#also I tried working on this in a certain chain coffee shop and I was just thinking ‘huh. this probably soon insane out of context’

[retroautomaton]

🍒🛸🧨

[1kook]

new parent syndrome

— kim namjoon x (f) reader

SUMMARY You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.) WARNINGS dilf!joon, dreamy husband joon, loving parents au, jimin is also a dad, bathtub sexy times, exhibitionism 😳 kinda sorta, tiny praise kink, joon calls her wifey TT, fingering, cunninglingus, doggy style, it’s kinda cheesy n romantic /.\, unprotected sex, …. impreg kink RATINGS m (18+) WC 9.5k 

NOTES writing parent fics is harder than i thought :/ i had this idea last week n was like yes, lets write this fic that absolutely no one asked for... except me! <3 so here we are, fantasizing about dreamy dad joon.... as always i have to thank rumu ( @kigurumu​ ) who is kind enough to edit these n b like that don't make no sense -_- anyway lemme know what u think !! enjoy !!

No matter how hard you try, the letter f refuses to fit itself into Hyejoo’s phonemic understanding. She’s a growing toddler so it’s only normal that there are sounds she still can’t pronounce, words she doesn’t quite get. But her inability to say food or family or friends, which are undoubtedly the three most important things in her three year-old world right now, is definitely a setback you didn’t see coming. 

Your worrywart husband has taken matters into his own hands, using the power of Google and about twelve parenting books to create an extensive, one-hour-a-day, mini lesson to try and increase her pronunciation skills. Of course, Hyejoo already attends daycare in the mornings while you and Namjoon are off at work, and gets sufficient learning done there. So she can’t exactly sit through Joon’s lectures, no matter how pretty he tries to decorate her flashcards. She’s still tiny— she’s still your baby, and you want her to enjoy the last of her daycare years before you’re forced to submit her to the worst twelve years of her life (also known as compulsory education). 

But as you��ve mentioned before, Namjoon doesn’t quite feel the same way. 

“She can’t sound out the letter,” he mopes in bed that night. He’s laying down beside you, face smushed against your thigh. The lamp on your side of the bed is the only thing on, casting a faint golden hue on his cheeks.

This conversation has occurred a variety of times these past few weeks, and you’ve just about ran out of every comforting reassurance possible. You settle on stroking a hand through his hair. There are emails to respond to and clients to check in with, but there’s also a huffy husband in bed beside you who quite pitifully crawls up into your arms. 

It’s with his face between your boobs that he speaks again. “What if she’s getting made fun of at school? Or her teachers think she’s dumb?” You roll your eyes. “My baby is not dumb, __,” he says, as if you don’t know. “Her IQ came back above average when I took her to the development specialist that one time, remember?” You have half the mind to tell him an IQ test on a three year old isn’t exactly valid, but there’s already enough stacked on his plate. Finding out he wasted a hundred bucks for an invalid test would just be the cherry on top of all his worries. 

Water clings to the very tips of his hair, remnants of his bath with Hyejoo. Namjoon is getting older now, nothing like the dashing grad student you had met what feels like a lifetime ago. There’s bags under his eyes, bags that surpass any all-nighter-pulling college student’s, induced by none other than the sheer power of becoming a parent. And still, he retains his beauty, looks like a doll with his skin so dewy from his skincare routine, lips puffy and red and kissable. 

He looks up, and you take the opportunity to place a kiss on his lips, his familiar scent making you melt into his arms. When he pulls away, there’s still a subtle furrow between his brows. 

“Hyejoo is fine,” you reassure him, carding his brown hair out of his face. He leans into the touch, eyes falling shut. “Our girl is the smartest three year-old out there,” you huff, feeling the slightest bit annoyed that he could even insinuate otherwise. “And if she was having problems at school, you know I would be the first one in there, fighting all the other moms.” 

Namjoon relents, face falling back into its haven between your tits. “Okay,” he mumbles, muffled from the way his plush lips drag against the soft skin over your sternum. 

The subject of Namjoon’s worries is in the other room sound asleep, not the least bit concerned with measly letters and sounds. It’s really only Namjoon who is, his stack of letter flashcards glaring at you from on top of the dresser. “Your mother hen is showing,” you tease as he slips beneath the covers, leaning over you to flick off your lamp. Just like everything else in your house, his t-shirt smells like him. It’s a natural, woodsy scent that floods your nostrils and makes your toes curl when he comes so close. 

Namjoon snorts as he settles beside you, beefy arm pillowing your head as he pulls you close. “I’m not a mother hen,” he says, hand on your waist, the tantalizing expanse of his neck before your eyes. “I’m the rooster— the cock,” he snickers, and you reward his terrible attempt at a joke with a pinch to his side that has him retreating to the other end of the bed. 

Hyejoo’s best friend in the entire world— or, as she says, her best pren in the entire world —is none other than Park Yerin from daycare. As the universe would have it, Park Yerin is also the one and only daughter of your college philosophy seat neighbor, Park Jimin. 

Crossing paths with him later down the road was not something you could ever anticipate, especially when you and Jimin were never that close in college to begin with. It was the only class you had with him in all four years, one where you had quietly acknowledged his charisma and occasionally shared homework answers, before never speaking to him again. You could have greeted him on campus, as you often crossed paths. But Park Jimin was a walking friendship magnet who seemed to bring with him a parade of followers everywhere he went, and approaching him required three layers of strategic planning if you wanted to catch him alone. 

So bumping into him at the entrance of Hyejoo’s daycare six years later comes as a bit of a shock. You had never pegged him as the type to settle down so quickly— you don’t mean to label him, but there were certain college stereotypes that he fit like a glove —but there he was, carrying the tiny love of his life who’s currently dressed in a bright pink Minnie Mouse dress. 

Unsurprisingly, just like her father, Park Yerin has the same enthralling personality that makes everyone in the three to four year-old daycare class want to be her friend, and your sweet little Hyejoo is not exempt. 

Long story short, out of all the kids at Sunny Side Daycare, Yerin is Hyejoo’s favorite, and Hyejoo is Yerin’s favorite. 

So now it’s been a little over a year since the two girls have established their friendship, which means it’s been a little over a year of acquainting yourself with Jimin again. He’s a house husband, something you never expected, and he loves his daughter like no other. Some afternoons after daycare are spent with Jimin and Yerin at the nearest coffee shop, watching the girls haphazardly scribble over every piece of paper they can get their hands on while the two of you catch up. 

Overall, you’re happy Hyejoo can have a friend like Yerin, and secretly, you're also happy you can finally befriend a fellow parent as nice and put together as Jimin. On top of that, Namjoon’s liked him on the few occasions he’s met him; the two have even gone out for drinks. 

However, befriending Jimin and Yerin comes at a cost, and that cost is seeing your little girl grow up.  

It’s your turn to mope. 

“Yerin asked her to sleepover,” you groan, sadly patting in your skincare routine the next night. Namjoon is somewhere behind you, his naked back glaring at you through the reflection of your vanity mirror. He’s so broad and big, sleep shorts clinging to his waist as he lotions up his body post-shower. There’s a thin gold chain around his neck that glints everytime he moves around, biceps flexing and bulging in plain view until he finally slips his shirt on. There was a time in your life where his back could not go more than two days unscathed, your rabid (read: horny) claw marks painting rosy trails down his spine. These days, you can barely remember the last time he’s held your hand. 

“Who?” he asks once he’s settled beneath the covers with whatever book he’s reading now and his thick-rimmed reading glasses. 

“Who else,” you say, tugging your night robe closer to your chest as if it’ll prevent your heart from breaking anymore than it already was. “Hyejoo’s first sleepover,” you sigh. 

You take it harder than you imagined. In the back of your mind, you’ve always known your little girl was growing up— hello, you were literally watching her grow more and more inches every single day —but you had convinced yourself she would stay your baby for a little while longer. As much as you wanted her to see and learn about the world, you selfishly wanted to keep her home too. She was your baby, your only one at that.

At least Namjoon feels the same way. “Absolutely not,” he squawks, abruptly slamming his book shut. He’s usually really meticulous about lining up his fancy bookmark right on the line he left off on, so his sudden carelessness tells you all you need to know about how he feels. 

You sit down beside him, hand over his. “It’s Yerin’s birthday,” you inform him in what you hope is a comforting tone; unbeknownst to him, you’re trying to reassure yourself as well. “And Jimin said he and his wife are gonna be there the whole night.” You trust Jimin, you really do. If there’s anyone who’s more in love with their kid than you and Namjoon, it’s Jimin. He would never let anything happen to his Yerin, and by extension, he would never let anything happen to your Hyejoo. He’s a good dad. 

Namjoon rubs at his eyes. In the span of two minutes, he’s aged about five years. “No,” he sighs softly, squeezing your hand tightly. “Once she starts going to sleepovers she’ll start wearing makeup and getting into relationships and having her heart broken—“ 

A kiss is enough to silence him when he gets like this, his warm breath fanning across your bottom lip when you pull away. “She just wants to wear tutus and sing Baby Shark right now,” you murmur, hand creeping up over his chest. His heart is beating fast as hell beneath his t-shirt, feels like it’ll burst straight out of his chest if you don’t calm him down. 

He’s the bigger worrier out of the two of you, has a classic case of paranoid parent syndrome. 

It’s no secret that Namjoon has a big brain; he’s an educated man with a respectable job. For every problem he encounters, he can procure a variety of solutions with different approaches. He’s always prepared and part of you thinks he’s a huge reason you managed to survive those first few weeks as a mom. Unlike you, who had attended a whopping two mommy classes in preparation for your upcoming child, Namjoon had studied up on parenting. A lot. He had read books and reviewed scientific studies, had learned about development on the chemistry level and the social level, did all he could until he was confident in his own dad abilities. 

But, for every solution Namjoon can find, there are always twenty-eight other factors to worry about. 

“What if she has an allergic reaction and Jimin doesn’t know what to do,” he pales, death grip on your hand. His matching wedding band digs into your skin and you have to wrestle his hand away before he accidentally breaks your finger. He nearly broke your neck once when you were in college, had almost sent you to the ER mid-thrust because he had underestimated his own strength while trying to choke you.

“Hyejoo doesn’t have any allergies,” you remind him, giving up on your awkward half-seated position as you clamber over him. His thighs are full beneath you, tense up as you move over him and he manhandles you into his chest. 

He’s not done. “What if she asks Jimin for a fizzy drink and he can’t understand her?” His eyes are owlish beneath his glasses, covered in what you can only describe as a visible sheen of absolute terror. “What if he thinks she’s saying ‘pissy’ not ‘fizzy,’ __— what then?” It’s amazing, really, how a man who graduated cum laude can hypothesize this many disasters pertaining to a four year-old’s sleepover. 

In the other room, Hyejoo calls for you, so you gladly take the opportunity to remove yourself from Namjoon and his spiraling thoughts. “Look,” you say, tightening the sash of your robe as you get back up. “I’m gonna go tell her that she can go to Yerin’s sleepover tomorrow,” you tell him, giving him exactly three seconds to groan dramatically, before continuing, “and you figure out how to turn that big brain off by the time I come back.” 

Luckily, the cause of Hyejoo’s sudden wake up is a tiny bug bite she got from playing outside that just won’t stop itching. “Mommy, it hurts,” she whines, digging her nails into the tiny red mark by her knee. 

“Uh huh, lemme see,” you order, turning on her bedside lamp to illuminate the space. Her room is the prettiest shade of yellow, fitting for a ball of sunshine such as herself. “Were you playing by the flowerbeds?” You ask, running a finger over the mark a little too weird looking to simply be another mosquito bite. 

She knows she’s not supposed to play near the flowers— the bugs like her a little too much. It’s with a hesitant little nod that she confesses to it. You give her a pointed look. “You’re not supposed to play too close to the flowers,” you remind her, a tiny scolding for now. 

With a sniffle she responds, “not by the plowers.” 

A little bit of anti-itch cream has her settling, and by the time you return to your bedroom, Namjoon is out cold. 

“How old is Yerin turning?” Namjoon asks her at the door, heartbreak clearly painting his features as you help Hyejoo into her shoes. 

“Pour,” she beams, her tiny hand held up to show four stubby fingers. She has Namjoon’s pretty smile, an honest look in her eyes that makes you want to put her in your pocket and never let her go. Alas, Yerin’s sleepover party starts at five and Hyejoo has been trying to leave since noon. 

“Pour,” Namjoon repeats, shooting you a pointed look as if to say see. He had fought the decision up until the end, had even tried to tactically convince your daughter to stay home by getting a head start on preparing her favorite food. And well. She said no. So now the two of you are stuck having dinosaur chicken nuggets for dinner without her. 

She’s got her little travel bag on now, tiny feet stuffed into her ladybug rain boots because it had rained last night and she’s awfully addicted to jumping in muddy puddles. She’s absolutely adorable, your little girl, and you think Namjoon might’ve let out a tiny sob earlier. (Or maybe it was you.)

Namjoon joins you at the front door. “Be good,” he warns her. His eyes are suspiciously wet, but you don’t say anything because yours are too. You’re both crouched in front of her, her big eyes glancing back and forth between the two of you without a care in the world. Mixing your self-assured personality with Namjoon’s (mostly) composed attitude was quite possibly the worst genetic crossover to ever happen; Hyejoo doesn’t even seem remotely bothered by the fact she’s spending her first night away from home. Meanwhile, you and Namjoon are on the verge of a joint breakdown. 

Anyway, Namjoon gives in first. “Love you forever, princess,” he tells her, their ritual expression, and kisses her forehead. 

She accepts it and then, in an unexpected turn of events, surges forward to hug him around the neck. “Love you pporever, daddy,” she repeats, and your heart feels so painfully full at the sight, like you just unlocked a new life achievement from seeing your daughter and her father be so cute together. You don’t get to coo at them for long, because then she’s giving you a warm hug as well, the same phrase muttered in your ear. 

It’s the hardest thing about parenting. 

Seeing your kid slowly broaden their horizons, meeting new people and learning new things. Leaving home. (Granted, she’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon but even that feels like an eternity away to the dramatic parents you and Namjoon have become.) The second goodbye on Jimin’s doorstep isn’t any easier, especially when Hyejoo tugs on your arm and asks you to “say night to daddy please” for her, and your heart breaks just a little more. Jimin flashes you an understanding smile but all you want to do is punch him in the nose for ever telling Yerin what a sleepover is. 

You get home and Namjoon is in a calmer state by now, some old sitcom he hates playing on the TV. Usually, this time of day is reserved for his daily phonemic lessons with Hyejoo, drilling the f sound into her tiny brain, so you guess this is his preferred method of coping in its place: torturing himself with some boring television show. 

“Hey,” he says, and you crawl into his lap with a sad sniffle. “Shh,” he soothes, hand on the back of your head as he guides you into his chest. You’re actually crying now, which is super embarrassing in itself considering you scolded Namjoon for this exact behavior last night. He doesn’t mention it as he pats your back, stupid sitcom paused in favor of soothing you with the deep vibrations of his voice. “Hye’s gonna be back tomorrow, baby.”

“I want her back now,” you huff, vaguely aware of how childish and silly you sound. The tables have turned, and you find yourself wishing you had the same emotional fortitude as Namjoon now. All those parenting books have clearly amounted for something. Somehow, you will the feeling back into your body and pull away from his chest. You must look a mess because he doesn’t even try to hide the amusement on his face. “This is the worst day of my life.” 

Namjoon laughs, deep and hearty, with his eyes squeezing shut from the force. “Come on, wifey, those chicken nuggets aren’t gonna eat themselves.”

It’s quite possibly the most boring evening you’ve had in years. 

(The internet calls it new parent syndrome, where you’re so undeniably in love with your first child and the parenting experience that the rest of the world is put on pause.)

You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.)

Kids are prone to asking weirdly philosophical questions, a fact that had greatly delighted you when Hyejoo first started speaking. Who am I? What’s money? Why not? It could get annoying sometimes, trying to answer all of Hyejoo’s curiosities. But as you begin on your second batch of dinosaur chicken nuggets, all you can think about is how Jimin gets to answer them tonight. 

Anyway, seven rolls around and you and Namjoon are bored. You can only watch so many episodes of Seinfield before you get tired of feigning interest, so you retire from the living room for the night. “I’m gonna take a bath,” you tell him, but he’s as brain dead as you by now. 

A second later, “lemme join.” 

It’s been a while since the two of you have squeezed into the bathtub together, usually assigning each other days to individually join Hyejoo. So it’s really not either of your faults when you realize a second too late how small the space is. One on each end, feet bumping into each other with every movement, it’s like trying to squeeze two feet into one shoe. You try to readjust yourself, but the bath flooring is slippery and you nearly take away Namjoon’s procreative abilities with a mighty kick. 

To make a long story short, you end up pressed against his chest, Namjoon’s thick thighs framing you as you relax into the steaming water. Instinctively, he reaches for Hyejoo’s bottle of baby shampoo that sits on the tub’s ledge and only catches himself just as the first droplet is meeting his palm. “Oh, fuck,” he sighs, quickly closing the lid before he can waste any more precious product. “Shit, I’m so sad.”

You snort, sinking farther back into his chest. He’s warm and soft in all the right ways, the hot water making him slippery. “What did we even do before Hyejoo?” you ask, reaching into the deepest crevices of your mind for answers. Namjoon’s hand comes around, fingers sprawled out over your knee, the one you have propped up and breaking the water’s surface 

He makes a rather vague sound, something like I don’t know, as he lolls forward, forehead on your shoulder. “Go on dates,” he responds eventually. “Fuck like crazy.” 

