got it worse. “Shut up,” said Tim grouchily. “I didn’t say anything.” “You were laughing at me.” How- Jason’s hand clenched around the phone. “I told you to stop putting cameras in my apartment.” Tim snorted. “So find them and take them down. Think of it as practice,” he said, lilting the word “practice” in the same way Bruce usually did. “You’re such a creeper.” “Says the murderous crime lord.” “At least I’m not a stalker.” “Have you checked your bottom cabinets yet?” Jason stilled at the sudden change of subject. “Why?” “Looks like the re-organising urge lived on.” Oh, he had better fucking not. Jason stepped back into his kitchen and, with the care of someone opening a bomb case, edged open the door to his pots- and pans cabinet. He came face to face with his toaster, nestled between a pasta drainer and three boxes of cereal that he had not owned this morning. It was the sugary shit too. “Son of a-” “I think he put your spatulas in the fridge,” Tim said cheerily. Jason was going to wring his little neck. Right after he had stomped on Dick until the unbridled rage in his chest went away. “This is why I don’t want any contact with this family for-” “You know why he’s doing this right?” Tim queried lightly. Jason frowned. “I don’t keep track of the family gossip, pretender. I have better things to do with my time.” Tim made an offended noise at being called “pretender”. “Fine. Then why don’t you try to make him stop and call me when he’s tried to clean your guns?” Jason rolled his eyes. The dramatics, honestly. Bruce 2.0. “Why is he doing this, Tim?” He asked reluctantly. Tim sniffed. “Damian told Dick that he wasn’t needed at the moment, which was the little brat’s way of trying to get Dick to take some time to de-stress, but obviously Dick took this to mean that Damian has cast him aside and considers him a bad parental figure.” Jason spent a good few seconds rethinking the whole “moving back to Gotham” idea. He could just… leave and never talk to this insane family ever again. It was entirely doable. Just, one little call to Roy and hasta la vista you absolute nutjobs. He sighed. “So we have to talk to the demon child?” He asked tiredly. “Yeah pretty much.” “I still think my first plan was better.” “If you kill Dick, the family will never leave you alone.” That was a surprisingly good point. Dammit. “Can I punch him a little?” “I’d encourage it.” “Hey,” said Jason suspiciously, “just what are you planning to do him exactly?” “Honestly?” Tim replied. “I’m going to send a false tip to the department of Agriculture, fabricate evidence, and make them recall his favourite cereal.” Jesus fucking Christ this family was a pizza bagel of crazy with a sociopath topping.

-

It took them a while to track down Robin during patrol, and when they managed to find him they were met with immediate resistance. Which, taking into consideration who they were, wasn’t all that surprising. “Calm down.” Red Hood said placatingly while he jumped out of range from Robin’s swords. “We just wanted to talk to you about N-” He dodged a batarang that was clearly aimed at his throat. Add psychopath topping to that pizza bagel. “Would you knock it off,” Red Robin snarled, spinning out of the way when Robin spun to aim a kick at his stomach. Hood seized the opportunity and darted in to restrain the tiny beast that, let’s be real, was absolute proof that Bruce should not be allowed to procreate. Robin thrashed in his hold for a good three minutes before he finally settled down, glaring murderously at Red. “What do you want?” Robin spat. Even when Hood could feel him literally vibrating with supressed rage, he still kept perfect syntax. No abbreviations here. Little freak. “We need you to call N,” Red said. He looked a little ruffled and more than a little miffed. “I will do no such thing,” Robin sniffed. “Think again,” Hood said in his ear, letting his voice drop into a menacing tone. “Look,” Red Robin said. His hair was sticking up at the back after the struggle and he looked real fed up with this. Hood could relate. “N is running himself ragged trying to prove he’s a good parent or something and you need to make him quit before he injures himself.” Robin stilled. “What would Grayson be doing that would cause him such stress?” “He’s cooking,” Hood drawled. “And cleaning,” Red added. Robin’s whole body tensed. “I will take care of it.” He declared imperiously. Hood looked at Red, who shrugged. Yeah, good enough, I guess.

-

It was not good enough, he guessed, Jason realised as he took in what used to be his living room, but was now a cut out of a living room no one would ever willingly ”live” in from Garishly Tasteless Designs Magazine. He had his phone up and dialling before his eyes had even swept up the full length of the dirt-yellow curtains. It took a while to get the full effect of them, because he kept getting distracted by the frills and the suspiciously Nightwing-esque pattern. “Yeah?” Tim answered on the other end of the line. His voice said he was knee deep in something and wasn’t really paying attention. Probably his revenge plan, which Jason was seeing in a whole new light right now. “He redecorated.” Jason’s voice was so low it was almost a growl. There was a pause. “It didn’t stop?” Tim sounded much more alert and aware this time. “No it did I just went out and bought this lime green couch myself from Blind, Bath and Beyond,” Jason snapped. He heard Tim groan into the receiver. “But we even talked to Damian,” his replacement whined. Like he had anything to complain about. His living room didn’t have- was that a fucking Billy the Bass? Jason was going to shove his guns so far- “I’m calling the brat,” Jason ground out before hanging up and redialling. Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up. “Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-” “Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed grimly. “He- you must be mistaken.” “Look, kid, there aren’t a lot of things I know, what with my not completing my formal education and all, but if there is one thing I will never unlearn it’s how to spot Dick Grayson’s fucking taste in fabrics.” “I see.” No, you little shit. You don’t see. Jason was the one who was cursed with seeing this absolute monstrosity of a- was that crystal?! “You said you were handling it,” Jason reminded him, firmly putting his back to the living room. Looking at it was bad for his blood pressure. “I do not understand.” Damian said seriously. “I specifically told Grayson to stop bothering you and go back to Blüdhaven where he could be of use.” Oh. Oh Damian. Jason resisted the urge to smack the phone into his face. Sometimes Damian’s age and social inexperience really shone through. Jason took a deep breath to keep from screaming. “Listen, Damian.” Jason said carefully. “Dick is feeling a little neglected right now, and what he needs, what we asked you to do, was to start hanging out with him again.” “-tt-” Damian was probably rolling his eyes. Jason could have Tim check later, he was sure the little creep had cameras in every building in the city. “That is preposterous!” “No,” Jason said dangerously, “it’s not. So now would you just call him and tell him you need help with your homework or something?” It was truly a testament to Jason’s level of desperation that he was willing to be this nice and patient. “Grayson needs to rest-” “Just FUCKING CALL HIM!!” Ok, so there was a limit to that patience. Oh well, he was only human. Damian, however, apparently thought that this was one indignity too far because the call disconnected. Jason glanced behind him and immediately regretted it. Porcelain figurines. Oh, how he missed the days when he was a big-name villain, and the only thing Dick did was fight him. In the corner, a cuckoo clock struck seven and a tiny robin popped out and chirped at him. Jason’s vision blurred with sickly green for a moment. Yeah, he was staying in a safe house tonight.

-

It took for days of no progress and Tim having his entire coffee-stash replaced with decaf (“cheap decaf, Jason. Low-level, buy in bulk decaf.”) before they threw in the towel and went to the manor. The estate looked as menacing to him now as it had when Jason first saw it as a little kid from Crime Alley. It probably always would, no matter how many times he was back. If Tim was feeling apprehensive, it didn’t show. He just looked grumpy, like a particularly displeased cat. His replacement rapped his knuckles on the door and stepped back to cross his arms, frowning. He looked very intimidating. Like a squirrel with an anger management problem. The door swung open to reveal Steph, dressed in a t-shirt that Jason was pretty sure wasn’t supposed to be a splotchy pale blue. Her jeans looked new. “He’s not here,” Steph told them in a biting tone. “Who?” Tim asked. “Dick. Though for the record we have to come up with a new name for him because ‘Dick’ is going to be real ironic soon.” And whoa, Steph did know how to look properly intimidating. “What’d he do?” Jason asked her. Stephanie stepped back to let them inside. “There was an incident with a waffle iron,” she said icily. “He tried to cook?” Tim guessed, taking off his shoes. “He tried to laminate.” Steph corrected. Tim grimaced. “Is Damian here?” Steph snorted. “Damian is useless. We need to strike back.” She lowered her voice, her eyes cold. “And strike hard.” Damn, if this continued, Dick wouldn’t even be allowed back into Gotham. Actually, yeah he would. Only Batman could bar people from entering Gotham, apparently. Because Bruce was only one with any rights around here, that fucking- He was getting off subject. Also, not paying attention. “-alking to Dick,” Tim was saying, “trying to talk to him is a good way to make this worse.” “I wasn’t suggesting we talk to him.” Steph said, cracking her knuckles. Tim looked unimpressed, which frankly impressed Jason a little. Stephanie was scary. Not Batman scary but- Hang on. “Hang on,” Jason said, holding his hand up for emphasis, “Batman is the only one who can bar someone from coming to Gotham.” “What the hell is your point, zombie boy?” Steph asked, crossing her arms. “We don’t need to redirect Dickies attention back to Damian. We just need to redirect it. To someone.” Jason grinned at them and it probably only looked about 30% insane. “Someone with the power to stop him.” Understanding dawned on Stephanie and Tim’s faces. “Someone who deserves to have his clothes ruined,” Steph whispered reverently. “Someone who has time to redecorate because he doesn’t have a job,” Tim added gleefully, “someone who flounces into board meetings too late and does nothing.” “Exactly.”