You roll your eyes. “Besides that,” you chide, pinching the back of his palm. “Don’t we have any hobbies? Any interests?” He doesn’t answer, which is all the answer you need. Why didn’t you get into puzzle solving back when it was a trend? “Is this what our life has become? Crying in a bathtub at seven pm because our emotional support child isn’t here?”

“Our only child,” he corrects. Namjoon tries to placate your looming existential crisis with a kiss to your shoulder, lips against wet skin, that he trails up to your neck. “And what’s wrong with going on dates and fucking?” he murmurs, hands around your stomach. “That’s how we got here,” he teases, and you’re not sure if it’s the warm water or the way his voice is like melted chocolate dripping down your body, but you become all too aware of his presence at that moment. Particularly, of the plush lips mindlessly kissing your shoulder, the wet smack of their motions. 

Another kiss, this time right below your ear. It has your head rolling to the side, exposing more skin for him to kiss up on. There’s still that overwhelming cloud of worry in the back of your mind, but it’s gradually nudged away by Namjoon’s warm hands on your skin. Sensing your weakening resolve, Namjoon strikes again. A hand slips down over your stomach, brushes over your belly button and finds itself between your thighs. “You used to love date nights, baby,” he says, the pad of his pointer finger grazing your clit. 

It’s been so long since you and Namjoon have been alone like this, months since you’ve been able to touch him beyond a simple make out session, a halfhearted grope beneath the sheets. Your daughter, as much as you loved her, made intimacy impossible for the two of you. She was always around, always looking for one or the both of you, so there was never time to even think about getting frisky. 

Only now, with his finger circling your clit, do you realize the blessing in disguise that was your daughter’s first slumber party away from home. 

His finger nudges your clit, flicks it teasingly. “Why don’t you let me take care of you, hm?” he hums, the hand that had been soothingly stroking the inside of your thigh coming up to rub at your breasts. 

“Yes, please,” you whine. Resting your head on his shoulder leaves Namjoon with a clear view down your front, lips kissing and sucking along your neck. His huge hand palms your breast, massaging the sensitive skin. You hadn’t realized how sore you’d been until now, his nimble fingers pressing deliciously into the skin. If your nipples weren’t already hard before, they certainly were now. 

He traps one pearled nipple between two fingers, the sudden pinch making you hiss. “Easy, now,” he chuckles, his low tenor paired with his wandering hands making your eyes roll back. 

Namjoon liked to use a higher tone around the house. He read somewhere that children prefer lighter, sweeter tones, so the last few years have been spent listening to him lighten the tone of his voice for the sake of your daughter. The deeper, growlier voice that had first made you fall in love with him became a rarity in your household, reserved for quiet nights in the living room or long drives where Hyejoo was asleep in the backseat. Only then does he unleash the gravelly qualities of his voice. 

Then, and apparently, now. 

His doll-like lips press against your jaw, suck lightly enough to make your body tingle. “Do you remember how it was the first time?” he says suddenly, his hot breath against your neck. 

Namjoon’s got your clit trapped between two wandering fingers, has your pussy twitching with the vibrations of his voice alone. And for some reason, he’s trying to reminisce about your first time sleeping together. 

“N- Not really,” you confess, subtly reaching down. You cover his palm with yours, hoping your touch will encourage him to carry on with his actions. It doesn’t. It just leaves both your hands hovering over your pussy, your thighs instinctively closing in on them to keep him there. Namjoon responds to that, releasing the breast he had been gently massaging in order to pry your legs apart. He does it so easily, despite the way your legs feel tight as hell, and the fact makes you whimper. 

Once he’s got his hands back between your thighs— this time, he uses one hand to carefully part your quivering lips, the other one gingerly pressing down against your clit to draw the most heavenly sensations out of you —Namjoon feels the need to dive into a recap of your first fuck. “You were so cute,” he laughs, and you don’t know if you should take offense. Well, considering you're married and have a kid now, it’s probably too late to say anything anyway. His hand suddenly switches gears, three fingers joining together to begin caressing them over your throbbing clit. “Kept talking to me so politely, even when you were creaming my cock.”

You scoff, but it gets cancelled out by the moan he draws out of you. “D- Didn’t know you that well,” you remind him, your thighs twitching. You desperately want to buck forward into his giving hands, want to feel the true power of those long, pretty fingers on your cunt. 

Behind you, Namjoon’s cock grows thick, his breathing a slow and steady pace by your ear. You can already imagine how heavy he is, the vein that runs along the underside and throbs with each new bit of stimulus he receives. Normally you would reach back and try to offer him the same helping hand he gives you, but your thighs feel wobbly already. Your libido has been dormant for so long that even just the barest flick of his thumb has you dissolving into his arms like this is your first time. 

It’s as if Namjoon’s sensing your inner battle, a muffled laugh against the side of your neck. “This is about you,” he reminds you. As much as you want to protest, a sudden hard rub against your quivering lips has you gasping for breath. “Give me a kiss,” he commands softly, nudging his nose against the side of your face. It takes a second for you to ground yourself, draw yourself away from your building pleasure, to turn toward his waiting lips. 

Namjoon kisses you slowly, like he’s taking his time with you. For the first time in a long time, he truly can. He doesn’t have to worry about a certain someone waking up in the middle of the night or walking in or anything along those lines, lips molding against yours. Plush as always, the faint taste of dinosaur chicken nuggets clinging to his lips. It makes you laugh a little, drawing away with an airy giggle. Namjoon smiles at your reaction, murmuring a soft, “what is it?”

You shake your head, eyes fluttering shut as he continues his circular motions against your clit. “Nothing,” you pant, finally getting in your first thrust against his fingers. “I just really need you,” you say instead, pushing his hand harder down against you. 

You’re feeling a little antsy, having been deprived of this sensation for so long. Namjoon knows this, which is why he very purposely slows down. “There’s no rush,” he smirks, placing a kiss against your chin. “How do you want it, baby?”

The inside of your brain is a scrambled mess, filled with fantasies and ideas that have been plaguing you for months. There’s so much you want to do, want to try, but it’s like your brain completely blanks out when he asks. It’s just as you’re beginning to formulate a thought that you’re interrupted by the sound of your ringtone in the other room. Your husband’s arms tighten around you. “Don’t go,” he says quietly, the tip of his nose running along your neck. It’s so tempting to stay here, to let yourself go in his arms and chase the pleasure you’ve been craving for so long. 

But the endless possibilities of who exactly could be calling wins over. Was it work? Was it your parents? Jimin?

It is with a heavy sigh that you reach for Namjoon’s hand, slowly pushing him away from your cunt. “I’m sorry, honey,” you frown, standing up out of the tub. Your legs really do feel like jelly, and you nearly slip and crack your skull on the porcelain edge. Luckily, Namjoon is there to steady you with two secure hands on your waist. “I’ll make it quick,” you reassure him, dropping a kiss on his pouty lips as you fasten a towel around your body. 

The phone is just starting up its final ring when you reach it. It’s Jimin, and you’re torn between being thankful that you’re getting word on Hyejoo and full blown panic from the fact Jimin is calling you while Hyejoo is in his care. The unease has you accepting the call without a second more to waste. “Hello?” you say, hand tightening on the front of your towel. Stray water droplets trace ticklish trails down the backs of your thighs.

“__?” comes Jimin’s sweet voice. It’s normally soothing, but right now it has every hair on your body standing on end. Before you can even respond, Jimin is jumping headfirst into a whirlwind of a conversation. “Sorry for calling so late, but I just wanted to check in on you, babe. I know you were really panicked about Hye’s first night away from home, but don’t worry! Me and the missus are doing everything we can to make sure she’s fine.”

His confidence reassures you, lessens the weight that had been sitting on your chest all afternoon. But at the same time, you find yourself wanting to throttle him. 

Your gorgeous, sexy hunk of a husband is sitting in the other room, cock at full mast and ready to pleasure you to the moon and back, and here you are listening to Jimin brag about how good of a caretaker he is. You were definitely going to make Jimin pay for this. 

Deep breaths, you tell yourself, toying with a stray thread on your towel. “Really,” you drawl, and you can practically see Jimin’s ego swell over the line. 

“Yup,” Jimin agrees, and by the sounds of it, doesn’t seem like he’s hoping to end this call anytime soon. You want to shoulder part of the blame; you had been extra sad and mopey when you dropped your daughter off. On top of being a good dad, Jimin was also a good friend. It was only naturally he wanted to reassure you when he could. 

Still, the memory of Namjoon’s wet chest was calling out to you. 

“The girls are playing princess in the living room with the missus right now,” Jimin chats on. “New dresses and everything— the Yerin Birthday Special —and they asked me to be their handsome prince!” You sincerely cannot wait for the day you get to introduce Jimin to your right fist. 

“That’s great,” you offer, not that he’s really listening. He’s too busy talking about Yerin (and making sure to include Hyejoo in for your sake) and how amazing it is to watch your kids grow up before your very eyes. And while you agree with the sentiment, you really wish he had called you and told you this earlier, when you were at the peak of your motherly meltdown. Not now with Namjoon waiting for you in the bathtub. Was the water even warm anymore? 

The mind blowing orgasm practically slips from your fingertips the longer Jimin talks. “Anyway! Enough about them. I’m thinking of trying out that blueberry bread recipe that aired on TV last night. You know, the one they had that actress make.”

You’ve just about resigned yourself to listening to Jimin talk about his love for pastries for the next thirty minutes when something brushes up behind you. “What the fu—“

He’s so tall and broad, practically covers your entire frame when he stands so close. And his smile is so pretty when he aims it your way. “Sh,” Namjoon murmurs, gesturing towards your phone.  

“__?” Jimin calls. “Everything alright?” 

Namjoon nods eagerly, the hands on your waist properly positioning you in front of him. It’s with a shudder running down your spine that you respond. “I’m fine,” you tell Jimin, letting go of the front of your towel when Namjoon abruptly pushes you over. The white comforter infused with both of your scents comes all too close, your elbow barely managing to reach out in time to catch you.  

Wide eyed, you turn to throw Namjoon a scandalized look over your shoulder. He meets you with a close-mouthed smile, the dimples in his cheeks making themselves known. His chest is drier now, the smooth planes covered in a thin dewy glow and a spattering of droplets he missed. There’s a towel around his waist that’s barely doing its job, especially when you catch sight of the erection tenting beneath it. 

“As I was saying,” Jimin rambles on. Namjoon nods towards the device, refusing to move again until you finally turn back around to finish your conversation with Jimin. “That actress fucked it up so bad. They really give anyone with a pretty face screen time these days, huh? At least I know how to properly preheat an oven.”

You nod. “You do make the best cookies in town,” you respond, a ball of anticipation building in your throat from the mere fact Namjoon is standing behind you. 

It’s completely warranted once you feel two cold fingers trail up the back of your thigh, your towel gradually pushed up to drape around your waist. The air in your room is a little chilly, and the goosebumps that raise on your skin are partly due to that, as well as the ghostlike touch of Namjoon’s fingers. “Pretty,” he murmurs, so deep and gravelly it has you shuddering.  

Two fingers dance along your skin, and you subconsciously jolt away when they meet the tender skin around your pussy. By your ear, Jimin says, “if I completely fuck it up, we’ll just pretend this conversation never happened. Deal?”

Using your own body against you, Namjoon lets one finger dip just the smallest bit into your quivering hole. You clench up, thighs trembling when he eventually pulls it back out and traces your own wetness over your folds. “Perfect,” you bite out, clutching at the sheets beneath you as Namjoon reaches for your forgotten clit. It’s still so sensitive from your little fun in the bath, and it takes every ounce of strength in you to hold back the whiny gasp in your throat. 

Behind you, Namjoon suddenly presses in close. One hand on your hip, he gently encourages you onto the bed. Your knees sink into the mattress, one less strain on your legs. “Good girl,” he praises quietly, rewarding your behavior with a finger sinking into your cunt. 

“Joo—“ you almost slip, burying your face into the sheets just in time. 

A devastatingly slow pace, his finger just barely moving in and out of you. The bulk of your pleasure is coming from that bundle of nerves towards your front, but the teasing gesture isn’t appreciated anyway. When he leans over you, breath against your neck, you feel the length of his cock against your thigh. “He’s asking you a question,” Namjoon whispers, “answer him, baby.”

You nod, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he presses himself closer. Jimin hasn’t even noticed your lack of participation, mindlessly humming a song. The sounds of a running sink highlight his vocals. “Oh, absolutely,” you babble. “I wouldn’t tell a soul.” 

“Ha!” Jimin scoffs. “I knew I could always count on you, Miss __,” he snarks playfully. 

The hand toying with your clit comes around your waist, fingers stroking against your folds from this new angle. A silent moan has you writhing forward, unconsciously away from him as Jimin babbles on the other end of the line. He’s none the wiser to the lewd acts happening on the line, listening to the sound of his own voice. Namjoon lands a mean little bite against your shoulder, plunging his finger deeper inside of your clenching hole. 

Paired with his teasing fingers, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your moans, biting your lip until it stings. “Fuck, fuck,” you whimper against the sheets, holding your phone as far away as possible from your mouth as a litany of curse words spill from your lips. Namjoon chuckles at your dramatics, not like he has his fingers deep inside of you right now or anything. 

“So cute,” he hums, removing his hand from your clit to snatch your towel away. It gives way too easily, messily thrown over the edge of the bed. With your back completely exposed now, Namjoon wastes no time trailing a line of kisses up your spine, finishing off with an especially wet and hard one behind your ear. “Hang up now.”

His permission sets your body on edge, drawing your phone close again. Jimin is talking about dinner or something, you don’t even know. Not an ounce of remorse fills you when you clear your throat and hurriedly announce, “I have to—“ Namjoon’s cock, finally uncovered by his towel, presses against your folds and you nearly lose it. “—I have to go now, Jimin,” you say, leveling your breathing as best as you can. 

“Wait, what the fuck?” Jimin says, thrown off by your sudden departure. 

The mushroom tip of his cock kisses your clit. “Fuck— I really have to go.” And you hang up, chucking the phone off to the side hastily. With your hands both freed, you scramble onto your back, meeting the amused gaze of your husband behind you. “Fuck me, now.”

Namjoon laughs, reaching for the towel barely clinging onto his waist. One suave swoop later and it joins yours on the floor. “You did good,” he praises, lowering himself between your spread thighs. You roll your eyes, grabby hands reaching for his hips until he’s sitting snugly against you, cock resting over your throbbing cunt. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you snap, the tight feeling in your tummy growing with every second that passes. Namjoon isn’t as unaffected as he pretends to be, a pearly bead of cum appearing at the tip of his engorged cock. “Just fuck me now.”

He raises a brow. “Missionary?” As if it’s the first time. 

“Is there something wrong with it?” you ask anyway, self-consciously reaching an arm over yourself to cover your naked breasts. They’ve pebbled over just from his stare alone. 

Namjoon hesitates, the hand on your hip drawing slow circles with his thumb. Eventually, he responds with a halfhearted shrug. “It’s not the best.” This is news to you, and you find yourself sitting up at the sudden bomb he’s dropped. 

He’s still hard as rock between you, his dick laying almost artfully against your slit. You really just want to throw aside all reservations and begin grinding against him, penetration be damned, but now Namjoon’s got that thoughtful quirk to his lips. The one that usually accompanies any big brained idea, so you settle down, nudging him with your thigh until he’s looking at you again. “Penny for your thoughts?” What you really want to say is please fuck me like I’m just another cum rag of yours and make it hurt, but alas. 

Namjoon sits back on his haunches. “I read somewhere that on your hands and knees is the best way to get pregnant.” You choke on your own tongue, face ablaze from his forward statement. Meanwhile, Namjoon is looking as relaxed as ever. 

You hadn’t really discussed children after Hyejoo. The wordless agreement had been that sure, you were both down for another kid sometime in the future. But the exact date had sort of been murky. Hyejoo is three now, and you heard from another mom that it’s difficult for children with wide age gaps to get along. You don’t want her growing up being far removed from another sibling. 

But also, now?

It’s like Namjoon knows your thoughts before you even do. “Alright, wifey, say no more,” he says, leaning down to place a kiss against your lips. “I’ll get the condom, alright?”

And then he’s stepping off the bed, every muscle of his toned body flexing as he swaggers over towards the dresser. He’s a walking dream, the physical embodiment of all your crazy sex fantasies, and he wants to fuck a baby into you. Your pussy says yes, but your rationality is still on the fence. 

You roll onto your side, head propped into your open palm. “You want another baby?” you ask tentatively. Namjoon shrugs, carefully opening the new box of condoms you had bought half a year ago. 

“It wouldn’t hurt to have another kid,” he answers, procuring a tiny foil packet from the box and returning to his spot between your legs. It’s like staring at a marble statue from this angle, the defined planes of his chest and abdomen, the gorgeous slope of his nose, the sharp angles of his face. You really lucked out. 

Your decision comes just as he’s easing the rubber over the tip of his cock, the swollen head just barely enveloped. You place a hand against his wrist, earning his attention. “Take it off,” you mumble, and you swear on your entire life he swells another inch. 

“Oh, baby,” he groans, hastily throwing the condom somewhere across the room. He rolls over you, bulging arms sweeping you up into his embrace, lips capturing yours in a sloppy kiss. You whimper, letting his tongue push itself past your lips. When he pulls away, it’s with a wet pop and glistening lips. They’re so puffy now, flushed a nice rosy color, that makes him look even more handsome when he smiles down at you. “Gonna look so pretty all pregnant,” he beams, placing a chaste kiss against you one last time before he’s hurriedly rolling you onto your stomach. 

You hide your bashful expression against the sheets, suddenly feeling very shy before him. But then Namjoon’s cock is running along your lips and you’re left a shivering mess. “Please just fuck me,” you beg hoarsely, and Namjoon obeys. 

“Whatever you want, wifey,” he teases, and before you can call him out for his cheesiness, he’s pressing his thumb into your aching hole once more. “Is this okay?” he asks, somberly for the first time in what seems like forever. 

“I’m okay,” you confess, a little shyly now that you know his true motives.  

Namjoon chuckles, quickly removing his finger from inside of you to give your ass one soothing pat. “Going in,” he warns you, and finally, you’re rewarded for all your struggles. It’s only as his mushroom head squeezes in that you realize you could have done with a bit more stretching, but that thought fades away the more and more he pushes in. “Fuck,” he groans, the low intonation of his voice making your toes curl.

If it’s not his voice, it’s the sheer length of his cock inside of you. The girth makes your spine tingle, has you muffling a pitiful whimper into the comforter beneath you. “Relax for me,” he directs, and then suddenly he’s placing a palm against your back, pushing you further down. “Hips up.” 

You groan. The normally soft fabric of the blanket feels like hell on your sensitive breasts. “I’m trying,” you whine, pushing back onto him in an effort to familiarize yourself with his cock again. It’s been so long since he’s been inside of you like this, since he’s filled you so well, that your body acts a little stupid now. He hasn’t even begun thrusting and you already feel like you’ll cum just from this.  

The angle is different than your usual style, has him moving along every inch of you as he sinks in. Two big hands grab at your waist, manhandling you closer to him until you’re just like he wants you to be. “There we go,” he sighs, and with him motionless, you finally relax. It’s about a two second pause before he begins to draw himself back out. “How do you want it?” he grunts, but it’s lost beneath the moan that escapes you. It’s the same question he asked you in the tub, right before Jimin called, except this time you have an answer. 

“Fast,” you gasp, the pain from the stretch finally, finally, melting away as your body grows accustomed to his presence inside of you. “Do it fast, please.”

Namjoon does as he’s told, waiting until he’s pulled out until the tip to satisfy your requests. And then he’s off. 

Your body isn’t as young as it once was, left a little worn from the entire child-bearing process. Sometimes you wonder how exactly you and Namjoon would fuck until sunrise before, how your sex drive was so high that it allowed such a thing to happen. Admittedly, there’s currently a stiffness inside of you that has been there for a while now, and you barely remember how you got rid of it before. Apparently, this is how.

Namjoon’s hard cock rams into you once, makes you release the most embarrassingly loud moan at the sudden intrusion, and it’s like all those months of tension that built up in your body are melted away. His cock pushes past your folds, creating a lewd squelching sound that would otherwise leave you mortified to learn it came from your body. You shudder, desperately pushing your ass back against him in a feeble attempt to feel it again. 

“Still so fucking tight for me,” he growls, snapping his hips forwards. His skin slaps against yours, leaves you feeling tender from the brutal movements of his body. But at the same time, it feels absolutely terrific. 

Your lips are still coated in your own wetness, have him noisily moving in and out. “J- Joon,” you whimper softly, but you doubt he hears it over the sound of his own labored breathing. “More.”

He responds with a sudden piston inside of you that has the tip of his cock nearly kissing your cervix. “More?” he huffs, the hand on your back pressing down until you fear you’ll become one with the mattress. “You want more?” You nod hurriedly, somehow managing to stretch a hand down between you to toy with your clit. The brush of your own fingers has you bucking back onto him in surprise.

Wordlessly, he speeds up his pace, thrusting his hips into your velvety walls at a faster speed than before. It’s a weird sensation, a sort of ticklish feeling m that makes you tremble with each roll forward. You can’t say the two of you have done it in this position a lot, always preferring the more romantic missionary position to anything else, but this experience was quickly making you an avid believer of its validity as a top tier sex position. 

You swirl your pointer finger around your clit, trying to sync up your shaky touch with his steady thrusts. It’s useless, because every time you feel like you’ve gotten into the same groove, Namjoon one ups you by hauling you back against him. “Oh, f- fuck,” you sob, clawing at the sheets beneath you. 

Namjoon groans, momentarily pausing his rapid thrusts to roll his buried cock against you. “Come on, baby,” he husks, the hilt of his cock kissing your folds. 

There’s a lot of built up sexual tension inside of you, months on top of months of nothingness. Not to mention that little scene in the bathtub just now. So you’re not really surprised that your orgasm rears its head so early, curling up tightly in your stomach the longer Namjoon fucks you. He’s back to thrusting now, shallow little movements that make you see stars every time his cock glides inside of you. “Joon, I'm gonna...” you rasp out pitifully, grinding back against him. 

“Whenever you want,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss against your shoulder. It’s sweet, but on top of that, it has him pushing in further than before, finally pressed against that sensitive spot inside of you that makes your entire body lock up. You sob, thighs quivering when he reaches an arm around you. It’s almost romantic how your hands meet, his fingers covering yours as he guides them over your clit slowly. “Give it to me, baby,” he croons, lips pressed securely against your neck. He leaves soft kisses there, smooches really, that make you melt. 

Another shallow buck of his hips forward and you’re cumming, breaths picking up until they accumulate into a choked wail against the sheets. “Fuck— oh, fuck,” you cry, your thighs spasming from the force of your first satisfying orgasm in months. Namjoon holds you through it, slowly thrusting inside of you until he’s drawn out your entire orgasm.

The new added pleasure makes his movements sound even wetter, dirtier even. “That’s it,” he purrs, pushing himself back up to his full height behind you. You feel absolutely boneless beneath him, laying limply against the mattress as Namjoon repositions your hips for himself. “Can I finish like this, sweetheart?” he asks anyway, thumbs drawing a soothing pattern along your hip. 

You can barely catch your breath, so you settle on a halfhearted nod that has him huffing out a laugh. 

For some reason, Namjoon fucks you harder once he knows you’ve had your fill. Like he’s trying to draw another orgasm out of you, but is also the least bit concerned with you. Honestly, it works. He moves fast and hard, like he has no regard for your pleasure, and for some reason that turns you on more than it should. It’s this weird fantasy of yours, to be mistreated by a man as respectful as Namjoon, and you find yourself weirdly fulfilling it now as he fucks his cock into you. 

His fingers dig into your skin, wildly bucking into you as he chases his own high, and it’s embarrassing how quickly a second one builds up for you. You moan at one particular thrust, body sensitive all over. “Oh,” you whimper, “Namjoon.”

He grunts, your cries fueling him on as he continues his mad race to the end. “Gonna cum with me again?” he pants, his quick pace rocking you forward. You nod, using your killer grip on the sheets to ground yourself as you weakly attempt to meet his thrusts. “Aren’t you the sweetest,” he hums, and doesn’t let you respond as he continues to jackhammer his way into your pussy at a bruising pace. 

It takes a few more thrusts, and one whiny cry of his name— “come on, Joonie,” you whimper, turning to throw him a teary-eyed gaze over your shoulder; he shudders at the sight —until Namjoon is finally tipped over the edge, shooting his pleasure deep into you on the next thrust. It’s warm, paints your walls and threatens to spill out when he finally pulls out. 

But Namjoon has read up, using those big strong arms of his to keep you from collapsing onto your tummy as he scrambles around for something to keep your hips up. “It sticks better this way,” he says, a sheen of sweat against his temples when he flops down beside you. 

“What sticks better,” you groan, the achy feeling of just having your world rocked quickly settling into your bones. 

Namjoon leans forward and places a kiss against your lips, as if saying here, for all your hard work. “You know... it,” he shrugs, hands behind his head as he prepares himself to supervise your post-sex nap, just to make sure you don’t accidentally move around and let his cum leak out. “You did good, wifey,” he praises with another smooch. “Maybe we should let Hyejoo sleep over at Jimin’s more.”

Hyejoo’s return is the highlight of the year. 

You pick her up around noon, and your heart nearly grows ten sizes when you see her come running down Jimin’s front steps and into your arms. “Hi, mommy,” she beams, the same smile as Namjoon. And just like Namjoon, you can’t stop yourself from covering her face in tiny kisses. She says they tickle and squirms and squeals in your embrace. 

Jimin’s at the door with this weirdly blank look on his face. “Hey, Jimin,” you call out, helping Hyejoo load her bag into the backseat.

“Hey…” he greets, just as Hyejoo frantically begins calling for you to buckle her in. “Um, __,” Jimin says, but you’re a little busy securing the tiny love of your life into her booster seat, so you just throw him a quick glance to let him know you’re listening. Kinda. “There’s something I have to tell you—“

“I wanna see daddy!” Hyejoo babbles from the backseat, wildly waving her hands around as you finally close the door on her. With it shut, her loud voice is drowned out and you’re left raising a brow at Jimin as you round the front of the car. 

“What’s up?” you ask. 

Jimin comes down the steps, awkwardly hovering by the front of your car. “Um, when we were on the phone—“ Hyejoo knocks her tiny hands against the window, gesturing for you to hurry up. You flash Jimin an apologetic frown at the interruption. “Well, you see. She kinda heard us— well, me—” 

Another flurry of knocks, and you can’t wait to relay to Namjoon how excited your daughter had been to see him again. It’ll boost his ego, not that he really needs it to be any bigger. “That’s fine,” you tell Jimin, swinging your door open. Immediately, Hyejoo’s high-pitched voice fills the space between you and Jimin. “You know I don’t mind talking to the missus,” you joke, nudging his side. “She’s my friend too, ya know.”

“Gotta show daddy something!” Hyejoo shouts from the backseat, has this big smile on her face that makes you smile as well. 

Beside you, Jimin is quickly falling apart. “No, well—” you drop down into your seat “it wasn’t her who heard—“ You shut the door, lowering the window to thank Jimin one more time. Hyejoo beats you to it.

“Bye, Mr. Jimin!” she says, tiny legs kicking around all wildly in her excitement. You shake your head with a grin, waving goodbye to Jimin one last time as you pull out of his driveway. 

“Daddy!” Hyejoo shrieks upon entering your home. Her tiny overnight bag is tossed down at the entryway, ladybug rain boots haphazardly kicked towards the general direction of the shoe closet. Namjoon had been upstairs in his study when you left, but he now comes bounding down the steps at the sound of your daughter’s voice. He cries out a dopey, “princess”, as he scoops her up in his big arms. He does a twirl and everything, so dramatic. But it makes Hyejoo giggle like crazy. 

She allows one big fat kiss against her chubby cheeks before she’s shushing him with the news of her announcement. “Daddy, look,” she beams, holding his face between her tiny hands. “I can say the f sound now!”

Namjoon has been avidly working towards this ability for months now. Namjoon, who has spent nights reading every page of every child development book possible, who has spent hours decorating pretty flashcards for her, who has sectioned off time from his busy schedule everyday just to go over lessons with her. Well, Namjoon looks over the goddamn moon at the news. 

“Let’s hear it, honey,” you urge, stepping in when his happiness renders him incapable of speech. So he just nods along, looks like a bobblehead doll beside you. 

And with both of her proud, sometimes overprotective, parents standing before her, Hyejoo puts on a big grin and says, “fuck.”

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[yannowhatigiveup]

New but True

This is the 10k+ one shot I was talking about. I finished it as quickly as I could yesterday (with aching muscles WHICH STILL HURTS-) Any way enjoy!

Wordcount: >13k

Damian didn't know how he was expecting his day to go but he didn't expect it to go like this.

He woke up a little earlier than usual which was an annoyance since he would be doing patrol late at night. His brothers were also being a pain when he arrived for breakfast, but that was normal. What wasn't normal was the fact that he had this aching feeling in his stomach, a gut feeling, that something would happen. He wasn't sure whether it was something good or something bad, but he wasn't going to take any chances. He didn't pay any attention to Dick as he talked about how Kor'i and Mar'i would be coming to visit. The eldest, being his overdramatic self, let out a huff of taken offense when he realised Damian wasn't paying attention. His thoughts were interrupted by Jason's annoying snark.

"Demon-spawn's love life is nonexistent, did you really expect him to listen?"

Damian inhaled sharply through his nose, took a sip from the cup of coffee he stole from Tim, reached for a knife and looked Jason straight in the eyes. "Your life will be nonexistent, Todd"

As he was about to throw it, Alfred materialized behind him. "Master Damian, no throwing utensils at the table"

The green-eyed boy huffed, finishing the rest of Tim's coffee off. He left to his room with no comment and when he reached his room, he changed to go on a walk.

He didn't have a specific area he wanted to go to, he just let his legs do the walking. He made it to a paint shop, an antique shop, a small drinks stand where he bought a small lemonade from and a quiet street. Then the feeling returned only much stronger. Damian then felt as if he was being watched. His eyes squinted and scanned the area surrounding him only to be filled with dread as a wave of exhaustion hit him. Somehow someway, someone managed to drug him. Soon the effects of the drug went in full motion and he sank quickly into darkness.

~~~

Damian, still half asleep, tried to move around, only to feel a chains bounding him to the floor. Now he was fully awake. His eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room and he came to the conclusion that he was kidnapped by the League of Assassins. He was heavily and expertly bounded to the floor which was a bother. Then a voice made him realise he wasn't alone.

"Wh-where am I?" A faint, small and sweet voice asked in French.

Damian's head turned to the direction the sound was doing from, his vision was then locked with the other figure in the room. Green eyes met blue. Damon didn't know what to say after meeting the girl's gaze and instead observed her. She was beautiful, probably the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and she looked small, frail and weak. But Damian knew better than to judge people based on appearance alone. It could all just be an act, an image she's trying to portray. 'This girl has to be dangerous or has to have a great significance of some kind. After all, she was kidnapped too'. Damian was about to answer when an all too familiar voice answered instead.

"You're in the League of Assassins, little guardian" a female voice replied in french. Damian then turned to meet his mother's glare, giving Talia a glare of his own.

"...Why am I here?" Even though the girl seemed very fragile at that moment, her voice was intimidating.

"To be betrothed to my son"

"What?!" Both teenagers exclaimed in French.

"You heard me. You-" Talia pointed at Damian. "are the heir to the League of Assassins and you-" her finger pointed to the blue-haired girl. "are the Great Guardian, heir to the Order of the Guardians." she then crossed her arms. "It would be beneficial for both parties for this marriage to take place as it would create an alliance between the two opposing organizations"

Talia approached the blue-eyed girl first. "I have your kwami" she whispered furiously in French. "Go through with this, otherwise your kwami will take the punishment" Damian didn't understand what his mother was talking about and soon she was approaching him. "You refuse, the girl dies. You choose" she told her son in English. Talia was very certain the girl heard and understood her words.

He didn't know anything about the girl but he would be damned if he let her die. Damian and the figure both locked eyes again. Though neither face showed any emotion, their eyes conveyed a silent conversation, a silent agreement.

Talia didn't see this as she was already turning away from them. "You'll now be escorted to different rooms to change". At her command, more people entered the room.

~~~

He was forced into his assassin's gear and dragged to the alter, many assassins with weapons drawn warned him to remain where he was. Then the doors opened. The mysterious blue-

eyed girl was fitted in a dark red qipao, her long midnight hair, that was now let down, framed her face perfectly. If they weren't in this situation, he probably would have approached the girl himself.

Being brought back to reality, both him and the girl stood side by side, looking up at Talia who had a goblet filled with god knows what. The brown-haired woman then forcefully took the girl's hand and sliced her palm, letting the blood drip down into the beaker. Upon doing so, the blue-haired girl winced when the blade made contact with her skin. Talia then took Damian's hand and did the same, Damian didn't show any emotion when the action was done. The woman mixed the liquids and poured the concoction into two separate glasses. She chanted something in another language which he didn't bother listening to. Both Damian's and the girl's eyes locked once more before they both brought the chalices to their lips and drank. Damian ignored the burning from the liquid as it went down his throat but he saw the girl gulp in visible discomfort.

After the ceremony was complete, the newlywed couple were forced into a bedroom. Damian tried opening the door but it was, shut. He turned to face the girl who was now sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I'm truly sorry for these turn of events"

"I'm so sorry they dragged you into this"

Damian and the blue-eyed girl shared a small but saddened chuckle as they both talked, in English, at the same time.

"Like I said earlier I... I'm sorry you were forced into this" Damian murmured as he went to sit next to the girl, keeping some distance as to not make her uncomfortable.

"I'm gonna stop you right there" She put her hand up, indicating for him to stop talking. "You were roped into this as much as I was" the girl hesitantly placed her hand on his and surprisingly, Damian didn't feel the need to pull away. "The only person here to blame is your mother" her eyes widened at her own statement "Sorryifthatoffendedyou!"

Damian chuckled at her reaction. "It's fine. She only gets the privilege of being called my mother because she's biologically related to me" he thought for a moment and cleared his throat. "Since we're... married"

"We might as well try to make it work" she smiled at him and Damian felt his cheeks heat up ever so slightly.

He nodded. "Firstly, Hello, my name is Damian, Damian Wayne and I am your husband"

"Well hello too you too! I'm your wife and my name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng... or is it Wayne now?" Marinette asked slightly flustered. Damian decided that he enjoyed seeing her flustered. He took the hand that was resting on his and gently kissed her knuckles. The bluenette's blush was far more visible now.

"Marinette" Damian hummed. "A beautiful name to suit a beautiful lady such as yourself"

She giggled, Damian revelled in the sound. "You're one to talk tall, dark and handsome" she abruptly stopped. "Wait, Damian Wayne?" Marinette tried to stifle her laughter but failed.

"What's so funny?" He shot her a jokingly glare.