-

Tracking down Nightwing turned out to be the easiest thing they’d had to do so far. He didn’t even try to avoid them. “Hey guys!” N smiled cheerily at them as if he hadn’t spent the last two weeks putting them through some kind of Donna Reed inspired psychological torture. “Nightwing.” Red Robin greeted coldly and, yeah, in costume the replacement could totally pull off intimidating. “Whoa, what’s with the murder faces?” Nightwing said, stepping off the ledge he’d been standing on and walking closer. Hood crossed his arms. “You’ve been busy lately,” he commented and even the helmet couldn’t filter away the unvoiced insult at the end. “I guess?” N replied. “Did you like the brownies?” Hood tried to remember that they weren’t here to beat him senseless. Based on Spoiler’s clenched fists it seemed like he wasn’t the only one struggling with that. “N,” Red Robin said with the calm voice he usually reserved for interrogating suspects, “we appreciate you trying to… help us.” On “help us” Red’s voice broke through the calm and straight into “I’m going to kill you and bury you in store-brand decaf coffee” territory. “But we really are doing fine on our own.” Nightwing pursed his lips. “You are all working so hard-” he started, but Red cut him off. “Yes, and that’s why we appreciate it. But we’re actually worried about someone else, who needs your help a lot more than we do.” Nightwing paused and Hood could almost see the gears in his head whirring. “Who? Damian?” “Not Damian,” Red said, because they all knew it wouldn’t work to say it was Damian, “B.” Nightwing crossed his arms. “You think B needs help?” And here was the fragile part of their plan. Hood cleared his throat. “B,” he said, trying to keep his tone civil, “works himself to the bone and he doesn’t accept help from any of us.” “He has Alfie though,” N argued. “Alfie is busy taking care of Damian, since you’re not helping him as much anymore.” Spoiler rebutted. And damn, blondie, good answer. “We struggle too,” Red said, “but we help each other, right guys?” “Uh-huh,” Spoiler agreed. “Right.” Hood lied, thankful that the helmet veiled his eyeroll. “You guys help each other out,” Nightwing said with obvious disbelief. “You.” “Red is always helping me with cases,” Spoiler said, “and studies and stuff too. And I help him with staying alive and acting like a human.” Red nodded. “And Red and I work together on cases,” Hood said truthfully. “And sometimes Hood makes sure I eat and stuff,” Red added, “and I help him with security.” “They also hang out and play video games and watch nerdy movies,” Spoiler revealed. The little snitch. “Really?” Nightwing said, looking between the three of them. “That’s great!” He shuffled around a little. “So, you guys don’t need me either, huh?” Oh god. Oh dear god it was the voice. The patented Richard Grayson sad-and-feeling-neglected voice. The voice that could inspire shame and guilt in the most hard boiled criminal. At least he was wearing the mask so he couldn’t give them the accompanying puppy eyes. “Well,” Spoiler said and Hood could see her wavering. She didn’t have the years of experience needed to withstand Dick’s manipulation. “But B does!” Tim exclaimed, dragging Spoiler to stand behind him. Good move. “And the little brat too, even though he doesn’t admit it.” Hood added. Nightwing bit his lip. “Look,” Red’s voice was genuine now, “we all really do appreciate it, but B and Dami need your help more. And frankly, the last time I saw B he looked dead on his feet. We’re all good. But he isn’t. He sleeps less than I do.” Maybe that was even true. Huh. Were they doing B a solid here? Wait, no. No they weren’t. It was recommended by Martha, Dick you absolute menace. “Ok, I hear you.” N said solemnly. “I just wanted to help out.” Martha. Think about Martha. “We know,” Red said, patting N on the back. It was really awkward. “Did I tell you B has started eating power bars for dinner?” “Wait, seriously?” Nightwing looked disturbed. “That’s so bad for you.” “Yeah,” Hood said as if he hadn’t watched Red do that at least three dozen times, “he’s really setting a bad example for li’l D, isn’t he?” He thought Red might have done the wave if he could have. Hood certainly wanted to give himself the wave for that stroke of genius. “Okay, I know you guys are manipulating me,” Nightwing told them drily. Shit. “But you have a point.” Oh thank Jesus. N stretched. “Well,” he said, “I’m going to make sure B doesn’t kill himself. And yes, I’ll stop helping you guys.” He shook his head. “You three should really open up more, you know?” They nodded, because at this point they would do anything to make him stop “helping out”. Red cleared his throat. “So, good luck, uhm...” Nightwing grinned. “I’ll stop, but you all have to give me a hug before I leave.” Fuck. N pounced on Red like a jaguar on a gazelle, completely ignoring the scandalised (and very undignified) “meep” Red let out. Hood turned around, ready to make a run for it. “If you leave before a hug I’ll make you dinner next time!” Nightwing called cheerfully, still holding onto Red Robin like he was a life vest. Triple fuck. Hood sighed. The things you do to not have your living room secretly re-decorated.

-

As awful as it was to get cuddled by Nightwing, it was all worth it about a week later, when Tim climbed in through his living room window for their bi-weekly movie night. This week: when the great go bad- The Godfather 3, X-Men: The Last Stand, and Matrix Reloaded and Revolutions. “I see you got rid of the ruffles,” Tim remarked. “You didn’t see that on your stalker cam?” “I’ve been busy watching Bruce lately.” “Oh?” Jason prompted, putting the pizza boxes on the coffee-table. “He tried to call me five times today,” Tim said. He walked over and got two beers out of the fridge. Jason sniggered. “It’s that bad?” “He’s only got one target now. B is about to break.” “Tell me more, tell me more,” Jason said, making himself comfortable on his new -fucking stylish thank you very much -couch. “Like, did he do something to his car?” “I can’t believe you just made a Grease reference, you absolute nerd,” Tim commented flatly. “Musicals are cool,” Jason told him. Because it was true and he would fight anyone who said otherwise. “Was Olivia Newton John your childhood crush or something?” “Who’s to say it wasn’t Travolta?” Tim gave him a deadpan stare. “Because,” he said drily, “unlike Dick, you actually have taste.” Jason mulled that over. “Touché." He shrugged. "Now tell me about B.” Tim looked up from where he was connecting his computer to the TV and grinned sharply. “You want to experience what the Germans call ‘Schadenfreude’?” “Hell yeah I do.” Tim hit a key on his laptop and the Cave flickered into view on Jason’s TV. At least, he thought it was the cave. “Is that?” “He re-decorated the cave.” Tim laughed. It was not a nice laugh. Jason approved. On the screen, Bruce had just entered through the door to the storage area and was making his way to the computer. Trailing after him with a plate of questionable looking sandwiches was Dick. Jason nabbed a beer from the coffee table and leaned back against the couch. “Oh we are so watching this tonight. Sofia can wait.” “I made a compilation of the past week,” Tim said smugly, picking up the other beer and folding himself into Jason’s new armchair. It was beige and, most importantly, neither pea-green nor suede. On screen Bruce collapsed into his new, avant-garde office chair and put his head in his hands while Dick chatted pleasantly in his ear. “You know,” Tim said thoughtfully while Dick re-arranged Bruce’s files, “sometimes I think he’s being purposefully bad at this.” “Why?” “Oh just,” Tim reached for the pizza and Jason handed him the box, “whenever he starts doing this, we all have to interact with each other to make him stop. Like how you and I only started hanging out to begin with because he kept breaking into our safe houses to make ‘breakfast’. Well, that and that time he gave you a haircut in you sleep.” Jason stilled with his beer halfway to his mouth. “He…” Oh god. “That’s totally what he’s doing isn’t it?” Tim looked at him over his slice of pepperoni. “Yeah, probably.” Jason slammed his bear down on the table. “THAT SNEAKY FUCKING BASTARD!” Jason glared at Tim, the proof of Dick's successful manipulation. He didn't even like the replacement. Why the hell was he hanging out with him? Stupid, meddling big brothers who ruin your life. "It's okay," Tim reached over and patted his hand, "I just confirmed that they're taking his cereal off the shelves this week." And yeah, that made it a little better, actually. "I still don't like you." He told Tim. "I know. Wanna watch Bruce find out that Dick redid his wardrobe?" "Yeah ok," Jason grumbled. Maybe, he admitted to himself only, the replacement wasn't all bad. The screen zoomed in on Bruce's expression as he came face to face with a sequined suit. Yeah, Jason thought, taking another sip of beer, not all bad.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Out Of Time ~ 111

MASTERLIST

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Word Count: 1,900ish

Summary: Captain America: Civil War (sorry if this chapter isn’t that dramatic.... I can promise the next one will be....