"No it's just-" she tried to control her laughter and managed to lower it to giggles. "There's a girl in my class and she says that you and her are a couple"

The look of disgust on his face managed to throw her into a fit of more laughter. "The only woman that I love is my beautiful wife" he grumbled, pulling Marinette closer to him and wrapping his arm around her waist. Damian felt the blue-eyed girl's body freeze. "Sorry I-" he was cut off when Marinette leaned into his embrace, her head snuggled under his chin.

"I love you too, mon chéri"

~~~

In the few hours she really got to know him, Marinette fell for Damian, she fell hard. He told her about his pets and about Jon, his self proclaimed best friend. He then told her about his family, how they were actually the Bats and how infuriating they were, though she knew he loved them. In turn she told him about being Ladybug and the situation in Paris, he was furious about not knowing of this sooner. Even more so after finding out her relationship with her classmates but he kept his promise to not kill them, for now.

They hadn't noticed how much time has past until the sound of the door opening reminded the couple of where they were. Damian and Marinette both stood up, the bluenette slightly behind her husband as Talia entered the room. The older woman tossed a cage and a key at the two, she left without saying a single word. Marinette picked up the key and stumbled to cage, shakily turning the key. As soon as the cage door opened, the red blur flew out and hugged her cheek.

"Marinette I was so worried!" Tikki squeaked

"I'm glad you're okay Tikki!" The bluenette turned to the black-haired boy who was smiling ever so slightly at the reunion. "Damian this is Tikki, my kwami. Tikki this is Damian, my husband"

Damian stood and nodded curtly at the flying goddess. The kwami flew up, inspected for a second and hugged his cheek. Marinette giggled at the interaction. "He's right for you Marinette. But the moment I get my hands on that witch of a woman, I will get Plagg to deal with her"

Marinette, not wanting to stress her kwami best friend, suggested that Tikki get some rest and the kwami, though hesitantly, agreed. Now it was just Damian and Marinette awake. The green-eyed boy walked towards the window, Marinette followed suit.

"Tt, It's bolted down where we can't reach" Damian was referring to the window.

"I checked for any secret doors or passage ways, nothing"

"We need to escape somehow" he murmured. 'We could try to pick the door lock but there's an object obstructing the hole, only removed when the key is used. Kicking the door down could be an option but there could be assassins posted outside-'

"You look tired" Marinette's sweet voice interrupted his thoughts. "Go to bed"

"I can sleep on the flo-"

"It's cold sleeping on my own" she smiled up at him. Damian swore that her smile was brighter than the sun itself. He placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

"Alright"

Marinette was surprised at how well she trusted Damian despite the fact they had known each other for less than 24 hours. Yet here she was, cuddling up in her husband's arms. It was probably Plagg's influence giving her confidence. Then again, Damian must be thinking the exact same thing. She reached out to cover the black-haired boy completely with the blanket provided. When she was sure he was safe under the blanket, she kissed his cheek and snuggled back into his chest. They could escape later, right now she just wanted to spend time with Damian. Her husband.

~~~

A few days had past and they still hadn't made any progress of escaping. Though they had made progress in bonding. Despite the fact they had only been with each other for a few days, they felt as if they'd known each other for years. They knew each other's hobbies, favourite activities, body language. It's almost as if they could communicate through their eyes alone. Damian hate to say it, but he had to thank his mother for introducing the two. Though that small spark of gratefulness would soon flicker out.

One day, Damian woke alone. He noticed the lack of his wife's signature scent, vanilla and cherry blossoms courtesy of her shampoo, as well as the lack of warmth when he woke up. It hit him like a train, Talia took her. He stormed through the door, surprisingly it was left unlocked. He found his mother in a separate room, calmly drinking tea.

"Where. Is. My. Wife." He growled out. Talia looked at her son, put her cup of tea down and stared straight into his eyes.

"We've decided" she began slowly. "That we need more from their side of the bargain" A dangerous glint was in her eyes. "We've asked for the miraculous in exchange for protection but since they've refused, we're going void this bethrothal. By killing the girl. You are no longer needed here"

Damian's eyes were wide open. Marinette was the only person in the world he truly loved, she didn't judge him for his past and she didn't mind when he was stubborn and self-centered. He'd finally opened his heart to her fully, now his mother was going to kill her. His fists were clenched but before he could do anything, he was hit at the back of his head, knocking him out cold.

~~~

"Has Master Damian returned?" Alfred asked when he entered the living room.

"Nope, the brat's not home" Jason replied, too invested in one of his books.

"Is there something wrong, Alfred?" Alfred turned to where Dick was sitting on the couch, eager for his wife and daughter to return from Tamaran.

"Master Damian is usually home by now when he goes out for walks and it is almost time for dinner" he sounded as if he was going to say more but there was someone at the door so he went to see who it was, Dick followed thinking it was Kor'i and Mar'i. But before he left he told the other two men in the room to call Damian.

Jason tried first but succeeded no results. "You try Replacement"

Tim, who was losing it slightly as he had one less cup of coffee than usual, obliged, only to receive the same outcome. Getting slightly confused, he tried tracking his little brother's phone. Soon Mar'i came in.

"Hi Uncle Jay! Hi Uncle Timmy!" She looked around the room, her green eyes slightly glinting with sadness. "Where's Uncle Dami?"

Tim and Jason looked at each other, gesturing for the other to answer. Luckily Alfred stepped in. "He's out on a walk. Right now it's time for dinner so let's get you seated"

The little girl bounced with joy. "Okay Papa Alfie!"

The the two left, Bruce decided to walk in. He glanced briefly around the room. "Where's Damian?"

"He's not answering any calls or messages. I tracked his phone and-" he turned the computers screen around, showing a map with a circle indicating where Damian's phone was.

"Should we go get the Demon Brat now B or?" Jason asked.

"You can go Jason"

The second eldest went to the batcave to suit up and Tim sent the location. It lead Red Hood to a quiet street, and an unsupervised phone. He picked it up, saw all of the notifications on it and looked around the area. No Damian in sight. What was insight though, was a cup of lemonade, nearly finished. 'This is getting very weird very quickly' Red Hood figured it would be best just to take it back in case.

When he got back, he put the lemonade through for testing and went upstairs for dinner, Damian's phone in hand. When he arrived he was met with all the stares of anticipation. He sighed and put the phone on the table.

"I didn't find Demon Spawn" nearly all of the table sighed. "All I found was lemonade, didn't know he drank it"

"Did you get it tested for any sedatives?" Dick asked, worried for his little brother.

"In the cave now"

"Tim, he has a tracker on right?" Dick turned to the coffee-deprived boy.

Tim nodded and pulled his phone out. "It must've got damaged somehow, it's not appearing on the map"

"Has it got a tracked history of where he's been?" Bruce cut in. Tim fiddled with his phone for a moment.

"His last tracked location was the same location where we found his phone"

"Is Uncle Dami gonna be okay?" The small girl's voice echoed in the room.

"Don't worry my little bumgorf, I'm sure we will find him" Kor'i reassured her daughter.

Soon dinner was finished, Kor'i took Mar'i to her room so the others could find out what happened. When they reached the batcave, the lemonade, the only piece of evidence they had, had traces of a very strong sedative that would've knocked Damian out in seconds. They went out on an earlier patrol to see if they could spot the green-eyed boy. Nothing. On the regular patrol, no villain had claimed to taking Damian. Again, the patrol received no results.

"I'll try calling Jon" Dick's worried voice whispered.

After a few rings, Jon picked up. "Hi Dick! What's-"

"Have you seen Damian today?"

"No I haven't, why is something wrong?" The boy asked, getting worried for his best friend.

"He's not picking up his phone and his tracker for damaged"

"...o-okay I'll keep an eye out for him"

Dick thanked the young superhero and shook his head to all the people in the room. They all collectively sighed. 'Where did you go Little D?'

~~~

A few days passed and they still had no luck. Jason was getting worried, 'The Joker better not have him'. Though Damian is a little shit at times, he was still his younger brother. Jason was always the first to get out and look for him, he was one of the last people Damian talked to that day, and he wasn't necessarily happy about what he said to him beforehand. If he was captured, tortured and/or killed by the Joker, Jason would never let the feeling of vengeance grow.

Red Hood surveyed the area and his head darted in the direction of what sounded like a struggle. He alerted the others through his comm and headed towards the noise. It came from two hooded figures and...

"Hey!"

The hooded figures froze at the sound of his voice. They quickly left the area not before harshly throwing the third figure at the nearby wall. Red Hood ran up to the boy and he was right. It was Damian, battered, bruised and unconscious. But he was alive. Red Hood scrambled to his side, carrying him on his back. "I found him but he's not doing too good"

"Bring him back to the batcave, Agent A will take care of him. In the meantime, return to patrol"

When they had all finished, they returned to the batcave where Alfred was hovering over Damian, who was on a bed, covered in bandages.

"Master Damian is recovering quickly, he'll wake up soon" Alfred reassured the worried family.

Though not most of them wouldn't admit it out loud, they deeply missed and were incredibly fretful for their youngest. Bruce, Dick, Tim and even Jason all sat around Damian. Only after Alfred assured them to bed did they leave the boy's side.

Tim woke up early, as usual, and he decided to fix himself a cup of strong coffee. He grabbed his laptop from the living room and instead of doing work there, he went down to the batcave at sat besides Damian's bed. He'd felt a pang of sadness when his younger brother didn't return home a few days earlier as he didn't interact at all will him before he left.

Tim didn't register when Damian left, or the fact that Dick was talking, or even when Jason kept throwing remarks here and there. The thing he did register though was the fact that his coffee cup was no longer in his reach. "Who took my coffee?" He tried to sound threatening but it came out as tired and completely done.

"Demon Spawn took it" Jason scoffed.

Tim then reached for the familiar cup from across the table, only to find it empty.

"How dare he drink my coffee" Tim growled, a new source of energy arising from his anger. "The brat's definitely going to get it later"

All too soon, it was time for breakfast. Tim got up to leave only to stop when he saw movement in the corner of his eye. The coffee lover turned to face a half conscious Damian.

"You're okay! Little D's awake!!" Tim shouted to get everyone's attention.

"Could you not burst my eardrums Drake?" The green-eyed boy grumbled, his head still throbbing from the hit he had taken earlier.

One by one, the others filed into the batcave. Dick gave Damian a big hug, Tim flashed a smile of relief, Jason ruffled the boy's hair and Bruce gave a small hug followed by a pat on the head. Throughout the whole ordeal, Damian had blank stare. No scowl, no unpleasant looks. Nothing. No one knew what had happened, only that it wasn't good. Soon, Mar'i came running in and jumped onto his bed, squeezing him in a hug.

"Uncle Dami we were so worried!" The little girl sobbed. Though the contact did hurt, he pushed aside the pain from the injuries and patted his niece's head.

"I'm back now"

"Where did you go?" Mar'i's eyes shone in burning curiosity. It reminded Damian of Marinette, the first thing she said had the same curiosity.

"It doesn't matter" he choked out. The others must have mistook the question as a trigger for a bad memory as they instantly changed the subject, they had no clue of the real reason.

"If you are well rested, Master Damian, would you like to join us for breakfast?" Alfred entered the room, his eyes were empathetic. 'Pennyworth knows what happened, he always knows'

"Yes, thank you Pennyworth" Mar'i jumped off so Damian could stand up. He suppressed a wince as he put pressure on his right foot. Slowly, the others left to go upstairs and Damian was left alone with his father.

"Damian" The green-eyed boy looked up to where Bruce was standing. "What happened?"

"Mother" he states simply, he didn't need to add anything else.

"What did she do?"

"..." Damian didn't answer at first, he looked away, wanting to avoid eye contact as much as possible. Bruce patiently waited, however. The green-eyed boy's head lowered to the ground but his gaze was fixated on his father. They had a deadly, destructive, toxic tint that even disturbed Bruce. But he said nothing, not a single word left his mouth and whatever he wanted to say seemed to die down in his throat. Damian took a few steps to one of the exits before stopping and turning back towards Bruce. "I appreciate your concern, father" Damian's lips twitched, forming a small smile, and he walked away, trying not to show he was limping.

Bruce watched as his youngest walked, limped, away. Whatever Talia had done, it had taken a toll on Damian. Mentally and Physically. He wanted to know exactly what happened so he could give the help the green-eyed boy needed. For now, he'll let his son relax and heal, he deserved it.

~~~

Marinette woke to a lack of warmth and the lost feeling of strong arms around her body. One of her eyes fluttered open, she was in a different room, one she didn't recognise. The bluenette began to panic and searched for the door, it was locked.

"Dami?"

No answer.

"Tikki?" Luckily, the small goddess was in the room.

"I tried to stop them but they knocked me out, I'm so sorry Marinette!" The blue-eyed girl was quick to reassure her kwami when she heard talking down the hall.

"Where. Is. My. Wife."

Marinette immediately recognised it as Damian's voice. She wanted to call out but it would be a stupid move, there could be assassins posted in front of her door, she could put Damian in danger, the possibilities were endless. So she just listened.

"We've decided... that we need more from their side of the bargain. We've asked for the miraculous in exchange for protection but since they've refused, we're going void this bethrothal. By killing the girl. You are no longer needed here"

The blue-haired girl then heard the sound of something heavy being used to hit someone, then a loud thud. Marinette had to cover her mouth so that her scream would be muffled. She had to get out of there. Now. The bluenette didn't want to leave without Damian, but he would want her to escape. She quietly transformed and went to the window in her room, it wasn't bolted down like the room she was previously in so she used her yo-yo to break it down. And she ran, she ran as far as her legs could take her. When she was positive she was safe, she took her yo-yo and called the one person who could get her out of there.

"Pegasus?" She asked, her voice hoarse as she held back tears.

"Ladybug! We're getting worried, where are you? A Parisian citizen is missing and there's an akuma attack currently going on and if you don't get here we'll 100%-"

"Can you get my location, please?" Ladybug pleaded, hoping that the horse hero wouldn't get mad for cutting him off. Other than the occasional computer keyboard sounds, the line went silent. "When you do, please don't question where I am. Can you teleport me back to Paris?"

"Got it Ladybug" the ladybug hero then heard a muffled 'Voyage!' in the background and a portal appeared in front of her.

The portal lead to the Eiffel Tower and in front of her was a worried Pegasus.

"I'll explain everything later, let's deal with this akuma first"

~~~

After a difficult akuma and a Lucky Charm in the form of fairy lights, Ladybug felt her walls crumbling.

"Ladybug!" Chat's voice echoed from behind her. The black cat hero was followed by Pegasus, Ryuko and Honey Bee, Chloe's new hero mantle. "What happened? Where did you go?"

Before she could answer, Pegasus spoke up. "Sorry to interrupt but my miraculously about to run out and I need to return it"

"Oh right, come with me Pegasus" She lead him to a nearby building and he detransformed, leaving Max standing where the horse-themed hero once was.

"My friend Marinette is still missing, can you-"

"She's safe don't worry, she'll be home soon" After bidding Max goodbye, she returned to where the other three heroes were waiting.

"Alright Buginette, explain" Honey Bee exclaimed as soon as Ladybug arrived. Though the spotted heroine didn't seem to be listening. "Ladybug-"

She detransformed, wearing a black qipao with floral embroidery, and Tikki hugged her cheeks as tears rolled down them. The others were quick to rush to her side.

"Mari-hime... what happened?" Ryuko began slowly.

"I think it's best if she explains this at home" Chat Noir suggested.

"I'll take her, you two detransform and meet her at home. I'll come up with a cover story" Honey Bee said, carrying the woeful bluenette.

When Kagami and Adrien arrived at the Tom and Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie, Marinette's parents were busy in the baker but explained the story that Chloe had told them, how Marinette was a target for one of the Akumas and needed to leave immediately. They said she was up in her room. The two were about to walk up the stairs when Chloe burst though the door behind them, out of breath, and walked with them. As they opened the trapdoor in Marinette's bedroom floor, they found the bluenette sat on her chaise, being comforted by the small red kwami.

"You know how strong Damian is, Marinette. I'm sure he managed to escape and I bet he's as worried as you are right now" the three heroes heard Tikki say.

"Whose Damian?" Adrien asked. The bluenette only seems to then notice that there were others in the room with her. She sighed and gestured for the three to sit in front of her, which they did.

She took a deep breath. "So a few days ago I was kidnapped by the League of Assassins. They were the organization that the Order of the Guardians had been opposed to for so long. Their current leader decided it would be best to end this conflict and had me, along with her son, kidnapped for an arranged marriage. Damian is her son and before you bash him or something, he was just as forced into it as I was. He turned his back on his mother and the league years ago and I don't hold him for his past."

"Since the betrothal was sealed with magic, we both knew that there was no safe way around it so we decided to work with it. I got to know him, he got to know me et cetera. And I kinda fell hard for him. Earlier today I woke up in a different room than the one I had been locked in, luckily Tikki was with me. I didn't know where he was but I heard Damian confront his mother about my whereabouts. Then when she revealed she was planning to kill me, she injured Damian so that he would be unable to save me and I ran away." She composed herself and looked at Adrien's, Chloe's and Kagami's expressions.

"Now I don't know if Damian is okay or if he still loves me or if he hates me for leaving him behind-" she began rambling on again as her friends were still processing the information.

"Dupain-Cheng!" Chloe shouted, stopping Marinette from maundering on any further. "So you got kidnapped, you got married... and now your worried your husband hates you because you escaped?" The bluenette nodded slowly. "You get left alone for a few hours and you're already married..." she teased, trying to lighten up the mood.

Marinette's cheeks were tinted red but her expression didn't change otherwise. "You said he's the son of the one who kidnapped you right?" Kagami asked.

"Y-yeah"

"Does he know how to use a sword? I wish to duel him to see if he's worthy of your love" she stated simply. Adrien chuckled softly and Marinette smiled slightly.