Notes: make sure that you have read chapter 110. That chapter didn’t have the taglist with it.

Steve and Sam eventually made it out with an unconscious Bucky in tow. Hidden in some abandoned building. Steve was watching through a gap at a chopper flying overhead.

“Hey, Cap!” Sam called. Steve went over to join his friend, who was near Bucky. Bucky was sitting with his arm in a vice.

“Steve,” Bucky said.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” Steve asked.

“Your mom’s name was Sarah… You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.”

“Can’t read that in a museum.”

“Just like that, we’re suppose to be cool?” Sam questioned.

“What did I do?” Bucky asked.

“Enough.”

“Was Y/N…”

“The whispers is that you attacked her.”

“Oh, God, I knew this would happen. Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say the goddamn words.”

“Who was he?”

“I don’t know.”

“People are dead. The bombing, the setup. The doctor did all that just to get 10 minutes with you. I need you to do better than ‘I don't know.’”

“He wanted to know about Siberia. Where I was kept. He wanted to know exactly where.”

“Why would he need to know that?”

“Because I'm not the only Winter Soldier.”

~~~

Slowly blinking, Y/N let her eyes focus on her surroundings. She was on a plane. A Stark plane. She felt someone’s hand on hers. She looked over to see Tony’s hand on hers, head hung low.

“Where—“ She swallowed. “Where are we going?”

“Oh my—“ He quickly stood up and held a kiss to her forehead. “You… I can’t even… You shouldn’t have gone near him.”

“I had to try…”

“Doesn’t matter. His life is not worth yours.”

“Where are we headed?”

“Home.”

Y/N watched Tony for a second. “There’s something you aren’t telling me.” She sat up. “They got away, didn’t they? And you’re going to go after them.”

“I have to.”

“Please, Tony, stop this before it’s too late. Don’t wait until someone gets hurt and the team is completely destroyed.”

“I just doing what I have to do. And so should you.”

“What should I do?”

“Stay at home until this is all settled.”

“You’re going to keep me as a prisoner? Keep me locked away. You can’t to that.”

“That’s why I’m not telling you where I’m going. To keep you safe.”

“To keep me safe, or to keep me from protecting Steve and Bucky?”

“To keep you safe! Y/N, damn it! Look at your neck! Those bruises are in a literal shape of a hand! I don’t think they’ll disappear for weeks. Your precious Bucky did that to you, and I won’t let it happen again.”

“Tony, if you do something to harm them, either of them, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Tough sweetheart, because I’ll never forgive myself if you get hurt like that again.”

~~~

The compound was all but locked down. Vision and FRIDAY were both keeping an eye on both Y/N and Wanda. Y/N was worried about where Steve, Bucky, and Tony were, and if they were being stupid. Y/N and Wanda weren’t able to fall asleep, so they were in the kitchen. Vision was hovering in the corner, seemingly asleep, or as asleep as an android can be. 

Suddenly, the three were on alert. An explosion in the distance lit up the room for a moment. They hurried to the window to see another explosion near the fence line.

“What is it?” Wanda asked.

“Stay here, please,” Vision pled before disappearing.

Once Vision was gone the two women sensed a different presence behind them. Wanda compelled a knife to fly across the room. They turned to see it stop in front of Clint’s head and him flick it away.

“Guess I shoulda knocked,” he commented.

“Oh my god!” Wanda exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Disappointing my kids.” He shot arrows to both sides of the room. “I’m supposed to go water skiing.”

“Clint,” Y/n called, the worry extremely evident. “What’s going on?”

“Cap needs our help,” he answered, grabbing Wanda’s hand. “Come on.” Wanda grabbed Y/N’s hand as they began to head out of the room.

“Clint!” Vision greeted, appearing through the wall behind them. “You should not be here.”

“Really?” Clint retorted, him and the others turning back around. “I retire for, what, like five minutes, and it all goes to shit.”

“Please consider the consequences of your actions.”

“Okay, they’re considered.” Suddenly, the arrows Clint previous shot, catch Vision in a force field. “Okay, we really gotta go.” Wanda stepped towards Vision as Clint grabbed Y/N’s hand. He began to led her to the door. They stopped when they noticed Wanda wasn’t moving. “It’s this way.”

“I’ve caused enough problems,” Wanda responded, nervously playing with her sleeves.

Leaving Y/N at the door, Clint jogged back over to Wanda. “You gotta help me, Wanda. Look, you wanna mope, can go to high school. You wanna make amends, you get off your ass. Shit.” 

Vision broke the force field with the Mind Stone. Quickly, he punched Clint to the floor, but Clint recovered. 

“I knew I should’ve stretched,” Clint groaned.

He extended a baton and tried to hit Vision but the blows went right through him. Clint resorted to punches before trying the baton again. It broke. Clint tried to kick Vision, but his leg wen right through him. Vision then quickly got Clint into a headlock.

“Clint, you van’t overpower me,” Vision warned.

“I know I can’t,” Clint responded. “But they can.” 

They look up to see Wanda and Y/N standing side by side, Wanda’s red glow between her hands. 

“Vision, that’s enough,” Wanda said. “Let him go. We’re leaving.”

“I can’t let you,” Vision replied.

Wanda held her hands apart, glowing with energy, forcing Clint to slip from Vision’s grasp. He grabbed Y/N and pulled her away as Wanda forced Vision to the ground.

“How far a long are you?” Clint whispered.

“What?” Y/N gasped, looking at Clint with surprise.

“My wife’s had three kids. I know the tells.”

“Five weeks.”

“Does anyone know?” Y/N shook her head. “Then you’re staying here. I’m not putting you or the baby in harms way. And I know Steve wouldn’t want that either.”

“No, I can—“

A crash is heard. They flinch as they turn to see that Wanda as forced Vision through several floors of the compound.