"What's his last name as it's also your last name now?" The blue-eyed girl's cheeks got redder as she cleared her throat.

"Wayne, Damian Wayne"

If Chloe was drinking a something she would've done a spit take right at that very moment. "Damian Wayne? As in the son of Bruce Wayne the billionaire? The one Lie-la's lying about dating?" Marinette nodded.

"You were saying earlier that you think he might not love you anymore right?" Adrien tried to distract the girls from Chloe's spluttering.

"...yeah what about it?"

"Well you also said he confronted his mother right? Well he must've truly loved you to just go and yell at a dangerous person who was also the person holding them captive. Though you haven't really told us what he's like, I doubt he would just stop loving you like that" Kagami emphasized his point by snapping her fingers.

Marinette smiled. "Thanks for coming to talk but right now I'm exhausted"

"We'll leave you to sleep, Mari-hime" The Japanese fencer then pulled the two blondes out of the room as they both wished her a good nap. Marinette kept a smile until they left, it slowly fell and Mari sank in the pillows of her bed. It didn't feel right to sleep without Damian. She felt... incomplete without him by her side. The tears rolled down again.

~~~

It had been a few days since Damian was found and, honestly, he wasn't doing that good. He'd been quiet, ignoring all remarks from his brothers, hadn't issued any death threats, even his pets didn't seem to bring him more joy. What confused the bat brothers the most is whenever someone would call out for Mar'i, Damian would always glance at the direction of the sound, only to have a slight hint of disappointment in his eyes when he saw his niece but he would always put on a smile for the small girl, sometimes genuine, most times forced.

They didn't have a clue how to crack the case so they got the next best person to obtain information for the green-eyed boy. Jon.

When Jon appeared at the door, Alfred was quick to lead him to Damian's room. The sooner Damian had someone to talk to, the better. "Master Damian, you have a visitor"The door was unlocked so Alfred lead Jon in and promptly left afterwards.

There was silence between the two ad Jon sat down on the floor in front of his best friend, who was sitting on the end of the bed.

"Dami? Do you wanna talk about it?" Jon waited patiently for the green-eyed boy to talk. After a few heartbeats, Damian sighed.

"Mother kidnapped me for an arranged marriage" he murmured. Jon gasped lightly as Damian continued. "She and I were both kidnapped and forced to go through with it. That's how I got...this" He lifted his hand to show faint but noticeable, curved scar, made by a very sharp blade. After a few seconds, Damian put his hand back down. "We were trapped in a shared room so we took that opportunity to get to know one another"

Damian didn't continue after that and Jon came to a conclusion. "You realised you love her"

He nodded. "Now, it's my fault that she's been tortured. Because I wasn't fast enough to protect her..." This was probably the first time Jon had seen his best friend visibly melancholic so he gave him a small hug and surprisingly, Damian wasn't bothered to push him away. "I am so pathetic"

Jon noticed someone at the door, Dick perhaps, but he doubted they they heard anything as Damian's voice was above a whisper so that only Jon could hear. After hearing the person walk away, he decided to lighten the mood. "What's she like?"

"Beautiful, kind, smart, resourceful... She's the living embodiment of sunshine, a breath of fresh air. She isn't quick to judge and she's always got a plan in her head. She's persistent too, and it's adorable when she gets flustered" Damian smiled lightly to himself.

"What's her name? What does she look like?" If talking about this girl made the green-eyed boy happy, then that's what Jon will do.

"Her name's Marinette. Blue hair, blue eyes, short" Damian chuckled lightly. "A smile brighter than the sun itself" he paused. "I don't think she's dead, she's too strong to go down just like that. But I think she's absolutely livid at me."

"She loves you a lot right?, then she wouldn't be" Jon reassured his best friend. "I gotta go now but feel free to talk about her, kay?" Jon almost left the room but was stopped by Damian's voice.

"Hey, Kent" he turned. "Thank you"

Jon smiled brightly before leaving the room, he went down stairs to the living room and was greeted by Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Alfred and Kor'i.

"Well?" Jason pushed, eager to know what was bothering the brat.

He wasn't sure what to say until he heard Alfred whisper. "Let the young master tell them"

Jon shook his head. "Not my place to share. I'm sure he'll tell you eventually though, he just needs time to find the right words" 'He can't just waltz in and say "I got betrothed and now I think my wife hates me cause I left her at the mercy of my mother" They'll think he went mad!'

Bruce sighed. "Thank you Jon, how bad was the situation he was in?"

All the adults in the room were on edge as Jon took so time to formulate his answer. "The aftermath hurt him a lot" the others nodded.

"Wait" Everyone turned to the origin of the sound, Kor'i. "Why does Little D always tense when he hears Mar'i's name?"

"Yeah he does seem to do that" Dick murmured.

Jon was silent for a few seconds, 'What am I supposed to say? Damian's wife is called Marinette and "Mari" is probably a nickname for her. And your daughter just so happens to have the same name!' "Uh, Well Damian himself will have to explain that" The couple, though seemingly unconvinced, nodded.

"Thanks for your help, Jon"

~~~

A few months have past, Damian has slowly gotten better but he still hasn't quite been the same. He'd always have a scowl, as normal, and he'd issue death threats but only after a lot of probing. He'd also refrain from using his katana and other sharp utensils as a first resort. It was scary to say the least. He'd also spend a lot more time in his art room. Though he never displayed any emotions on his face, Damian's brothers noticed how whenever the green-eyes boy was upset, he'd always run his thumb on a long scar on his palm. Obviously from when he was kidnapped.

No one found out what happened as they never asked. Though they were curious. The curiosity grew when Jason managed to sneak into Damian's art room.

Jason was walking around the manor, looking for one of his guns that one of his brothers had hidden, he still didn't know who did it. Somehow, he found himself in front of the door leading to Damian's painting room and surprisingly, it was unlocked. Wanting to look for his missing gun and definitely not wanting to snook around, Jason waltzed in.

Briefly looking around for his gun, Jason came to the conclusion that it wasn't in this room but he stayed to look, admire, at his youngest brother's paintings, his fingers stroked through his two-toned hair. Though he would never admit it, Damian had real skill. One painting in particular caught his eye. It was small but held incredible detail, it looked like a scene frozen in time, but the detail wasn't what caught his eye.

The painting itself was of a long, sharp blade, it was covered in blood. Two different shades of blood. Jason suspected that this was the blade that caused the scar on Damian's palm, further supported by the still drying paint. Most of the paintings before the incident were either of the family or just landscapes, it was no coincidence that this painting was of a memory of what happened the the period he was taken.

Noting that the Demon Brat arrived back from patrol at 4 am, he was probably still asleep, Jason took the painting to bring to the living room.

"Any luck finding your gun?" Tim questioned mockingly.

"No" Jason replied in the same mocking tone but it quickly changed into a serious stare. The other adults noticed this change. He turned the painting in his hand around so that the artwork faced the audience. "I think I found a clue"

When that happened, they watched the boy's moves much more carefully. As well as monitoring the paintings in his room. Thankfully, the other paintings weren't of what happened, they returned to simple family portraits and landscapes. Though it could be debatable as they still had no idea what happened.

Bruce decided to host a competition, where the prizes would be an all-expense paid trip to Gotham and tours of WE for the next generation of work force, it was to write a letter detailing accomplishments and good-deeds as well as those who inspired the writer. He was going through the entries along with all his sons, Damian insisted on reading the ones he was given in his room, though not all of them wanted to help willingly. Expect for the occasional tapping at the computer's keyboard and thoughtful hums, all was silent in the manor. The silence was broken by Tim.

"Hey I like this one" he sipped on his coffee as Dick came to read the letter over Tim's shoulder.

"I think we found a winner" Dick chimed as Tim sent it to Bruce.

When he got it he read through it carefully. This was definitely one of the best they had received. "Very detailed, descriptive, the punctuation is on point, there's a tribute to their heroes as well" Bruce hummed. "Who's the one who submitted this?"

Tim squinted at the computer screen. "Marinette Dupain-Cheng, from Paris"

"You're gonna do a background check on her, aren't yo-" Jason paused mid sentence. "Why did the lady mention heroes?"

~~~

A few months have passed since the newlyweds were separated, Marinette still missed Damian every day. Adrien, Chloe and Kagami still didn't know how to cheer the bluenette up, they hadn't told Luka yet either as they were aware he still had lingering feelings for the blue-eyed girl. That was until one day a certain competition caught the school's eye. One being hosted by a certain Bruce Wayne.

When Marinette entered her classroom early, for once, Chloe and Adrien were already waiting for her. "Look at this Mari-bear!" The female blonde shoved a flyer in the bluenette's face. Marinette took it from Chloe, her eyes getting wider as she scanned it.

But he time she was done, one had was covering her mouth as her eyes began to water. "If you enter you'll get a chance at winning and that means you'll get to see Damian again!" Adrien encouraging smile was blinding.

The bluenette nodded. "Yeah, I'm gonna enter" Just as she finished her statement, the bell rang and the rest of the students filtered in and once all the students were seated, Miss Bustier entered. She was surprisingly on time, for once.

"Class, I have an important announcement to make" The incompetent teacher clapped her hands to gain the class' attention. They settled down after a few minutes. "As I'm sure some of you have heard, Bruce Wayne as announced a competition which the price is a trip to Gotham!"

"My Damiboo must've begged Bruce to host this competition as he could see me again" Lila gasped dramatically, her fake, faker than her tinnitus, crocodile tears threatened to spill. "I-I w-w-wasn't supposed to s-say a-a-anything. Please d-don't tell anyone!" The bluenette had to bite back a growl and merely settled for glaring daggers into the brunette's skull.

"We won't girl!" Alya comforted the liar, glaring at Marinette and Chloe at the back, as if daring them.

"Even if the competition was made for Lila to return for Gotham, we still need to have a good entry" Miss Bustier specifically landed her gaze onto Marinette, pushing all her responsibilities onto the bluenette, yet again. "I'll leave you to plan" The redhead teacher left the classroom, not even staying for a full 10 minutes. Marinette sighed and turned to Chloe.

"I'm going to write about our achievements as citizens, I hope I get chosen. I really want to see Damian again" The bluenette murmured, the blonde hugged her best friend.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll win. Then you and your loving husband will be reunited" Chloe's tone changed from sincere to teasing when she mentioned Marinette's husband. The bluenette flushed and went to ask Mlle. Mendeleiev if she could work in her classroom.

The science teacher had become Marinette's favourite teacher in the entire school, she saw through Lila's lies and did approach the brunette about them. Lila did her charm but Mlle. Mendeleiev never fell for it, merely making the liar believe she had. The science teacher never properly took proper action against the student in fear of losing her job but she did keep a folder of evidence against Lila, one that was shared with Marinette so when the time came, the bluenette would have enough evidence to fully bring the liar down. She was helpful for her teacher's help. To no surprise, Mlle. Mendeleiev allowed Marinette to do her entry for the competition in her classroom and quickly the bluenette got to work.

Miss Buster only just announced this and the school only decided to hang the flyers when the due date was five days away. Not to mention it had to be written in English, it was hard enough writing something long, let alone in another language, even though Marinette was fluent in said language. Though it was a pain, it was nothing a few dozen cups of coffee could fix. Surprisingly, Marinette managed to finish it on the second day. Though she still had to proofread it as well as make sure it all made sense. On the third day, she was confident with her letter. Adrien, Chloe, Kagami and Luka all came to read it so the bluenette would be sure it was good enough to send. Once giving their praises, she hit send. She just hoped her father-in-law thought it was good enough.

A few days later, Marinette got her answer.

She arrived early that day, surprisingly, Chloe was in the classroom waiting. "Well?" The blonde stated impatiently, Marinette titled her head in confusion.

"What?"

"The email!" Chloe shook her head as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It took a few moments for Marinette to process what her friend was saying. When she did, she jumped into her seat and opened her phone, her fingers shaky with fear and anticipation.

Dear Miss Dupain-Cheng

It's a great honor to tell you that your entry, out of the thousands that were submitted, was chosen as the winner for this competition.

As I first read through the letter you presented, I was intrigued and touched with the actions you and your classmates have done for your community. Each deed was different in it's own write and it was a great pleasure to have read through each and everyone, though, not many of your own had been written down. When you arrive at Gotham, I'd be delighted to hear your own achievements as I am sure, as proven by the way you spoke of your classmates, you have plenty of your own. I was also deeply touched at how you had a tribute to your own heroes in Paris. I was not aware before this that there were such important figureheads in the city so reading about them in your entry was fascinating to say the least. It was also a delight to read how the vigilantes of Gotham inspired you to help others.

The permission slip for the trip is attached to this email, please make sure the one in charge of your classroom has it signed for each student who wishes to attend. I'm sure you are aware that Gotham is a dangerous city and although we are taking extra security measures, it would be advised to have the class debriefed so they know what to expect in case a situation were to occur. If there are any requests or questions, please do not fail to contact me. I look forward to meeting you and your classmates when you arrive.

Congratulations once again,

Bruce Wayne

Marinette could barely hold back the tears of happiness building up in her eyes, Chloe got up and hugged the girl in celebration. Adrien came in soon after, both blondes hugged their best friend with too much force. Though it couldn't last long as the others were starting to file in.

"Class, I have some good news!" Caline Bustier announced. "We are the winning class for the WE trip to Gotham!" The class erupted into cheers, for a moment, Marinette was reminded of the simpler times when she just started out as a hero. Lila just had to ruin it.

"My sweet Damiboo!" The brunette had a hand on her heart, sighing dreamily. "I'm so lucky to have a kind, sweet and caring man as my boyfriend" The bluenette had to hold back a snort at the description, she settled with a small scoff.

Lila knew she was taking a risk a few days ago, saying that her 'Damiboo' had rigged the competition so that they could be together again but it was a calculated risk. Though she would never admit it out loud, Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a great student. Marinette is well-educated, well-informed, possibly well-born and the bluenette used to be well-loved. Her winning this trip just proved it but Lila wasn't going to let the girl claim the winnings. The brunette suspected that Marinette would at least try to hint at winning, but she didn't. It was an unordinary occurrence, 'Maybe she realised she's no match for me'

"Now I need you all to signs these permission slips and return them to me by tomorrow" Caline handed out the papers and promptly left afterwards, despite having yet to do a lesson. But that didn't matter to Marinette. She was staring at her palm, her thumb stroking the fading scar.

"I can't wait to see you again, mon démon"

~~~

"Oh no" Tim muttered after taking a final sip from his third cup of coffee.

"What Replacement?"

"Take a look at this" the sleep deprived CEO turned his computer to face the other men in the room, Damian was still at school. "If she has a tragic backstory, B might go into serial adopter mode" The screen showed a file on Marinette Dupain-Cheng, including a photo of her.

"Raven hair? Check. Coloured-eyes? Check. Looks? Check. Childhood trauma and/or tragic backstory? Maybe. Holy Shit, B is definitely going to adopt her" Jason listed while Bruce sighed.

"Is there anything notable in her file?" Bruce asked, trying not to submit to his sons' accusations which were, in fact, correct. "From the letter, she seems quite fond of the supposed heroes in Paris"

"Well from the surface she looks like the average teen girl" Dick replied, peering over Tim's shoulder. "But it could all just be for show, you never know" the eldest son shrugged.

Bruce got up from where he was sitting and went to his study, using the excuse of 'work' and 'finalizing the plane tickets for the class'. In reality, he was checking for blank adoption papers. He had a gut feeling about this girl, something was going on behind the scenes.

~~~

The trio made sure they were early to enter school since Chloe said it was possible for Lila to get them, Marinette specifically, left behind. Though, they did spend some time saying goodbye to Luka and Kagami. When they arrived to school, the blonde's assumption was correct since they started to get on the bus. The troublesome class managed to get through the airport in a breeze and without any trouble, there was a bit of a miss-hap during check-in but it was all resolved in a flash.

Marinette, Chloe and Adrien were sitting in the airplane, waiting to take off. She's gotten the seats in economy with extra leg room which were a few rows ahead of the rest of the classroom using the excuse of 'a lot of class president work to do'. Bruce offered to upgrade her and the two blondes to first class so that they wouldn't be disturbed but Marinette politely turned it down. She didn't mind where she was as long as she wasn't near the class, and the mention of first class was bound to cause an uproar.

The bluenette's inner child wanted the window seat, Adrien wanted to be in the seat next to the aisle so he could get first glimpse at the food they were serving, Chloe just wanted to be in the middle for warmth. The seating arrangement worked perfectly. Every once in a while, a flight attendant would drop by to offer food and drinks. There were a few times that flight attendants would ask for one of the three to remind the class of the rules when they didn't listen to the cabin staff, Adrien dealt with the situation since he was the only one they'd actually listen too.

Soon, they landed. The flight had been an easy one since they didn't have to deal with the class's shenanigans while they were in the air. However, that luxury had left when they exited the aircraft.

When traversing through the airport, there had been attempts to get the bluenette lost and attempts to trip her up or gain a significantly bad injury. All attempts failed. Marinette, Chloe and Adrien had managed to weave through passport control peacefully. Even when they were at the baggage claim, not many big efforts were made, besides the classic hiding of the luggage, to rid Marinette of anything. She should've found that suspicious but she was much too tired to care, she barely slept at all on the flight. So when they arrived at the hotel, the first thing she did was lie flat on the bed.

Marinette slept well over nine hours before she woke up. "Tikki, what time is it?"

The kwami too was asleep so at the mention of her name, she yawned. "It's 9:45 am"

"Oh my kwami!" Marinette shot up out of bed to check her phone. Sure enough, there where many notifications of miss calls from Adrien, Chloe, Alix and even Nino. The bus was scheduled to leave at 10:00 but knowing Lila, she was probably over an hour late. The bluenette quickly got changed, brushed her teeth and headed straight towards the hotel doors, ignoring any feeling of hunger.

She pulled her phone out for the directions of Wayne Enterprises and kept her eyes on the screen, completely ignoring the fact that there was someone in the distance directly in her path.

~~~

Jonathan Kent was walking through the streets of Gotham, looking for a present for his best friend. His birthday was in a few days time and the superboy still hadn't found anything. He went to some art shops. Nothing. He went to some antique shops. Still Nothing. He even went to look at kitchen knives. He was that desperate. Jon sighed and continued walking, some shop was bound to peak his interest eventually.

All of a sudden, he heard someone running towards his general direction. Before he could register what was happening, the person ran into him, nearly knocking him down completely.

"Je suis désolé!" A feminine voice shouted out in French. "I-I'm so sorry monsieur!"

Jon then looked up to see a small French bluenette offering her hand to help him up. He gladly took it and when he was back on his feet, he readjusted his glasses to look at the girl properly. She was short, pretty and resembled a Wayne. While this girl was panicking and apologizing profusely, Jon was excited thinking he found a new friend. Though, this excitement didn't last when he saw the state she was in. 'Her bones are a mess! How is she not screaming in pain?'

He waved his hands in front of the girl to get her to stop. "It's fine honestly!" The girl seemed to calm slightly but her face was still worried. "Why you in such a rush anyway?"

"My class and I are visiting on a trip" the bluenette started. "We're supposed to be on our way to a tour but they left me behind"

"They left you all alone? In Gotham?" Jon questioned, 'What kind of stupid are these people?'

"I know right? They-" she was cut off by a notification sound on her phone. "Sorry just a minute"

Jon only then realised how good this French girl's English was. She then let out a sigh of relief and put the phone back in her purse, the blue-eyed boy tried not to use his powers to invade her privacy.

"They're very early, the tour starts in an hour and from the map I'm not far from where I'm meant to be, thank kwami" The young Kent froze at the girl's choice of words, Damian had mentioned that his wife had a companion called a 'kwami'. This couldn't be a coincidence.

"Well since you have time," Jon got the girl's attention. "How do you feel about getting some food? I don't know about you but I'm starving."

"Oh, n-no I could possibly impose-" her stomach grumbled cutting her off. Jon chuckled as he heard the girl whisper profanities.

"Come on I know a place not far from here, you can get a very good few of the WE building" He heard the girl's heart rate speed up a bit, that confirmed where her planned class trip was taking place. He gestured for her to follow him as he sped walked to the location.

When they arrived, they both ordered, Jon ordered a burger while Marinette ordered a cinnamon bun, and sat down. The blue-eyed boy noticed how the girl would always have her thumb in her other palm. He thought her finger could've been resting on a scar similar to Damian's, if she was his wife of course. He decided to test his luck.

"Oh sorry, I forgot to introduce myself" he reached his hand over the table. "My name's Jon Kent" He watched as her eyes widened in recognition and how her heartbeat quickened. "I believe you're Marinette, right?"

Marinette's eyes developed a watery sheen. "Dami's talked about me?"

'Bingo!'

"He talks to me about you every chance he gets" Jon shook the hand Marinette offered and turned it so her palm faced the ceiling. On it was a scar more or less identical to he best friend's. "Whenever he got nervous, sad or overwhelmed, he'd always trace the scar on his hand. I can tell he's thinking of you whenever he does it"

Marinette let a few tears of joy run down her cheek before wiping them away. "S-sorry I'm not usually this emotional" she chuckled. "It's just- I didn't know how to contact Damian and even if I did, I probably couldn't bring myself to talk to him. I thought he hated me for leaving him alone at the League"

Jon snorted. "Him? Hate you? Please, he views you like your his entire world! He was afraid that you hated him! He's drowning in guilt for not being able to get you out of there."

The bluenette sniffed. "Really?" Jon nodded. "C-can I see him again?"

"I don't know where he is right now" Marinette deflated slightly at his words. "But you can definitely meet him! I feel selfish to ask but is it okay for you to wait two days?"

"I've waited many months, a few days is no problem. May I ask why?"

"Well you see his birthday is in a few days and I haven't been able to find him a good gift so... I thought having you two reunited would be a good present" Jon answered, the smile he received was almost blinding.

"That's so sweet of you!" Jon understood how Damian fell for this girl. If sunshine was a person, she would be it.

"So can I see this kwami of yours?" Marinette was confused at how he knew but then she realised that Damian must've told him everything, not that she didn't mind though. "I mean, see it properly?"

"X-ray vision, I should've known" the blue-eyed girl giggled when the boy blinked in surprise. She opened her purse and a red blob flew out. Though it was mostly hidden by Marinette's body, Jon could still see it clearly. He had to cover his mouth to avoid shouting in astonishment. "Jon this is Tikki, my kwami"

"Nice to meet you, son of Superman" Tikki squeaked and Jon's eyes widened in awe as he reached to touch the small creature.

"Wow, you're adorable!" The young boy cooed as the creature giggled.

Marinette wanted the two to interact more but one look at the time told her otherwise. She said goodbye to Damian's best friend and made her way to Wayne Enterprises.

~~~

Despite reading of all the good deeds, the French class were really getting under Dick's skin. First of all, a sausage-hair girl had nearly every student wrapped around her finger, telling stories that were way too good to be true. Secondly, the incompetent teacher didn't bother to control her students, she merely looked at her phone, waving off any students who had questions. And thirdly, they had arrived way too early. The only reasonable looking students that weren't crowding around the brunette were two blondes, one male and one female, and a short skater girl. The only emotions on their face were either anger, annoyance or anxiousness.

When the time for the tour to start was nearing, Dick asked for the teacher to do a headcount. He already knew how many were supposed to be there as he was given a specific amount of badges. There were fifteen in total, not including the teacher. From what he counted, there were only fourteen students, this was confirmed when the teacher's counting stopped at 'Quatorze'. Dick realised it was the class president that wasn't there, he started looking around the main lobby. What really pissed him off was the fact that no one seemed to care that she was left behind, in Gotham for God's sake!

"Have you found her?" A voice from behind Dick asked. It was the blonde boy. "Marinette?"

"No I haven't, the tour starts in seven minutes-" The man cut himself off when someone walked through the lobby doors. She looked to be part of the class. The young bluenette's hair seemed to be ruffled as if she was running for a long time. Dick took a closer look and she was indeed the girl from the file. Determining to know why she was last to arrive, he went to greet her. "Hello, my name is Dick Grayson and I'll be your class's tour guide today"

He didn't fail to notice how her eyes widened in recognition as she took his offered hand and shook it. "Hello Monsieur Dick, I'm Marinette Dupain-Cheng though I suppose you already know..." her voice trailed off as her eyes lingered to somewhere else in the room before meeting back with his. "I'm really sorry about my lateness"

Dick held one hand to stop her from continuing. "It's fine, the tour starts in three minutes so you got here right on time" The eldest watched Marinette let out a sigh of relief. "I am curious, how come you were last to arrive?"

"Ah well the... bus left early because of something that came up and I wasn't aware of the changes so I got left behind" The bluenette noticed the older man's shocked and angered expression and blurted out, "But I'm here now!"

After some time he nodded and gave Marinette her badge. He then proceeded to gather the class and tell them all the rules and regulations. Soon the tour was under way.

~~~

"So how are the French class, Dildo?" Jason's snarky voice echoed in the manor as Dick entered. What they didn't expect was to be met with a seething Dick.

"Most of them are really horrible, the sausage hair and the glasses girl are the worst. They weren't bad to me though, only to the class president who is, actually, a literal angel" The eldest huffed. "They kept sliding in mean comments about her here and there, it was disgusting. The worst part is, she acts as if they do this regularly! You should've seen the way her eyes dulled as she got on the bus with that... that class!"

"That bad huh?" Jason asked.

The eldest son nodded. "Bruce is definitely gonna want to adopt her the moment he's in the same room as her"

Jason hummed. "I'd like to meet this girl your talking about, I'll ask B if I can join next tour as security. In the mean time, bet fifty I get the best gift for the Demon Brat"

Dick let out a overly exaggerated gasp of offense while laying a hand on his chest. "No way! I bet a hundred!"

~~~

The next day was the day of the next tour, Jason tagged along this time. Luckily, Marinette was on the bus when the class arrived but she wasn't looking too good.

"God, she looks exhausted and starved to death!" Jason muttered into Dick's ear. He nodded and walked over to greet the class.

"Welcome back to your second tour! Today, Jason"- Dick gestured towards the man with two-toned hair- "will be joining us today. As an extra security measure. Now, follow me please!" The eldest son began the tour with half-filled enthusiasm, this was Jason's queue to go to the back and interact with the class president.

The man stayed near the back, not making it obvious he was trying to start a conversation with the girl, when he heard the brunette at the front spewing lies. Jason hadn't spoken French in a while but he could still understand the language.

"You don't actually believe what she's saying do you?" Jason asked the young girl. She snorted in response.

"Of course not, only an idiot would believe the words that come out of her rotten excuse of a mouth. They aren't even that good" The older man laughed and the girl's eyes widened. "S-sorry! I don't usually think before I talk when I'm tired"

"No no, you have a point" Jason held his hand up, as much as he could considering her height compared to his own, to the small girl. "The name's Jason Todd"

The bluenette smiled and took his hand. "Marinette, Marinette Dupain-Cheng..." Marinette trailed off on her last name, 'Is that not her last name? The files are always correct so maybe... she's not proud of her name?' "So what's the real reason why you joined the tour today?"

Jason was impressed as she expertly diverted the spotlight of the conversation onto himself. "For extra security"

Marinette gave the older man an unimpressed look. "I deal with that liar all the time, Jason" He blinked before the girl was smiling once more. "You can't lie to me Jay" she said in a sing-song voice.

The older man jokingly sighed and ruffled her hair. "Well since you asked so kindly, Dickhead over there-" he nodded his head in the direction of his older brother- "noticed how most of your classmates are treating you. That was probably the most pissed I've seen him in a long time. So I wanted to see which little lady was able to cause an overprotective spark in him, now I completely understand why he felt that way"

The girl then sniffed and smiled at Jason sadly. "I...Thank you" she whispered to the man with two-toned hair. "It's been a long time since someone other than my friends have said that they were worried about me"

Jason's smile faltered before it turned into a sad but encouraging one. "Hey, Dick and I are here if you ever need someone to talk to. Wait-" Jason's attention diverted to the blonde boy in the room, the one that was originally hanging out with the small girl. "Hey isn't that your friend?"

Marinette turned in the direction Jason was looking at, there was Lila who was on the arm of a very uncomfortable looking Adrien. The bluenette sighed. "Yeah he is. If you're wondering why he's with the liar is because of his father. You see, back in Paris he's quite famous so his father can be overbearing. I odn't know what the liar said to him but now he wants Adrien to keep the girl happy at all costs"

"Can't he just disobey the old man?"

"He did try but the punishment was for him to be home-schooled which he has been more or less his entire life. But I guess it's gotten better since before Adrien didn't want to call out her lies since he thought they weren't hurting anyone"

Jason scoffed. "Her lies definitely hurt those involved"

"Exactly, luckily he managed to realise that after he overheard one of Lie-la's confrontations. He tries his best to sugarcoat his words when he's calling her out but he still hates conflict. He's just with her so she doesn't turn into an akuma. Not that it's working since she's already been akumatized more than seven times"

"Sorry, akuma what-a?"

Marinette shot him a confused look before her eyes widened slightly in realisation. "I can explain at lunch"

Jason seemed hesitant but nodded anyway.

~~~

Marinette grabbed her food tray, narrowly avoided all the feet that tried to trip her up and sat at an empty lunch table.

"Hi, Mari!" Dick's cheerful voice made his presence known as he sat next to her, lunch tray in hand. "So has Jason been good?"

"Yeah! It's nice to have someone to talk to-"

She was interrupted by Jason slamming his lunch tray on the table, sitting opposite Marinette. "Alright Pixie Pop, explain what an Akuma Matata is"

"Pixie Pop?" The bluenette giggled.

"Akuma whata?" The eldest asked.

"Pixie Pop because you're small and feisty. As for the Akuma thing, Pixie will kindly explain right now" Jason replied, eager to know what an Akuma is.

"Well-"

"I did not have enough coffee for this" A new voice spoke up from behind Marinette. The person it belonged to sit next to Jason, coffee cup in hand and slammed his face on the table.

"That's Tim, our younger brother" Dick answered the bluenette's unasked question. Tim's head looked up as if he just registered that there was someone else on the table.

Her reached his hand across the table with as much energy as a sleep-deprived zombie could give. "Tim Drake"

"Marinette" she returned the hand shake. 'I'm right, these are Dami's brothers' "So like I was saying, an akuma is like a butterfly infused with magic. When it comes in contact with an inanimate object that is being touched by someone who's experiencing strong negative emotions, it turns them into an akuma villain. " She paused so that the men at the table could process what she was saying. "Hawkmoth is the one who sends the akumas, once the connection is made they have no choice but to obey. Even if they try to fight him off, they all succumb eventually."

"So a magic butterfly man, got it"

"When you put it that way, it doesn't sound believable" Marinette giggled at Jason's conclusion.

"What kind of negative emotions does it have to be? Are the Akumas... dangerous?" Dick asked, clearly more concerned that his younger brother.

The bluenette's eyes seemed to age at his statement. "Humiliation, depression, rejection, isolation, anything that makes you feel disheartened really. As for how dangerous there are well... there are different levels to classify each akuma"

All three gestured for her to continue.

"Some are low level, level one, like Mr Pidgeon-" She here's a scoff but continued as if she wasn't interrupted. "- he's a regular but relatively harmless. The highest level is an akuma like Syren" she shuddered at the memory, "Her powers allowed her to flood the entirety of Paris, drowning nearly half of the entire population"

"H-how did this not make international news" Tim asked, bringing his laptop out and furiously typing, though, receiving no results for what the girl just said.

"That would be courtesy of our heroes. One of Ladybug's powers is to heal anything damaged by the powers of the miraculous, she can fix objects, buildings and even resurrect those who died. She can't get rid of the memories unfortunately" She said the last part bitterly, disappointed in herself for not being able to help her citizens.

"What's a miraculous?" Jason asked, trying to change the subject.

"Magical jewelry basically, its what gives the heroes their powers. Its also what Hawkmoth wants, the Ladybug Miraculous and the Miraculous of the Black Cat" she put a finger on her chin to mimic thinking like a civilian. "My best guess is that if he gets the miraculous, he becomes very powerful"

"Have you ever, you know... died?" Dick asked, concern weighing heavily in his voice.

"No, I'm I guess one of the 'lucky few' to not have been killed yet."

They soon conversed in the topic of Hawkmoth and Mayura, each one of the men despised the villains at the end of her rant. All too soon, it was time to leave. She waved goodbye and rushed with her class back to the hotel. Once she reached her room, the bluenette rummaged through her suitcases, ignoring a confused Chloe. Once she found the outfit she wanted to wear, Marinette placed it onto her nightstand.

"I met Jon today"

"Whose he?" Chloe voiced her confusion.

"Jon is Damian's best friend" The bluenette reiterated. "He's bringing me with him to the manor so that we can see each other again"

"That's nice of him"

"To be honest, I think you and Jon would hit it off quite well"

Marinette stifled a giggle when she heard Chloe's signature 'Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous'. The bluenette fell onto her bed, she was going to get as much sleep as she could with her bubbling excitement.

~~~

The bluenette stared at her reflection. She wore a deep velvet, off-the-shoulder blouse with a black cotton skirt, her hair was tied up in an intricate design. Even with the compliments her two best friends kept showering her with, Marinette didn't feel ready. She would be meeting her husband after nearly a year long separation, of course she was a nervous wreck.

After some light encouragement from both Chloe and Adrien, Marinette went down the stairs to the lobby where Jon would be picking her up. It was delightful to see how far the boy was willing to go to make his best friend happy, it reminded Marinette of her friendship with Chloe, Adrien, Kagami and Luka. Upon reaching the lobby, she noticed the blue-eyed boy and briskly walked over.

"Hey Jon" she greeted the boy, he probably knew she was already there thanks to his powers.

"Hi Mari!- Wow! You look nice. I swear Dami's gonna fall for you all over again" Jon compliment made Marinette have an serge of pride. "Come on let's go! My father and Damian's family are waiting for me well, us really"

"Okay, how are we supposed to get there?" Marinette's question ignited a cheeky smile on the sunshine boy's face.

"Have you ever flown before?"

~~~

Clark Kent was at Wayne Manor, celebrating his best friend's son's birthday, who just also so happens to be best friends with his own son. 'That was too confusing for my own good'. He, along with Bruce and the others, have already given Damian his gifts. Jon insisted that he had the best present so he would go last.

"Since I'm his best friend, I have the best gift meaning that I should go last"

While waiting for his son to arrive, Mar'i gave Damian a piece of art that she made and he went up to his room to find a frame. In this moment, most of the occupants in the room turned to him.

"Have you heard Jon yet? I'd like to see what this 'present' is." Dick questioned first, Clark tilted his head but he didn't hear his son at all. He opened his mouth to answer before promptly closing it shut, Jon had just landed in the garden and was making his way inside, by them Damian and Mar'i had returned.

"Hello my very bestest friend! Happy happy birthday to you!" Jon tackled Damian in a hug before quickly pulling back as to not get pushed off. "It is time to present my gift to you!"

Damian's brothers perked up, they had bet on whether or not Jon was true to his present being the best, Dick voted for while Jason and Tim voted against.