“If you stay here,” Clint turned back to Y/N, hands on her shoulders, “I won’t say a word. If you come or follow, I’ll tell everyone and they’ll force you to stay put anyway.”

~~~~

Vision disappeared out of the hole not long after Clint and Wanda had left. Y/N couldn’t stop worrying, pacing, rounding every inch of the compound. FRIDAY had blocked her from being able to contact any of her teammates or watch any news channels. It was late into the afternoon of the next day when she finally was contacted. She had just barely fallen asleep on the couch when FRIDAY announced the incoming call.

“Y/N?” Natasha panicked voice filled her room. She was immediately on alert. 

“Nat? Are you okay? What happened?”

“It got bad. There was a fight at the airport in Berlin. Sam, Clint, and Wanda are in jail. Bucky and Steve made it to the quinjet to go—I don’t even know where.”

“What? How did this happen?“

“And Rhodey was extremely hurt. Tony’s in the other room waiting for the results, but it doesn’t look good. I think he’ll go after them next. The only way to stop him is if you go with Bucky and Steve to wherever it is they’re headed. Tony will trust you if you’re with them.”

“Nat, I don’t—“

“I’m not asking you to pick a side. I’m asking you to save your family.” Y/N’s hand went straight to her stomach. “To save your child’s family.”

“How did you…”

“You were in the bathroom for way too long, Y/N. And I’ve noticed how your hand falls to your stomach. Do they know?”

“Only Clint and you.”

“You need to tell them before it’s too late.”

“I know… Thanks for the information, Nat. I’m assuming you helped them escape.”

“I did. Have to go on the run now.”

“Stay safe, Nat.”

“You too.”

The call ended and Y/N took a deep breath. Bucky and Steve had taken a quinjet from Berlin, the same quinjet Y/N had arrived there in. So she could create a portal there. It was just bracing herself for the inevitable vomiting that would follow. Opening the portal, she rushed through, stumbling into the quinjet.

“What the—“ Bucky immediately turned around, pointing a gun in Y/N’s direction. He lowered it when he saw her vomiting in the corner. “Y/N?” He hurried forward, kneeling beside her. “How did you— are you okay?”

“Y/N,” Steve rushed to her other side. A hand found the way to her back, gently rubbing up and down. “What’s going on?”

“I’m… I’m… fine…” she panted. She straightened up, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “I’ll be fine.”

“Is there something going on with your powers?”

“I’m fine, Steve, really. How are you guys?”

“Really Y/N?” Bucky questioned. “You just appeared through a portal and began to vomit. I don’t think you’re okay.” As he looked her over, his eyes found their way to her neck. “No,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” His flesh hand came up, hesitant to touch the bruise. Y/N grabbed his hand and led it to her bruise. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine, Buck. I’m okay.”

“I promised to never hurt you and I keep doing it. Leaving for war, falling into HYDRA’s hands, back in DC, now this…”

“Bucky,” Steve called, slowly, watching the interaction. “How much to you actually remember?”

“I remember Y/N the most. Not everything, but I remember the feelings when we were together the strongest.”

“You remember me the most?” Y/N repeated quietly.

“Something happened the moment we met eyes in DC. Things kept creeping back.”

“Oh, Buck.” Y/N quickly wrapped her arms around Bucky. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too, doll.”

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” Steve asked, again.

She pulled away from Bucky, so that she could see both men. “Nat called me and told me what happened. I came to help.”

“You know that you can’t go back after this, right?”

“I may be able to get us all home safety and talk everyone down. I just need to see this through to be able to explain it and help the cause.”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “I think you are safer staying in the quinjet.”

“Not a chance, Buck. If there’s a way I can bring you home, I’m going to do it.”

“I don’t think I’m worth all this.” He looked down into his lap.

Y/N guided her hand under Bucky’s chin, gently guided it up so that they were looking into each others eyes. “I think you’re worth it. I always have.”

next chapter >

NOTES: from now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2​​. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

[whydoyouwantmyname]

Imagine being Sirius’s daughter (Part 5)

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

-That afternoon after divination you walked down to the hut to show Hagrid the Martisor George got you from Romania. Not even bothering to knock you swung the door open to see Hagrid looked at a medium sized, dark forest green egg, covered in scales.

“What the bloody hell is that?” You replied, quickly shutting the door as Hagrid jumped slight, startled by your sudden presence. His eyes wide as you advanced towards the table, and gently ran a finger down the scaled egg.

“I won it, fellow said it was a genuine dragon egg.”

“I would hope so, this thing is huge.” You replied, “Hagrid, what are we gonna do with a dragon?”

“Well I’m gonna raise him as my...”

“Hagrid, not only is the ministry never going to allow you to have a dragon, but neither is Dumbledore, I mean this has to be some sort of violation of the safety...”

“So is Aragon.” He cut you off so matter of factly, as you looked over at him, “He is different, he doesn’t spit fire, or fly. Plus he is trained to stay in the Forest, where not only can he hunt for his own food, but you go out and feed him as well. A dragon would never be able to survive in the forest.”

“I thought out of everyone, you would be excited.” He sighed, almost defeated, cause he knew what you were saying was true, however the tone of his voice made your heart break.

“I am excited, I just don’t want to see you get fired and banished.” You smiled, “What if you let Charlie take care of it in Romania? I am sure he would let you come and visit all the time.”

-The rest of the visit you two just sipped tea and discussed the dragon egg that was sitting between you both on the table, and when you left you were under the impression that Hagrid was going to reach out to Charlie, and have him look after his little dragon. However when you left the hut, Hagrid turned around and spoke, “Don’t worry little fellow, I’m not gonna ship you off to Romania.”

-He hid the egg during the day, fearful that you would visit.

-The boys were always asking you if they could listen to your Walkman, which you happily shared with them. Lee really liked listening to Abba, and Elton John, George preferred AC/DC, The Eagles, and Journey, and Fred always wanted to listen to your David Bowie, Motley Crue, and Billy Joel. However you thought it was funny that they all loved Queen, and many nights you would find them putting a volume charm on your headphones so that everyone in the common room could listen to Freddie Mercury singing.

-On these nights, once everyone had left the common room in search of escape from the noise you and the boys would end up dancing around the common room to the melody, and screaming the lyrics as you did. This resulted in Percy coming to have multiple talks with you four about the noise at 1am. You would always look at him with a look of apology, but as soon as he would leave, you were all roaring with laughter.

-Sometimes late at night you would put the headphones on and listen to the Pink Floyd album, it was one of the few pieces of music you could remember your father playing, it made you feel like you were a toddler again running around your small flat, everyone who you loved back in your life. A single tear running down your face as you remembered.

-The twins were always fighting over who was going to be your partner for group assignments, which always made you chuckle as you looked at Lee, “They act like I won’t help them both.”

-Even though they would fight over it, Fred was your partner a majority of the time. Each time George and Lee hoped he would get the guts to try to ask you out on a date again, but he never did.

-When you went to Hagrid’s one afternoon you looked at him concerned, “What’s wrong Hagrid?”

“Nothing you can help with.” He replied as you sat down, arms crossed, “Try me?”

“It’s just.... something is killing unicorns in the forest. All the creatures are on edge, I mean everyone knows that the only reason anyone would want to murder such a majestic creature is...”

“For the blood.” You finished his sentence, “And the centaurs haven’t seen anything? They normally are good at knowing even the littlest things that happen in those woods.”

“I asked Firenze, but they haven’t heard anything other then that the Unicorns are getting hunted.”

- Later that night you asked, “Listen I know I’m not allowed to ask what he is guarding, but how’s Fluffy?”

“He’s good, real good. Trust me sweetheart, he’ll be home quicker then you know.”

-That night as you climbed the stairs to the Gryffindor common room you heard Fred and George’s singing voices, they were belting out the lyrics to The Time of Our Lives by Bill Medley, your smile growing to see the two boys standing behind you. You couldn’t help by join in with a laugh as the Fat Lady muttered, “You were all flat, and horribly off key.”

“Oh we couldn’t be that bad, however we will never be great artists like you.” George smiled as the Fat Lady blushed, and asked nicely for the password.

“Caput Draconis.” You replied as she swung open, causing you all to hurry to the corner table and start working on future pranks.

-While you were working you noticed Ron and Harry sitting on the love seat, struggling with their homework, Hermonie no where in sight. You quietly excused yourself from the Twins and knelt down in front of them, “Need a hand?”

-You sat in front of the two and helped them finish everything, and once they were done, you smeriked and asked, “So now that that’s done, want to sneak down to the kitchen and see if there’s anything left out.”

-They both said no, but Fred and George overheard your offer, and were quick to jump on it. Once the two first years disappeared to their dormitories, you three pulled out the map, and opened it to see the kitchen was empty. You three quickly headed to one of the multiple secret passages and snuck down there to find that there was a small cake left on the counter in the empty kitchen. You three all hopped up on the counter after retrieving forks and started to eat it. Once it was all gone, you took a bottle of pumpkin juice from the fridge and made your way back to the common room, each of you taking sips of the bottle you would later hid in your enchanted bag.

-The next morning during Dumbledore’s announcements he exclaimed, “All students are not premitted into the kitchens after 10pm, any student caught in there, or with items from the kitchen will be placed into detention.”

-The next day you looked at Harry, Hermonie, and Ron, “You all look like bloody shit.”

“Well since we were in detention, we didn’t get much sleep.”

“Why were you in detention? Did Flint catch you cheating?” George teased as Ron yawned, “No, Malfoy snitched to McGonagall that we were at Hagrid’s with Norbert, and then Flitch made us go into the forbidden forest to look for a unicorn.”

“Norbert?” You asked

“Yeah,”Ron yawned again, “His dragon.”

-Your eyes grew, and your head turned towards Hagrid, who was looking right at you, already knowing that the golden trio was probably going to tell you about their detention, and Norbert.

-After lunch, the boys all had quidditch practice, Lee of course was going to go watch, and practice his announcing, and you were planning on going to watch. Before the boys entered the pitch though you looked at Fred and George, “I’ll be in in a few, I just have to go see Hagrid first.”

“We get it, you would much rather watch us kick Slytherin’s ass then practice.” George replied as you chuckled, “Georgie, your first match is against Hufflepuff, not Slytherin.”

-When you got to the hut you didn’t bother knocking, and just walked in to see a mess of wavy reddish orange hair sitting in Hagrid’s armchair, as Hagrid sat on the couch, cradling the small dragon, the conversation between the two haulting as Hagrid spoke up, “Figured you would be here at some point to see the little fellow.”

“No, I came here to see Charlie, since I haven’t seen him since summer break.”you joked, as the second eldest Weasley turned around, a smile on his face as he replied, “Still keeping my younger brothers in check I hope?”

“Course I am, so well in fact I have been neglecting keeping our favorite staff member in check.” you joked as you walked over to Hagrid, and extended a hand towards the scaley beast hiding in his beard, his head slightly poking out before he nuzzled his head against your palm.

“I swear you have a knack for this Black.” Charlie praised as you whispered, “i mean I learned from the best.”

-Charlie was never going to tell you this, but you were his favorite of all of his brother’s friends, and found himself building a bond with you at the burrow before he moved whenever you were able to get away from the others. Seeing you with Norbert just reassured him that his brothers were in good hands, and that he didn’t have to worry as much about them.

-When he left with Norbert you looked at Hagrid, “No more surprise creatures please.”

“Course not.”

“So, did you find anything in the forest last night?” You asked, the screams of the gryffindor quidditch team could faintly be heard from the pitch as Hagrid replied, “Harry and Draco saw something, Harry said it was a tall, pale, hooded figure, almost like a man. He was gone though by the time we got to him.”

“Great, at least we have a lead.” You answered, before you heard a louder shout, this one was undeniably George, which caused you to slightly panic, Hagrid could see it in your face, “Go, I can catch ya up later over tea.”

-When you got to the pitch Lee looked at you, “You just missed it, George missed a Bludger, hit him in the arm. Oliver looked at it, nothings broke, but he is gonna have a nasty bruise in the morning.”

-Later that night while you all sat at the table working on your homework, you suggested, “What if we made a bruise remover, like a cream or something you can rub on a bruise or black eye that will make it disappear?”

“How would that help with pranks?” George asked, his sleeve rolled up revealing the enormous bruise that was consuming his arm.

“Well if we ever make a product that causes bruises, the user can remove it from the victim after having a good laugh. We could sell them as a set.” You replied as Fred looked at you, “You’re a genius Black.”

-You spent one afternoon a week helping Hagrid make the photo album

-The first quidditch match of the spring season you found yourself surrounded by first years, since Hermonie had asked you to sit with her and Ron, who was quick to make fun of you for wearing his brother’s jersey, “Seriously, you two might as well be married.”

“We are, Freddie didn’t tell you we got eloped this past summer.” You teased back, as Ron looked at you, a look of disgust on his face as Hermonie piped up, “Don’t worry Ronald, it is illegal to elope before 18, without parent’s consent.”

-At the end of the game you ran straight past Harry, who had gotten the snitch before the Hufflepuff golden boy, Cedric Diggory, and jumped straight into Fred’s arms, giving him a congratulatory hug, as he spun you around.

-When he sat you down, you smiled at him, a slight blush on his face as you turned to Harry and George and quickly hugged them as well, however the hug was nothing compared to Fred’s.

-After that match Ron and Harry made a bet, Ron suspected You were going to be dating one of the twins by the end of the year, Harry thought you were going to be dating Fred before you graduated from Hogwarts. Whoever lost owed the winner a cauldron cake, and a butter beer.

-That night you were sitting with Fred and Lee on the couch, when George walked into the empty common room, “[Y/N], get the Walkman, we must celebrate our victory!”

-That night you were listening to the normal selection, until the Queens tape ended, and George picked the next one, the first song that played was I Can’t Tell You Why, as both George and Lee groaned, about to press the fast forward button in hopes that they stopped it before the next track, but George stopped Lee when he saw Fred grab your hand, and pull you towards him. A smile on your face as Fred dramatically mouthed the words, all while spinning you around in a dance, your giggles masked by the melody as he dipped you, pulling you up quickly into a spin. George and Lee just watching the pair of you, smiling ear to ear as the song ended.

-As soon as the song ended though Percy came to the base of the stairs, “Seriously, none of your other teammates are causing a ruckus like this, so I have no idea why you four feel the need to disrupt the entire tower at midnight.”

“Sorry Percy, we’ll head straight to bed now.” You answered, separating from Fred before grabbing the Walkman, and retreating to the girl’s dormitory, as Percy just glared at the other three, “Honestly I don’t know what she sees in you three holigens?”

“Trust us Percy, we don’t either.” George replied, before the older Weasley escorted the three to bed.

-The next morning you were waiting for the boys outside their dormitory, and smiled, “We are going to prank Percy.”

-You slipped a potion into his pumpkin juice, which caused him to lose his voice for 48 hours. Madam Pomfey had nothing to cure it, so for two days you didn’t have to listen to Percy. However Molly sent a howler to the Twins blaming them for the entire thing. You were quick to write an apology to her, telling her that the twins had nothing to do with it, and that you would never do it again. She replied with a sweetly worded letter, making the Twins slightly jealous, because she didn’t send you a howler.

“What can I say boys, I’m mom’s favorite.” You smiled as you elbowed Lee, the two gingers across from you scowling as you laughed.

- You were the top of the class, as usual. The boys joked that you were going to be the next head girl, and excitingly looked at each other as the realization set in, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“If you were head girl, do you know how much stuff we could get away with?” George asked as you smiled, and shock your head.

“Honestly you two are probably going to be the reason I am not head girl.” You smiled.

-That night you all went to bed early, and when you woke up was when you learned Harry was in the hospital wing, everyday he was in there you went to visit him, occasionally someone else would join you, mostly Ron, but you never really left. Dumbledore allowed it, knowing how much Harry meant to you, even if Harry didn’t know.

-When he woke up, you leapt from the stool and hugged him, “Oh thank Merlin, I was starting to think you would never wake up.”

-Harry told you everything that happened in the chamber where the mirror of Erised was. Your worry building as he told you about Voldemort’s face in the back of Qurill’s head. When Dumbledore showed up and clearified several things for Harry, he placed a hand on your shoulder and stated, “Let the boy rest. We have many things to discuss.”

-On the way to the Chamber, you were freaking out at Dumbledore for ever letting Harry do something so dangerous, as though he knew Harry’s plans. The whole time he let you just aggressively whisper at him.

-He took you to the empty chamber, the mirror still in the middle of the floor as he looked at you, finally speaking, “I am sorry I didn’t tell you what happened.”

“You knew?”

“I had my suspicions on what happened when Harry wasn’t in attendance, Snape found him down here alone, I suspect Quirell parished. I have destroyed the stone, which we found in Harry’s pocket.”

“Did you know about Quirell?”

“No, but I suspect that the unicorn murders will also stop now, since I am sure Voldemort was the one using the blood.”

“Why though did the mirror give Harry the stone?” You asked as you slowly approached the glass, as Dumbledore looked past you, seeing his sister in the reflection instead of you.

“The mirror of Erised is a enchanted mirror, it is used to show us what it is we truly desire. When I had it placed here however I enchanted it to protect the stone, and give it to someone who was searching for the stone, but had no intention on using it.”

“It shows us our desires.” You questioned, looking into it, before you saw them slowly approaching, and finally after a few moments they stopped in front of you. On the far left was a younger Remus, his scars disappeared, as he smiled at you, his eyes sparkling as Peter stood beside him, he didn’t look as timid as normal, nor did he seem as though he was on edge, on the right stood Lily, her hair pulled up in a high ponytail, and wearing a summer dress, her right hand resting on Harry’s shoulder, his scar disappeared as he smiled at you. On his left stood James, his eyes gleaming behind his glasses as he smiled at you with such pride, before clapping his hand onto the shoulder of your father, who was right in front of you. He was cleaned up, the curls of his black hair wild as his eyes teared up, his hand slowly rising to the glass to match yours as you gently placed it onto the glass. His smile pained though when he realized he couldn’t touch you, as you drew in a quick breath. Your eyes watering as each of them, except Harry all stacked their hands on top of Sirius’s, each smiling at you as you whispered, “What happened to Voldemort?”

“I don’t know my dear.” Dumbledore whispered as you dropped your hand slowly, “But you have my word, I will never let him harm Harry. I will do everything in my power to protect him.”

“I know.” You whispered, before blinking back tears, and turning away from your family.