"But no one other than Damian is allowed to see the present" Without seeing what their reaction to his statement was, Jon dragged Damian outside. The brothers huffed before running upstairs, Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing and followed his sons onto the upper floor window with Clark close behind. Clark knew that Bruce was just as curious as his boys, he just hid it very well. When they made it to the window, they saw Jon telling Damian to sit on one of the garden's benches with his eyes closed.

"Is this really necessary?" They heard Damian's unamused voice. Upon hearing Jon's confirmation, Damian sighed and closed his eyes. The adults watched as Jon went off to somewhere out of their vision.

~~~

"Yep!"

Jon's voice echoed through the garden, hitting Marinette with the realisation that her and her husband would be reunited. A flurry of emotions dawned in her head. First nervousness, then excitement and finally, anticipation. She had gotten so caught up that she barely noticed the blue-eyed boy bounding up towards her. He gave her an encouraging smile before gesturing for the bluenette to follow him. Sensing her anxious hesitation, he gently took her wrist and pulled the girl towards the green-eyes boy, who was still sitting on the bench with his hands over his eyes.

'Here goes nothing'

~~~

He'd heard Jon's footsteps scurry away around a minute ago, he didn't know why but he tingled with anticipation when he heard his self-proclaimed best friend return. Though as soon as Damian heard the boy return, he immediately ran off to god knows where. But before the confusion settled in, he was hit with the familiar scent of vanilla and cherry blossoms, the scent he thought he'd never have the privilege to come across again. Damian's head shot up to face the beautiful bluenette he had the honor of calling his wife. The voice to whom the aroma belonged to spoke.

"You know, you really should've told me when your birthday was. I could've made you a gift..." Her voice, though barely above a whisper, was as loud as needed for Damian, her voice trailed off as the tears in her eyes built up.

Without at a moment's hesitation, the bluenette was soon spun in the air with the end result being engulfed in her husband's arms. "Having you in my arms again is the best gift I could have asked for"

Marinette couldn't hold back the tears of pure euphoria that rolled down her cheeks. Damian had noticed Jon spectating form the side, radiating excitement like a puppy, but he paid no attention to his self-proclaimed best friend. All that mattered was they were together once more.

The way fate had designed.

———

Bonus:

Dick: hang on he's coming back with, mARINETTE?!

Jason: WHaT?! How does the brat know her?!

Tim: what are they saying, Clark?

Clark: *smiling while wiping a fake tear of happiness* how sweet

Dick: im confused

*batfam (and clark)* run down the stairs and go outside to see Jon nearly combusting in joy*

Jon: *turns to the fam* told you I'd get the best gift

Jason: okay demon brat tell me how you know pixie pop!

Damian: *turns to face jason with an unimpressed look with mari snuggled under his chin* she's my wife

Batfam: *exe.batfamily has stopped working*

Dick: WHAT :D?!

Jason: WHAT THE FU-

Tim: WHAT

Bruce: *whispers* there goes the adoption papers

Bruce: well it's a pleasure to meet my daughter-in-law in person, but how did you end up getting married in the first place?

Damian and Marinette: *look at each other* Mother/ His mother

Bruce: *sighs*

Jason: okay let me go get my guns to murder that sausage-haired girl

Damian: todd no

Jason: *whips around, confused* wh-

Damian: i want to be the one to spill some Italian blood

Jason: *evilly grins*

Bruce and Marinette: nO KILLING-

[homoose]

Teach Me Something I Don’t Know: Part VII

Summary: Spencer’s unresolved trauma catches up with him. Reader gets her heart broken.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, I’m so sorry guys

Warnings/Includes: brief mention of violence and details of a case; brief mention of prison, past trauma; a lil self-loathing and self-sabotaging

Word count: 3.8k

a/n: I knew that this was where this story was going from the very beginning. The dialogue is one of the first parts I had written. It still hurts. Relevant to the story: I operate with the understanding that the Jeid arc does not exist, which also means that Spencer never went to therapy in season 15. Also, huge thanks to @reidscanehand​ for beta-ing and just generally being my hype person!!!!

Song Recs: Shrike by Hozier; Better As a Memory by Kenny Chesney (don’t come for me if Spencer made playlists this would ABSOLUTELY be on there)

Series Masterlist

———

Spencer made his way to Emily’s office, ignoring the team’s eyes on him— varying degrees of understanding, concern, and uncertainty plain on their faces. As he reached the threshold, he paused for a second before moving into her line of sight. When he moved into the doorway, she looked up and waved him in. He closed the door behind him.

She gestured to the chair in front of her desk. Spencer hesitated for only a split second, but it was long enough for her to notice. He lowered himself into the chair and met her eyes.

She folded her hands on top of the desk. “How are you feeling?”

He drummed his fingers across his kneecaps. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. She bit back a sigh and flipped open the folder in front of her. “I’m finished with the official report. I wanted to go over it with you before I submit it to the director.” She looked at him briefly before reading out the report. “On January 9th, our team pursued a lead at the residence of suspect Andrew Hurley. We divided into teams to cover the two entrances to the home, as well as the barn behind the house.”

Spencer fidgeted slightly in his chair and rubbed the tips of his fingers together. Emily continued, “During the raid, Supervisory Special Agent Spencer Reid became separated from the team and was ambushed and disarmed by the suspect in the barn.” She paused but didn’t look at him. “The team was unaware of the altercation for some time, during which Dr. Reid employed various approved restraint methods and was ultimately forced to utilize self-defense measures to preserve his own life. Consequently, Mr. Hurley sustained serious injuries.”

She did look at him then, a steady and unrelenting gaze that had him shrinking inside himself. “However, I have determined that Dr. Reid’s actions were justified in order to maintain his own safety.” She returned her eyes to the report. “Mr. Hurley was detained and treated for his injuries at Sebastian River Medical Center, and he is expected to make a full recovery. Based on the cognitive interviews and physical evidence, a grand jury hearing is scheduled for January 25th.” She brought her hands to rest on top of the report.

“I’ll sign off on it and deliver it to the director by the end of business today.” She let out the sigh she’d been holding back. “Reid.”

He pressed his mouth into a thin line, torn between shame and vindication. “Emily.”

“What happened in that barn was unacceptable. And I need you to recognize that.” Her eyes were back on him, a leader’s gaze boring into a weak link. “You went against a direct order. You put your life in danger unnecessarily, and in the process you endangered this entire team. Furthermore, you could have cost us the ability to close this case, to put Hurley away and bring justice to his victims.”

“It won’t happen again,” he assured her.

“No, it won’t.” Her tone told him that if it did, he’d have bigger problems than a meeting in her office. “My recommendation to the director is that you transition to your next mandatory leave cycle early.”

“I can handle—”

“It’s not a request. You’re on sabbatical starting tomorrow. That’s an order, and one you’d do well to follow.” She closed the file in front of her. “We’ll see you back in the bullpen on March 7th.”

“I don’t need more time off, Emily,” Spencer snapped.

He could see her grind her teeth together at his tone, but he couldn’t seem to care enough to feel contrite. She took a deep breath in through her nose, leveling him with a pointed look. “If Simmons hadn’t broken it up, you’d have killed Hurley on the floor of that barn.”

His mind snapped back to the lifeless eyes of Hurley’s victims— eight year old boys in shallow graves. Boys who died afraid, and in pain, and crying out for their mothers. His thoughts raced to the feel of Hurley’s throat under his arm, the crack of the zygomatic under his fist. Emily was right of course. If Matt hadn’t found them in the barn and dragged him up and off of Hurley’s nearly lifeless body, Spencer would have killed him without compunction.

“Reid.” The stern edge was gone from her voice. Spencer refocused his eyes on her face, now showcasing an underlying concern that made his stomach turn. “I’m not recommending another cycle of mandatory counseling at this time, although I reserve the right to require it moving forward. But… I’m asking you to take care of yourself. You’ve been through a lot in the last two years. More than a lot.”

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted, but there was less fire behind it this time.

“And I’m not saying you aren’t,” she countered. “But I am saying that the person in that barn… that wasn’t you. That was not the Reid that I know.” Emily tilted her head and furrowed her brow. “The Reid I know uses his intellect and empathy to see angles that the rest of us miss. He depends on the strength of his mind and his unwavering compassion to diffuse conflicts without violence. He invites his friends to foreign film showings and puppet theater.”

When he didn’t budge, she let out a long breath. “I want you to take the next fifty days to find that Reid and bring him back to us.”

...

Y/N dropped into her desk chair with a huff. They’d been back from winter break for two weeks, and she already needed another vacation. But tomorrow was Friday, and then they had a long weekend. She could make it through one more day.

She closed her eyes for a long moment, tired in the way that only kindergarten teachers fresh off a long break can be. She heard the click of Anita’s shoes coming before she even entered the room, and Y/N couldn’t stop the twitch of her lips.

“Dude. How is it only Thursday?” Anita flopped down into the plush Calm Corner chair.

“This has been the longest week of my life,” Y/N agreed. “My kids were off the chain.”

“There is so much drama in middle school right now,” Anita groaned. “I can’t keep up with all the tea, and you know how I love to stay up to date on the freshest brews.” She shot Y/N a look. “Speaking of, where’s the good doctor?”

“I think they’ve had a lot going on at work,” Y/N surmised. “I haven’t seen Mrs. Jareau in over a month.”

“Well, I’m getting antsy,” Anita complained. “Thought for sure you’d be going steady by now.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but feel a little impatient herself. If she’d known it would be this long before she’d see him again, she might have made a move when he’d volunteered. Then again, probably not. She sighed.

Her phone chimed with an email message, and she automatically swiped the screen open to read it.

Spencer Reid Re:

Are you free today? If you are, I’ll be at Soho.

...

Spencer sat at the table in the corner of the coffee shop. He sipped absentmindedly at his tea, almost gone cold. He hadn’t waited for a reply before leaving Quantico. He drove straight to the city, figuring he’d wait at Soho until he felt some semblance of calm returning to his body.

He didn’t know why he’d emailed Y/N, and he wasn’t sure he really wanted her to show up. Usually he’d talk to Penelope or maybe JJ. But he’d wanted to get as far from the BAU as possible, and he didn’t want to drag Penelope away from the colorful, safe corner of the world she’d created for herself. He didn’t want to fill it with all the tragedy she’d tried so hard to leave behind.

If Y/N did show, he was certain he could keep the conversation vague, focus on her and the classroom, ask her about her holidays. She wasn’t a profiler, didn’t know his tells well enough. She’d be none the wiser, and he’d have her warmth and presence to focus his energy on, if only for a few hours.

Every time the bell chimed, his eyes flew to the door, searching for her. He knew it was ridiculous. He’d only known her for one hundred and eleven days. Pragmatically, he knew she shouldn’t be the one he wanted to talk to. Realistically, he wasn’t planning to burden her with all of the mess of the past week, the past year, his entire life.

But in the six hundred and forty seven minutes he’d spent with her since September, he’d felt more like himself than he ever had. He was never afraid to be himself with her— the silly story voices, the ridiculous costume, the magic trick, the vulnerability about his mom. All of these pieces of himself were things he usually waited years to show people. It had taken her a matter of weeks to draw them out.

He couldn’t help but believe that if he wanted to, he could tell her everything. She’d know exactly what to say. She’d listen for as long as he could keep talking. She’d cover his shaking hands and wrap him up in the warmth of her spirit. She’d give of herself to guide him back to the person he used to be. She’d be more than willing to use her radiance to illuminate the dark so that he might have a little light again.

The bell sounded, and his eyes focused, and there she was. She was wrapped up in a puffed jacket, a bright blue scarf tied around her neck. Her nose was adorably red from the cold, and she rubbed her hands together as the door closed behind her. Her eyes found him immediately. A small smile turned up the corners of her mouth, and she gave him an enthusiastic wave. And he knew that he was right about all of it.

She approached the table, unwinding her scarf. “Hi!”

“Hi.”

Her eyes flickered over his face, and then settled on his mostly empty mug. “I’ll get you a refill, and then we’ll catch up?”

He nodded, and she headed to the counter. There had been a part of him that thought she wouldn’t come, but of course she did. For some reason, unbeknownst to him, she liked talking to him. Even among his closest friends, he was often made to feel self-conscious about his tendency to ramble, but Y/N had literally asked him to. She sought him out, asked him questions, listened intently, and remembered things he’d told her. She was kind and thoughtful and genuine. Of course she came when he called.

She returned with two mugs, carefully setting them down on the tiny table. She unzipped and removed her jacket, hanging it on the back of her chair and revealing a crew neck sweater covered in tiny astronauts and rocket ships. When she sat across from him, her hands wrapped around the mug and her eyes met his.

“Hi.”

He couldn’t stop his lips from twitching, despite the events of the day. “You said that already.”

She laughed, and he felt the weight begin to lift. “Yeah, well, I haven’t seen you in forever, so— I’m just making up for lost time.”

“Sixty one days.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s been sixty one days, eighty eight minutes, and approximately,” he looked at his watch, “fourteen seconds since we saw each other last.”

She laughed again, and his mouth completed its curve. She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I like that you’ve been counting.” She let her chin come to rest in her hand, eyes studying his face. “How are you?”

He wanted to lie, but she was looking at him so earnestly that he mumbled out, “I’m managing.”

She mirrored the way he’d looked at her across this same table nearly three months ago. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” That was a lie, too. But asking her to meet him was enough of a burden.

“Okay. Well, if you change your mind at any point, let me know.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Until then, I can just regale you with all the kindergarten stories you’ve missed while you were out saving lives.”

And regale him she did. For almost an hour, he listened to her tales of love (budding crushes were taking over recess time), loss (the class pet— a stuffed zebra— had accidentally taken a swim in the Atlantic on a vacation to Florida), and lessons learned…

“So, in case there was ever any doubt, we are now painfully aware that we shouldn’t attempt to flush our underwear.” Y/N let out an exasperated laugh.

She’d been talking to him for fifty three minutes, and his heart already felt one thousand times lighter. “I’m really glad I wasn’t there for that one.”

“I really wish that was the only poop story I had.” She shook her head. “There are a lot of things they don’t tell you in grad school. I think there’d be a global teacher shortage if they warned you about the amount of bodily fluid management involved in teaching kindergarten.”

She toyed with the edge of her empty mug. He watched the movement of her fingers.

“Do you—”

“Do you—”

She laughed and gestured for him to speak first.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

…

They ended up in Mitchell Park. The trees were bare and the grass was brown, but he was with her, and so it was beautiful.

They’d been walking in comfortable silence, when she asked, “Did you change your mind? About talking about it.”

Spencer put his hands into his pockets. “It’s, um— it’s kind of a lot.”

She shrugged. “I’ve got time.”

“I don’t mean— I mean, it would take some time to get through it all. But it’s also— it’s a lot.”

“We don’t have to.” He could feel her eyes on him. “Do you talk to— someone about it?”

“I talked with my unit chief today,” he answered.

“Okay. But— I mean, have you ever— talked to someone. Like, a professional.”

Spencer bristled slightly. Although he knew she wasn’t passing judgement, her question exposed the reality that she thought he could use it. “I’ve had some mandated counseling over the years.”

“Obviously it’s your choice whether you talk to someone or not,” she mused. “I just— I know that I’ve benefited a lot from seeing my therapist.”

Spencer was unsure of what to do with that information. Here she was, confessing that she went to therapy— sweet, lovely Y/N. In comparison, he wasn’t sure if even daily meetings with a counselor would be enough to tame the darkness that had grown and festered inside him over the years. That sometimes threatened to swallow him whole.

For a long while, there was only the crunch of the frozen ground beneath their feet. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was an uncertainty about them that felt uncharacteristically heavy. He was hyper aware of her presence, and so he felt her pace slowing down before she came to a complete stop. He walked a few more paces before it became clear that she wasn’t planning to catch up.

He turned and saw that she’d taken a seat on one of the park benches. He carefully made his way to the bench, sitting beside her quietly. She didn’t look at him, but instead studied her fingernails intently. She cracked her knuckles once, twice, and then turned her body slightly toward him on the bench.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she hedged carefully. “I didn’t mean to tell you what to do, or like, imply that there’s anything wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with you at all. I just—”

“It’s fine,” Spencer assured her. The way she looked at him then— like he was something fragile, delicate— made his eyes burn. He kept his voice even. “I know what you meant.”

She smiled, eyes crinkling and filled with something that felt familiar and far away all at once. “Good. I can’t have you out here thinking you’re anything less than wonderful.”

He couldn’t stop looking at her, attempting to solve the impossible cypher behind her irises. As he failed to decode it, his inability to read her blinded him to what came next. He missed the dilation of her pupils, the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips, the increase of the beats in her carotid. So when she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his, he was momentarily paralyzed.

Her lips were so soft against his slightly chapped ones, pressing with a perfectly gentle pressure. She brought her hand up to cradle his cheek, the pads of her fingers just barely ghosting the curls falling around his ear. She sighed into his mouth and pressed a little closer. He took one peaceful moment to bask in the realization of a desire he’d had for almost four months.

And then she swiped the very tentative tip of her tongue against the seam of his mouth, and his hands involuntarily wound into her hair, dragging her closer. He opened his mouth against hers to swallow her sweet little gasp. His grip on her hair tightened, and she let out the tiniest mewl, and like a switch had flipped— suddenly his mind was full of the darkness she’d spent the evening chasing away.

Y/N beneath him in the dark. Maeve in a pool of blood. His hands around Cat’s neck. His mother’s slap against his cheek. Max walking away from him. His fingers pressing the plunger on a dirty syringe. The slam of the door behind his father. Y/N calling out his name. A knife at his throat under a canopy of bones. Innumerable sets of lifeless eyes staring up at him. His life being snuffed out on the dirt floor of a shed. The clanging of metal bars and fingers ghosting over old bruises. Y/N looking at him with warm, loving eyes. The violent crack of bone underneath his fists. Y/N’s face, lovely and perfect— and then twisted in pain.