-When you returned from the Mirror, and went to the great hall for the final feast Fred saw the look on your face, and was quick to tap Lee on the shoulder to tell him to move, however you were already sliding next to George. When you slumped next to George, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and whispered, “Why so down Black?”

“We lost the house cup, to Slytherien of all houses.” You lied, as Ron whispered, “Don’t worry there is always next year.”

-When you got on the train platform, you noticed Hagrid handing the rectangular package to Harry, a smile on your face as you imagined the excitement the photo album would bring him.

-You were sitting in a booth with your friend group, you were laughing at one of George’s jokes when you heard the knock on the glass. You turned to see Harry standing there looking shy, clutching the album, as he gestured for you to join him in the hall. When you got out there he sheepishly asked, “Can we go sit in an empty booth?”

“Course.” You replied as you both started towards the front which was normally empty, and slided into the first empty booth. As soon as the door shut Harry opened the album to a photo of James and You, he was spinning you around in the background, while Lily laid on the floor with a baby Harry, who was playing with blocks, your father behind the lens, taking the picture as he watched you laugh in James’s arms. Your smile wide as you remembered you had the exact copy of this picture at your cottage.

“This little girl looks just like you.” He whispered, as you met his eyes.

“That’s cause it is me.”

“You knew my parents?” He asked as you smiled, “Yeah, except I knew them as Uncle James, and Aunt Lily. My dad was best friends with your dad.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Honestly, I figured you would rather want to get to know me for me, and not as the girl who could connect you to your past.”

“Do you think they would let me live with you?” He asked, your heart breaking at the thought of him going back to those abusive muggles, a thought you had been repressing for the last month, “I’m afraid not Harry, as much as I would love to, your parents wanted you to live with them. But don’t worry, I will write you every day, and before you know it, we will be back on this train, going back home.”

-When you got off the train you immediately saw Remus, and ran to him, your head burying into his chest as he hugged you back, so happy to have his little girl back. He lifted his head though just in time to see Harry following the Weasleys towards Molly and Arthur, wanting nothing more than to go introduce himself to Harry, but he knew he couldn’t.

-On the ride home you looked at Remus, “He asked me if he could come live with us.”

“I figured that would happen once he saw the pictures.” Remus calmly responded, “What did you say?”

“That Uncle Prongs, and Aunt Lily wanted him to live with the Dursley’s.”

-the rest of the car ride was silent, as you both wished that you could take him home with you.

-You really did write Harry Every day

-You were at the cottage for about a week before you went to the Burrow. Remus was happy that he got to spend some time with you, and loved listening to your stories about your second term.

-One day while you were helping weed the garden outside of the cottage, you looked towards your Uncle, “Uncle Mooney?”

“Yes my love?” His head lifted, his hands still in the soft dirt as he dug out the tiny roots of the unwanted greenery.

“Why do you think my father stopped writing. I mean he used to be so consistent with it, and now I...”

“Perhaps they have taken his privileges away.” Remus replied, his heart breaking as he thought of the new pile of letters hidden under his bed, some addressed to you, but most of them were directed toward Mr. Remus Lupin, and were strong worded demands for answers to his questions. The biggest one being why he was withholding his letters to his daughter.

“You don’t think he...” you paused, not wanted to say the words you were thinking. The idea of your father’s death haunting your thoughts as Remus read your mind and quickly reassured, “No my love, I doubt he is dead.”

-Before you went you expressed to him that Molly had invited him to go school shopping again with them, however you then expressed, “I am sure Harry will be coming as well, and would love to meet you.”

“Unfortunately I can’t this year, the full moon and all.” He lied, and he knew you would know it was a lie as well, but he couldn’t bring himself to say that he wasn’t meant to be in Harry’s life.

-When you got to the Burrow, Fred was the first out of the door, his body colliding with yours as you fell into the grass, George toppling onto you both seconds later.

-Molly stood in the window and watched the three of you in the grass, before Arthur joined her side, “She really does bring out the best in them.”

“And to think, you almost didn’t let her be their friend.” Molly replied as Arthur smiled, “Well I see now it wasn’t fair of me to judge her.”

- When they rolled off of you, you all just laid in the grass, and watched the clouds, George to your left, Fred to your right. Your fingers lifting towards the shapes the clouds made as you imagined what they could be, as the boys added their two cents.

-When it started to get dark you sat up and looked at both the boys, their brown eyes looking at you as you spoke, “So what did Mum make for dinner?”

-When you walked in Percy rolled his eyes, mostly because that last term the three of you had gotten on his nerves so much, now he was scared you would have the same late night dance parties at the house, however as soon as you saw him you smiled, “Well hello there Perfect Percy.”

-At dinner you leaned over to him and whispered, “I left it at home.” Which brought a smile to his face.

-About half way through the week, the three of you actually went to Lee’s house, which Lee was over the moon when you three agreed to go to his house for a extended weekend. As soon as you arrived Lee showed you all over the city, and you couldn’t help but chuckle when you saw a local theater, which was playing A Leauge of Their Own. You joked to the three boys that you should all go, and were shocked when they all agreed.

-You laughed the whole movie, seated between the two twins, you couldn’t help but laugh as you joking threw popcorn in your mouth.

-The twins had never been to a movie theater before, and were quickly obsessed, so every night of your vacation you and Lee found different theaters in the area and took them to at least one showing a day.

-At the end of the mini vacation you went back to the cottage, and told Remus you wanted to drive into town to get something. While out you bought a small television, a VCR and several VHS tapes, which caused Remus to chuckle, knowing that next you were going to ask if he could drive you to the burrow, since Apperating with all that would be nearly impossible.

-When you got there Molly came out the front door, a surprised look on her face as you exited the car, “[Y/N], Lupin, what are you doing here?”

“I have a present for you all.” You smiled, “since you guys have always been so kind to us. Plus I think Arthur is really going to like this.”

-Remus helped you set up the TV, as Molly watched, a smile on her face as you all silently set it up, not wanting the twins to realize you were there, since all the Weasley children were in the garden playing Quidditch. When you had finished setting everything up you explained to Molly everything you knew about the TV, as Remus sat at the kitchen Table and sipped on the cup of tea she had offered you.

- When Arthur came home, you smiled ear to ear, “Arthur, I want to show you something!”

“[Y/N] my dear, we weren’t expecting you until the 14th.” Arthur stated with a smile as you took his hand and sat him in the armchair in front of the TV.

“I know, but I was too excited to show you this, the muggles call it a television. They use it to watch broadcasts, and for entertainment purposes. This is the remote, and you can control the whole box using it.” You instructed, showing him how to use it, his eyes growing in wonder, since he had only heard about them at work, but had never had the pleasure of operating one. And now he had his very own.

“She really is a good kid Remus, Sirius would be proud of how you have raised her.” Molly whispered, as Remus turned to watch the way your eyes glimmered with joy as you explained everything to Arthur, a smile never leaving your face. Even though you were not blood with Lily, it reminded him of how Lily would explain stuff to them when they were in Hogwarts.

“I hope everyday they would all be proud of how she turned out.” He replied, “I just wish I had the same opportunity with Harry that I did with her.”

“From what Ron says, he behaves just like her, both of them would do anything for their friends, are generous, compassionate, loyal, smart, and all around wonderful. He might not have been raised with her, or among the Potter’s chosen family, but he is just like James and Lily.”

-While you were showing Arthur the tv Ginny had come in through the back door, she was going to get an ice pack for Ron, who was taunting her while they were flying, so she took Fred’s bats and hit the bulgur right at him, and hit him square in the face. Percy, who was reffing the game, immediately ended the match, and declared Ron and George the winners. However when Ginny saw you, she couldn’t help but excitingly shout, “[Y/N]!”

-While she raced to give you a hug George, and Fred looked at one another, a bloody nosed Ron standing between them, “Did Ginny just shout [Y/N]?” George asked, before looking to their hurt brother, and then back at each other, before racing into the house, leaving Ron with Percy, and no ice pack.

-They both wrapped you into large hugs, Fred squeezing you a bit tighter then George did, which Molly noticed, and with a chuckle she whispered, “So when do you think those two are finally going to get together?”

“Honestly I haven’t the slightest idea, I thought they would have already been dating by now.” Remus joked as Fred and George gushed about the movies you had picked up.

-Once the sun started to set, Remus started to rise slowly, about to tell you it was time to go, but Fred cut him off, “Mr. Lupin, do you think it would be okay if she stays, I mean the 14th is right around the corner, and she can wear my jumpers, since she fits.”

“And she can wear my pants.” George added, “and I am sure Percy has some woman’s panties she can burrow.”

-He left that night alone, chuckling lightly as he pulled away from the burrow, as he looked into the rear view mirror he saw three figures climb out of a window and onto the roof, a smile overtaking his face as he appreciated the fact that you had found yourself a friend group just like the one he had in school.

-Ginny loved to gush to you about her crush on Harry Potter, and how she was so excited to meet him. You would always listen, and whenever any of the brothers would try to talk ill of her and her schoolgirl crush, you would give them a glare, and threaten to prank them harder then any of them have ever been pranked if they didn’t shut up.

-After you gifted them the TV, Arthur started asking you about all different kinds of Muggle inventions. You didn’t know the answer to some of them, but you were always willing to research the answer for him.

-When Molly invited Remus to join them again for back to school shopping, he asked if Harry was also going to come. “I mean I know he invited both Hermonie’s family, and Harry to join.”

“Then I am afraid I can’t this year Molly, I do hope you understand.” He painfully replied, as she looked at him with sorrow in her eyes.

-When Fred, George, and Ron took the Ford Angelina to rescue Harry you chuckled, “You really don’t think your mum is gonna notice you are gone?”

“Nope, and if she does come into the room, you’ll cover for us right?” George asked as you shook your head, “Sure.”

-That morning when you got up Molly was looking at the clock, “Where did they go?” She asked, her tone severe as she crossed her arms and looked at the three hands pointed towards Away.

“They went to go get Harry.” You replied, “I told them they were idiots if they thought you wouldn’t notice.”

“That they are.” Molly replied, however before you could reply you both heard the car park, causing Molly to look at you with a devilish smile, before hiding where the four wouldn’t see her, a slight smile on your face while you walked into the kitchen and started making six cups of tea.

-When the boys entered Harry looked at you, “[Y/N], you’re here too?” 

“Course she is, the boys would die without her.” Ron replied as you handed him and Harry their cups. Fred and George looking at you for any sign that their mum knew, however you gave none as you handed them their tea.

-When Harry was looking at the clock, you looked at Fred and George with a smile, “Thank you by the way for saving him.”

“No problem deary, anything to please our princess.” George joked as you made a face, “Never call me princess again.”

-Neither You or George saw the way Fred’s face looked when George called you princess, or the sparkle of envy behind his irises.

-When Molly came out from behind the wall, her hands on her hips as she stated, “Where have you been? Empty beds, no note, car gone. You could’ve died, you could’ve been seen!” You couldn’t help but smile between the twins as their faces paled, you were sure Ron’s was also paling as they stuttered for the proper words to tell Molly.

“I thought you said...” George whispered as you smiled, “You really thought I was gonna snitch on your mum?”

“But you had no problem snitching on us?” Fred replied, a bit louder then he expected.

“Oh don’t you even try to blame this on [Y/N], she didn’t have to tell me a word.” Molly retorted, before Ron added, “We had to do it Mum, they had bars on his windows, you should’ve seen it.”

“Just be glad I don’t put bars on your boy’s window.” She snapped before advancing towards Harry, “Harry, It is wonderful to see you again darling, now tell me, how have you been?”

“Honestly you really didn’t think your mum was going to get up at the crack of dawn to start the chores, and notice that the flying car was gone, or hear you guys park?” You replied as her and the two younger boys went off towards the bathroom to wash up before breakfast.

- That morning at breakfast you all sat around the long table, most of the clan still in their pajamas as Molly set down two large stacks of flapjacks. You were plopped between the two ginger twins, who both leaned forward as soon as their mother set down the plates. The only one missing from Breakfast was Ginny, so as the boys served themselves you muttered, “You guys aren’t even going to wait for your sister?”

“You snooze, you lose.” George rebuttaled as you rolled your eyes, however as soon as you heard the footsteps on the stairs you just assumed she smelled breakfast, “Mummy have you seen my jumper?”

“Yes dear it was on the cat.” Molly replied as Harry gave a cheery, “Hello.” However Ginny didn’t reply, instead she looked mortified, and raced away, as all the boys, except Harry slightly smiled.

“Have I done something wrong?” Harry asked, confusion written on his face as Ron replied, “That’s Ginny, she been talking about you all summer, but annoying honestly.”

“Don’t worry Harry, [Y/N] used to look at me the same way, and now look at us.” Fred replied as you raised an eyebrow, George adding, “More like the other way around.”

-Before you could reply though Arthur was walking through the front door, “Morning Weasleys.”

“Morning Dad.” Echoed through the kitchen, as your, “Morning Arthur.” mixed into the blend.

-Arthur told you this years later, but he always considered you to be his second daughter, and he apologized for ever doubting your intentions due to your last name.

-When Molly told Arthur about the boys driving the enchanted car, you couldn’t help but smile as he replied with genuine excitement and curiosity, “How was it?”

-You silently chuckled when Molly lightly slapped him, and he awkwardly scolded the three, however you all knew he had no desire to.

-When Arthur asked Harry about the rubber duck you smiled, Molly saw that you smiled, and knew it was because you were just glad they were so excepting of him. She didn’t know it was also because you saw a sparkle of Lily’s kindness show through his answer as he tried to explain the function of a rubber duck on the spot.

-When Errol crashed into the glass, you turned to look out the window, making sure he was okay, when George whispered, “He’s fine [Y/N], he always is.”

“Blimey, sometimes I think she loves that owl more then us.” Fred added as Errol got back up, and flew the stack of letters to the table, dropping them with a thud before flying up to purch on the stair railing.

“Scabbers is more of my favorite, you both know that.” You joked, as Percy scoffed, “Well maybe he should be your pet then.”

“Sure.” You smiled, thinking it was a serious offer, as Molly replied, “Now Percy, you know you can’t give him away, he is technically supposed to be Fred and George’s this year.”

“You can have him.” George responded

-When they were handing out the letters and saw Harry’s they handed it straight to him, however your school supplies letter was not in the mix.

“They must’ve sent it to the cabin.” You answered, before taking another bite of your flapjack, “I can always just ask my uncle...”

“Nonsense, we are all in the same classes, you can just burrow our list.” Fred answered, scared to death that you might be implying you want to go home.

“I mean, except for maybe potions.” You smiled, before looking over Fred’s shoulder to see that Dumbledore had scribbled next to potions that he wanted to make it more geared towards creating harmless pranks. George’s list had the same thing beside it, meaning that once again, you and the Twins were going to be learning with Albus instead of Snape.

“Why is it that you three never have to take potions with Snape?” Percy asked, “I mean he is an...”

“Ass.” Fred replied.

“Frederick Gideon Weasley, that is no way to talk about one of your teachers.” Molly scolded.

“Sorry mum.” He muttered, as you leaned over and whispered, “You’re not wrong.���

-You were standing in the boys room getting ready when Fred and George walked into the room, your hands searching for your shirt and bra as you stood there in your unbuttoned overalls. Both boys unphased as they flopped onto George’s bed, and looked at you furrowing your brow. “Did you throw it in the wash by mistake.” George asked as you sighed.

“Must have.”

“Here.” Fred replied, getting up quickly and tossing you a shirt from the closet they shared, your hand raising to catch the fabric before throwing it over your head, and tucked it into the overalls before buttoning them. Looking into the mirror you smiled at how well you looked in the oversized, stripped shirt. With a chuckle George joked, “Careful Freddie, she’s got that look like she is gonna steal your whole wardrobe now.”

-when you were dressed, you and the boys met everyone downstairs, as Ron gave you a odd look, “Hey, [Y/N], isn’t that Fred’s shirt?”

“Yeah, and if you mention it again, we’ll slip a spider in your room while you sleep.” Fred rebuttaled as Harry looked towards the slightly frightened boy, the twins giggling as you rolled your eyes.

-When Harry mispronounced Diagon Alley, your anxiety heightened, you knew how sensitive the floo powder system was, I mean you had been using it since you were two, as though they could sense it, George and Fred both whispered in your ear, “I’m sure he’ll be fine, he didn’t pronounce it too poorly.”

-As soon as you arrived, you went off looking for him, the Twins not far behind as you ventured to each shop and asked if they had seen a chocolate haired boy, with thin, round wire glasses, and green eyes emerge from their fire places.

-After an hour you were ready to tell the duo you wanted to go into Knockturn Alley, however you were interrupted by Hagrid’s booming voice, “Hello boys, [Y/N].”

When you turned you saw a sooty Harry, his green eyes looking at you as you smiled in relief, “Hello Hagrid, where on earth did you find Harry?”

“Found him wandering around Knockturn Alley, says he was taking the floo powder system with you and the Weasleys.”

“Well thank you for finding him, maybe now he will learn the importance of pronunciation.” You looked at him with seriousness as he looked towards the ground. You turned to walk away, and were several steps ahead when Harry looked towards George and Fred, “She isn’t seriously mad is she?”

“Nah, if she was, she would have cut your head off. If anything I think she was more worried about you, but don’t worry, we kept her sane.” Fred replied, as George smiled, “Barely.”

-When you got to the book store you rolled your eyes, and leaned towards Fred, “Honestly I have the faintest idea why everyone is so bloody obsessed with him.”

“Perhaps it is the golden curls, most girls like blondes.”

“I prefer gingers if you ask me.” You replied, not thinking twice, as Fred sheepishly smiled.

-You noticed that Harry looked extremely uncomfortable around Lockheart, “You know, sometimes I wish Harry wasn’t famous.”

“Trust me, I am sure he is wishing the same thing.” George answered

-When Lucius saw you, his lips were pulled into a thin, forced smile. You always knew that the bloodline between the Malfoys and the Blacks were now connected by the marriage of Draco’s parents, and even though you never met any of your father’s bloodline, they certainly had their own opinions about your father, and of you.

-You hadn’t noticed that he slipped in the diary, but you did hear Fred’s mutter, “Asshole.”, when he insulted Arthur by calling him a disgrace, your own blood boiling as you watched him start to leave. Looking towards Arthur you muttered, “I apologize for my father’s cousin’s miserable husband.”

“No problem my dear, it isn’t your fault that his view is skewed.” Arthur forced a smile as Fred and George looked towards you, “Want to go to Gambol and Jape’s?”

“Of course.” You smiled, before the three of you separated from the others.

-When Molly and Arthur collected you from Gambol and Jape’s you walked out with a small bag filled with stink pellets, while both twins had a arm full of fireworks.

-You three let the fireworks off that night, a huge smile on your face as the colorful embers danced through the sky. You were so preoccupied with them you failed to noticed the way Fred watched the multiple colors light up your own face, his smile growing as you smiled like a little girl as each exploded, his heart racing while you just looked so relaxed sitting in the grass by the garden. When you went inside though you took a piece of parchment and started jotting down ideas on what kind of potion based pranks you could pull, and ask Dumbledore to teach you.

- The next morning when you woke up, you were sprawled out on the cot, the snores of the two fingers filling your ears as you stretched your arms high above your head. Slowly sitting up, you heard the mattress crack and groan under the weight of you, and looked to either side of the room, a smile on your face. George looked as though he hadn’t moved all night, his faded maroon sheet draped over his body, which was facing the wall, while his quilt was neatly folded at his feet. He was facing the wall, completely laying on his stomach, his left arm under his single, matching pillow, while his forehead rested on the wrist of his right arm. You couldn’t help but chuckle too at the fact that his light green pajama shirt looked slightly too small on his flexed arm, knowing fully well that the matching striped pants almost looked too large on him. When you looked to Fred’s side though, the faded, slightly bleach stained blue sheets were a tangled mess, showing how much the older twin tossed about, the quilt he slept under throw completely to the bottom of his bed. One of his three pillows had fallen to the floor, the other two supporting his head and left arm, which was bent above him. He was laying flat on his back, his head lolled towards you, his mouth slightly open, with a small trickle of crusted drool dripping down his cheek. You smiled well though when you saw that the small hippogrif plushie he had had since childhood was safely tucked under his right arm, close to his bare chest, as a single, striped pink panted leg hung out over the side of the bed, outside of the sheets.

-After making your cot, you grabbed the closest piece of discarded shirts and pulled it over your head, concealing the tank top that you had slept in. Your feet gracefully carried you out of the room and down the stairs. Upon reaching the bottom you yawned, your eyes squinting and reopening to reveal a giggling Ginny at the table, as Molly stood at the counter behind her.

“Morning [Y/N], or should I say Fred.” Ginny stated, causing you to look down and see you had blindly grabbed Fred’s sweater from your first year at Hogwarts, the dark blue knitted yarn reaching the mid thigh of your black pajama pants, while the light green F stood out on your chest. Looking at Ginny, you made a face and replied, “Well thank goodness I am the more attractive version of your brother.”

- That morning when Fred came down stair he couldn’t help but smile as he saw your dark blue back, of course you were helping his mother, who knew you would not accept her declining your assistance. However it was when you turned to put the plate filled with bacon on the table that Fred felt a slight heat rush to his cheeks, the large F staring at him before you turned back around, completely oblivious to the blushing ginger. Ginny however was not as oblivious, and as Fred sat himself in the seat across from her she leaned forward, “You better have a good reason for being the same shade as our hair, unless you want [Y/N] to figure out your in love with her.”

-When you were done prepping breakfast with Molly, you slipped into the spot next to Fred, your eyes glancing over to him as you took in the slightly fading blush that had taken over his face. “Freddie, are you okay?”

“Course, just didn’t realize how hot the kitchen was gonna be this morning.”

“Well maybe you should shrug that t shirt off and remind your siblings why you are the hottest Weasley.” You joked, not even realizing what you had said until it was too late. Your eyes grew to the size of the tea saucers on the table. Thankfully no one heard your joke but Fred, who was just staring at you with a similar.

-After that you both were wearing blushes, and were strangely quiet during the entire breakfast, however only one of the Weasleys seemed notice, the others and Harry just enjoyed the rare quiet that the adults of the house only enjoyed when their children were at school. However they were unaware how deafening it would be once all 7 children were out of the house.

-At the end of the meal while you were helping Ginny double check her luggage, George asked Fred about why you were both so quiet. As Fred zipped his own luggage, and collected yours in his other hand, he asked, “Do you think [Y/N] might have a crush on me?”

“Only one way to find out Mate.” George smirked, hoping that his brother will finally ask you out.

-When you got to King’s Cross, you couldn’t help but smile slightly, “So Ron, did you remember Scabbers?”

“Unfortunately.”

“If you want I can hold him on the train.” You offered as he thrusted the rat towards you in excitement, relieved to be rid of the family pet got at least a little while.

-As you raced into the barrier you were greeted by the warm glow of the room, and soon you had your two favorite twins at your side. Your eyes scanning the room for the uncle who said a week ago it was fine that you went with the Weasleys and he would just met you there, but he was no where to be seen.

-What you didn’t know is the Remus was standing in Azkaban, his face dropping at sight of the man he once called brother, his heart shattering at the sight of Padfoot curled up on the cement blocked floor, on just a thin mat, a holey, dusty blue blanket barely covered him as the stentch of the place hit Remus’s over sensitive nose. But he had to tell himself this is what he deserved, and after 11 years of not seeing him, he regretted ever coming.

“Sirius.” He whispered, causing the man on the floor to jump with a start, his eyes wide with fear, as his bewildered face looked towards the bar, another crack forming in Remus’s heart as he looked not at a man, but at the face of the boy he met on the train at the age of 11.

“Remus.” Sirius whispered, “This isn’t real. You are just...”

“Sirius, it is really me.” His voice cracked with empathy he didn’t want to give, he could feel the tears slowly begin to build, but for the sake of you, he refused to let them fall. He refused to feel pity about the fact that he and Dumbledore were withholding his letters from you, in an effort to protect Harry, he knew hiding this from you, even after the promise of no secrets, was the right thing to do, and he refused to have Sirius’s hollowed, deep blue eyes, no longer filled with any life make him regret that choice.

“Why have you come? It’s been years my old friend, you could have...”

“I came to answer to answer your question, that is all Sirius. I figured you would want to hear it in person rather then read it through a letter. You need to stop writing her, and me. In my option you lost the right to even call her yours the day you betrayed our best friends, the day you got her aunt and uncle blown up.”

“Remus look in your heart, would I ever turn on a James and Lily?”

“You did, and then you killed Peter, and who knows maybe I was next on your...”

“I would never kill you, or James, or Lily, Peter was the secret keeper, you can even ask Dumbledore, he knew, he knew I convinced James and Lily to do it, because I was the obvious choice.” He sounded as though he was babbling like a broken man, each syllable made Remus want to unlock that door, but he couldn’t.

“Why not have me do it, too scared the Lunar calendar would fog my judgement?”

“No..... never. Remus you must understand, at the time, we thought it was you we could no longer trust. We were foolish...”

“No, Snuffles, we were foolish for ever trusting you.”

- Remus turned to leave, his message clear to him, but as he walked away he heard the broken voice call out again, “WORMTAIL IS ALIVE, HE IS A RAT WITH NINE FINGERS! REMUS!”

- “So I never asked,” you looked at George, Scabbers sitting on your lap, his face in a box of jellybeans, “Why is Scabbers missing a toe?”

-Don’t know, Dad just brought him home like that.” Fred replied, “He really seems to like you though, sure you don’t want him?”

“Your mother would have a cow if I took him.” You replied, running a hand over his wirey furred back.

“Did we ever tell you that there is a spell that will turn him...”

“Do I look as daft as Ron?” You replied, raising an eyebrow at the twins.

-When you got to Hogwarts, you looked around for the smaller male Weasley, but him and Harry were no where to be seen. “I am sure they are already inside the carriages, you can give Ronald back his vermon in the common room, besides I doubt Scabs here would have any fun just sitting in their stinky dorm, especially when you feed the ugly thing better than Ron or Percy ever have.” Fred replied, throwing an arm around your shoulder as you both started towards the carriages. His arm staying in that place until you were forced to step up into the carriages that pulled themselves. However once you were both settled next to each other you unconsciously found yourself leaning into Fred’s shoulder. George looked over you, and gave his twin a knowing look, as Fred just rolled his eyes, mentally preparing for his brother to give him many looks like that after asking him if she could ever have a crush on him.

-At dinner you kept looking around the gryffindor table, Ron and Harry still no where to be found. Hermione was seated across from you as you leaned forward and asked, “Hermione, have you seen Harry or Ron?”

“Not yet, neither of them were on the train.” She answered as your eyes grew in fear, “I am sure they will show though, they probably just snuck into the kitchen for a per feast snack.”

-When you went to stand and go look for them, Lee stopped you, just before the first years all filed in, “We can look for them later, if you leave now, everyone will notice.”

-When Ginny got sorted into Gryffindor you cheered louder than everyone at the table, even louder than the other three gingers. With a large smile she jogged down the aisle and took a seat beside you, before watching everyone else get sorted.

-Ginny chuckled when she saw Scabbers sitting on your lap, his small body curled up on your skirt as you sat with a hand over him. She could see that his eyes were closed, and that he was in a peaceful bliss, which she never saw him be around the Weasleys.