He broke away from her, releasing his hold on her hair and pushing her back into the bench. He took a second to gather himself before he dared to look at her. Her hair was tousled from his rough grip; her eyes were half-lidded and focused on him; her lips were red and kiss-bruised and turned up in a small, sweet smile.

And all at once he knew he had to hurt her, and it had to be now. Because what Cat had said about him was true. He might have escaped his mother’s illness, but he hadn’t been able to outrun the violence— and unlike her, he didn’t have the excuse of being sick. He had hurt people, and he had enjoyed it. He would have killed Hurley, and he would have slept soundly. He was no better than the men his team hunted.

Every time he thought he’d moved past it, that wickedness lurking just under the surface would grab him by the throat, choking everything else out. Emily’s directive rang in his ears. Find that Reid and bring him back to us. He knew who she was talking about. The problem was, he wasn’t sure that person still existed.

He was going to hurt Y/N eventually. Better to do it now, before things got too far.

“You’re Michael’s teacher,” he said, as evenly as possible.

Her smile faltered, and she pressed her lips together. He could still feel the phantom press of them against his own, and he was sure he’d never forget it. She cleared her throat. “You’re right, you’re totally right. I, um— I won’t be in a few months, and maybe then—”

“You don’t even know me,” he interrupted.

Now there was confusion in her eyes. That much he could read. She huffed out a small laugh. “I— I don’t think that’s entirely true.”

He looked directly at her. “Why? Because you read my bio on a university website? Because we got tea a couple times?” His voice sounded harsh, patronizing, and he hated it.

Her confusion shifted into shock, and he ignored the tug on his heart. “Are you serious?” she questioned, genuinely searching for a sign that he was joking.

“Dead serious.” He shrugged, and it felt like his bones were breaking. “You don’t really know anything about me, Y/N. If you did, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

“Where— where is this coming from?” Her voice was small, close to breaking. He lined up the last nail on the lid of the coffin.

“Maybe I gave you the wrong impression. I’ve appreciated talking to you. Volunteering in your classroom was entertaining. But I don’t— I don’t see you that way.” It was a lie, and if he didn’t have such a practiced poker face, she might have seen through it. As it was, his poker face had helped get him banned from every casino in Vegas, so he watched her as he hammered the final nail. “You’re just Michael’s kindergarten teacher.”

“Oh.” The hurt flashed across her features— the furrow of her brow, the tightening of her mouth, the storm clouds in her eyes. “Well, I— I really read this wrong, huh?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Yeah.” He put his hands into his pockets to keep himself from reaching for her, the desire to comfort her a strange juxtaposition to the pain he was intentionally inflicting on her. “I guess so.”

She opened and closed her mouth twice before taking a deep breath and nearly whispering, “Okay. Well. I’m— I’m gonna go.”

She brushed some imaginary dust from her pants and then stood. She turned to him, and he waited for her to explode— to scream and curse at him. But it didn’t come. She didn’t look at him at all. “Um— yeah. I’m gonna go.”

He didn’t say anything, and he knew she’d take his silence as indifference. But he had to keep his mouth shut, because if he didn’t, he’d beg her to stay. He’d tell her every single random piece of information he had stored in his brain. He’d tell her that he loved her from the moment he watched her help a child pick a solution from a pencil box. He’d tell her that he only ever dreamt of two things these days— her or the lives he didn’t save. He’d tell her every single one of his deepest, darkest secrets. He’d tell her that sometimes he was so afraid of himself that he could barely breathe. And if he told her all of that, she’d walk away anyway.

So instead, he watched her turn and start back up the path, hugging her arms around herself and swiping her cheek against her scarf.

When she disappeared over the slope of the path, he scrubbed his hands over his own damp face and let himself break.

———

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Broken tags: @saspencereid @this-is-gublerween

[shakey-hands]

please please can we get fukuzawa awkwardly having to tell ranpo he’s dating reader and the two of them start fighting and reader is subjected to it??? 😍😍

haha yeah. first ask that imma answer, let me know if you guys want more. my asks are open for any (except mineta gross) mha, ouran, or bungo characters :)

{this one is gonna be done with she/her pronouns but if you ask for gender neutral or he/him or any other pronouns, i can do it}

---

The clock struck two when Y/N looked at her phone, leg bouncing up and down in a way that always annoyed the people around her. Great. It was thirty minutes past their meeting time and her boyfriend still had not shown up with what she understood was his adopted son.

It had been a good plan. Meet on neutral territory, gas up (what Y/N assumed was) a teenage boy with a sweets addiction, and then break the news. Y/N was not sure why they needed to go through such lengthy troubles to inform her boyfriend’s son that they were dating. He was at least old enough to understand what dating was. And from what she had heard from Kunikida, Fukuzawa’s son had a very prominent dating life of his own. But Y/N trusted her boyfriend, no matter how many times he looked off into the distance with quiet wisdom that felt vague.

Y/N sipped her tea, realizing that caffeine would only worsen her anxiety. It didn’t matter how many times Fukuzawa and Kunikida tried to tell her that the meeting wouldn’t be a big deal and that the son would love her, she wasn’t so sure. He was working at the Armed Detective Agency and was good at what he did. At least those were Kunikida’s words as Y/N and him were quietly reading in the same room as they did on Saturday nights. While Y/N appreciated Kunikida for his straight forward/driven personality, he did not fare well in comforting her.

Which brought her to her boyfriend. His solid, piercing eyes would always soften as she talked about her day over their dinner dates and he would brush the back of his hand on her cheek in the moments they were alone with one another. While Y/N rarely noticed because she herself was too infatuated with him, Fukuzawa cared deeply for her after seven months of dating. Their last hurdle was introducing Y/N to Ranpo. Fukuzawa was not at all worried since Y/N had a knack for making sweets and made people feel as if they were special when she smiled at them. There was never a shortage of praise around her.

Y/N checked her phone again, hoping that an apology text would come through and she would not be left in the dark. That however was proving difficult. Fukuzawa was driving with Ranpo eating cotton candy in the passenger seat. He had to be bribed away from the sweets table Dazai had set up for some ungodly known reason to mess with Atsushi. It was embarrassing how long it took for Kunikida to pry Ranpo’s little grubby hands away from the snacks and then another amount of time for Fukuzawa to get Ranpo to put on his seatbelt.

It made Fukuzawa nervous that he was so late. He knew Y/N would be understanding, it was part of the reason he enjoyed her company so much. Knowing her, she would probably be bouncing her knee and staring down at the table, overthinking things. He, of course, was right.

As Fukuzawa was pulling into the parking lot, he spotted his girlfriend’s car. It was pristine, as always, and had a small cat paw sticker on the back left bumper. He smiled inwardly, realizing that he had been waiting for this. There was a future with Y/N and Fukuzawa couldn’t wait.

Ranpo still had yet to get out of the car, his glasses dangling from his shirt pocket and a light dusting of sugar crystals on his lips. He was pouting, of course. Kunikida did not pack enough snacks for the car ride, meaning Ranpo did not have the mental energy to get out of the car and go into whatever flop coffee shop the president insisted they go into. People were so stupid and Ranpo already just finished a case that was so obvious. The local police really needed to be more useful.

“Get out of the car,” Fukuzawa said, getting more and more agitated.

“No,” Ranpo said.

“Let’s go. I promise there will be sweets inside the shop.”

“So? There were sweets at the agency.”

Fukuzawa rolled his eyes, knowing Ranpo would sit in the car out of stubbornness. “Ranpo-”

“Yukichi?” A soft voice called out from the entrance of the cafe.

Fukuzawa turned to see Y/N standing right outside. She had a to-go cup of something hot in her hands, jacket sleeves pulled over her hands to stop the warmth from burning her skin. Even though it was overcast and windy, Y/N still seemed to have a certain glow about her that always took Fukuzawa’s breath away. She waved timidly, not knowing why he was awkwardly standing behind his parked car with a weird defensive stance. He nodded over to her, giving her a genuine smile before turning his head back to the car and glaring.

“Is everything okay?”

Y/N began to approach her boyfriend. The only other time she had seen her boyfriend have this stance was when she had bumped into some eyebrowless pale emo kid in an accident at the mall. Fukuzawa seemed to pick the weird fights, but she just smiled through it. His eyes held a certain annoyance the Y/N had not seen before. Her eyebrows furrowed as she took a step off the curb. Fukuzawa held out his hand, motioning her to not get closer. Y/N paused, unsure about his demeanor.

“Ranpo, don’t make me ask again.” Fukuzawa’s voice held a bass to it that Y/N had never heard before. She could only assume it was his dad voice that he has never had to use with her.

The window rolled down on the old car for just a crack. “I don’t remember a question being asked.”

The voice was whiny and slightly muffled, as if the speaker had sweets in his mouth. Fukuzawa rolled his eyes and put his hand on the glass. Y/N was slightly shocked by her boyfriend, but decided to let him do his thing. She was not a parent and the closest time she had ever been was when she had a babysitting gig decades ago when she was a teen. While she was interested in a family, she had neither the time nor mental capacity to follow through. So she stepped back onto the curb and took a sip of her tea, relishing in the warmth it provided.

“Ranpo, if you don’t get out of the damned car, there will be no sweets at the agency for a year.”

A clear threat had been made.

The door slammed into the car next to it, causing a dent that Fukuzawa watched form. Out from the passenger seat, a short man with a slight pout crawled out of the car. Definitely not the young teenager Y/N had been expecting. He was only slightly taller than Y/N and wore a cape. In fact, he looked like a full grown adult, maybe only ten years younger than Y/N. Her face said it all, though neither men were looking at her. They just stared one another down before Fukuzawa remembered his loving girlfriend stood awkwardly behind him. He motioned for her to come over.

Ranpo did not look impressed as he looked her up and down. Y/N looked too ordinary to know Fukuzawa in her jeans and plain jacket combo. Her shoes were dirty from all the yard work she had done throughout the years. As she got closer, Ranpo watched closely as Fukuzawa gently touched the small of her back before wrapping his arm around her waist. While Ranpo had never seen the President act like this, he did not care.

“Ranpo, I would like you to meet-”

Ranpo yawned loudly. “She’s way too old for me. Almost to hag status.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. She began to stumble over her words, not knowing how to respond. Fukuzawa’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. He couldn’t believe that Ranpo would even think he was trying to set them up. Ranpo made a disgusted face.

“No offense lady, but you don’t even look fun. Like all you do is sit in the dark and contemplate the excitement of frostingless yellow cake.”

How do you respond to that?

Y/N looked down, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. She was suddenly thankful for the sudden gust of wind that burned her cheeks, a sign that snow was rolling in. Who insults like that? The little sniffle that Y/N let out set Fukuzawa back into the present instead of the daydream he had slipped into where Ranpo got his ass beat.

“You can’t talk to her like that,” Fukuzawa said sternly. “And she’s not here for you.”

“Obviously. She could never handle the Greatest Detective.”

“No!” Fukuzawa said, tightening his grip on her waist. “I wanted you two to meet because we’ve been dating for a while and I thought it was finally time for you two to meet.”

Ranpo suddenly scoffed dramatically. Once. Twice. Three times. “And here I thought we agreed never to keep secrets! And all this time you’ve been giving your praise to someone else!”

Fukuzawa looked at the small man incredulously. “I’m allowed to date, Ranpo.”

“Not really!” Ranpo exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air. Those who were passing by continuously glanced, wondering why they were arguing so loudly in a public space. “How gross is that! You’re like centuries old!”

“Look, I just thought you’d want to be in the know. If I had known you’d throw a tantrum, I would have just waited until after we were married.”

In that moment, Ranpo and Y/N spoke simultaneously:

“Tantrum?!”

“Married!?”

“Oh I’ll show you a tantrum!”

Ranpo pushed the old car to make it move back and forth in its parked place before beginning to punch the glass. There was no real power behind his throws, so there were soft thumps being emitted. Next he started to kick the tires, also without power behind his movements. He truly had transformed into a toddler, making the people walking by walk a little faster. He came off as some random crazy person on the street rather than an acclaimed detective.

Fukuzawa didn’t know where to look until a warm soft hand held his cheek, guiding his eyes towards Y/N’s. She smiled softly, ignoring Ranpo as he began to get physical. Her smile caused a chain reaction in Fukuzawa’s heart, making him resist the urge to get down on one knee at that very instance. He did have the ring adding weight to his pocket. She kissed his forehead, making him awkwardly bend down as she chuckled against his skin.

“You want to marry me?”

Fukuzawa blushed slightly. “In due time, of course.”

She chuckled again and nodded. “Of course.”

“I’m not calling her mom!”

[seasonschange-butpeopledont]

Everyday Heroes

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x F!Reader

Warnings: A few curse words, an explosion, implied injury, depressed reader, minor character death, grief, and a bit of pining

Word Count: 3,364

Author’s Note: This got out of hand and apparently I only know how to write hopeless pining. Do we agree that Marcus gives off Clark Kent vibes or am I alone in this?

Summary: The three times you discovered Marcus Moreno was a hero. 

Taglist Form - Masterlist

When you’d left the house that morning, the heels you wore had seemed like a great idea. 

You were headed in for your first day at your new job and you wanted to make a good impression by wearing what you perceived to be your most professional outfit. You’d made it to the coffee shop down the street from your apartment with minimal difficulty, though you were certain to have blisters on your feet by the end of the day. Thankfully, your receptionist position meant that you would spend the majority of your day more or less chained to the front desk, answering phones, taking messages, scheduling appointments, and greeting visitors. 

You didn’t know much about Vil-Tech. You’d googled them before your first interview, of course- you weren’t a total idiot and you’d never dare show up unprepared, especially when you needed this job so badly- but your search had yielded only a few results. Most of what you’d found had been articles from the newspaper. The researchers at the lab had, apparently, recently had some success in clean energy technology. Protons, neutrons, particle accelerators, electromagnetic fields… You knew nothing about it, really, but it sounded impressive. And clean energy had to be good, right? When they’d hired you, it hadn’t seemed like a big deal that you knew next to nothing about the company itself. They were only looking for a receptionist, after all, not a scientist. If they’d wanted you to know exactly what was going on in the floors above you, you were sure that they would have let you know. 

With your coffee in hand, you made your way towards the Vil-Tech building. All in all, it seemed like the universe was on your side this morning. You’d woken up early enough to make yourself look decent. Your favorite barista had made your coffee just the way you liked it, and it even looked like you would be early for work. 

And then it all seemed to happen in slow motion. 

The upper half of your body was already moving forward, even as the heel of your shoe remained firmly wedged in the sidewalk crack. You felt the coffee sloshing around in the stainless steel travel mug in your hands, threatening to douse your crisp white blouse in the steaming beverage. You blindly threw your hand out in front of you, bracing yourself to hit the concrete and thinking to yourself that this was just one of those days when this might as well happen. 

But the harsh impact you’d prepared yourself for never came. 

It had taken you a moment to process that someone had caught you. Someone with impeccable reflexes, it seemed, as not only had they rescued you from taking a humiliating fall in the middle of a busy sidewalk, but they also managed to save your coffee without spilling a drop. To say that you were impressed by the feat was an understatement.

But when you looked up at your savior, you were damn near speechless. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, his dark eyes finding yours from beneath his black-framed glasses. And, other than the approximately thirty-seven heart attacks you’d had in the span of 2.5 seconds only moments before, you found yourself nodding in confirmation. 

“I’m fine. I… Thank you,” You breathed out, a warm, tingly feeling spreading out from your chest and right down to your toes. Gods, he had the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen. He appeared to be somewhere in his mid-forties, and wore a leather jacket with his slacks and tie, a combination you’d never quite seen before, but decided suited him quite well. 

“Are you sure? You look a little dizzy,” He noted. His arm was still around your waist, and you were grateful for it, because you didn’t quite trust the integrity of your knees at the moment.

After a few moments, which had exceeded the socially acceptable amount of time to moon over a stranger while clutching their remarkably toned biceps for dear life by a long-shot, your brain finally seemed to catch up to the rest of you, and promptly flooded your thoughts with embarrassment. You released your death-grip on his arms immediately, trying to maintain your dignity as you yanked your heel from the concrete crevice in a distinctly unladylike manor. All the while, the handsome stranger remained right there, dutifully holding your coffee and trying his best to hide the amusement in his eyes with a polite smile. 

Taking a deep breath and smoothing out your outfit, you nodded at him once again. “I’m fine,” You said in what you hoped was your most composed voice. He promptly handed you your coffee, and you swore you felt electricity when his fingers brushed against yours. 

“Glad to hear it,” He remarked, “That would have been a nasty fall.” 

“Nice save, Clark,” You joked, attempting your most charming smile. Were you flirting? Could you even consider this flirting?

“Clark?” He repeated, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. 

“You know, Clark Kent… with the glasses and... lightning-fast reflexes… saving me from an incredibly embarrassing moment?” You explained weakly. It wasn’t as if you’d never spoken to an attractive man before, but it seemed that the universe was decidedly not on your side this morning after all.

“Superman?” Another smile found its way to his face. He seemed flattered by your comment. “My daughter loves those comics.” At the mention of his daughter, your eyes quickly darted down to his left hand. There was no wedding ring there, but it was clear that there had been one there in the past. 

“Well, your daughter has excellent taste. And we could all use a few more heroes in our lives, right?” You sighed wistfully, before adding, “Thank you, by the way.” 

“It was no big deal,” He assured you. “I’m always happy to help a pretty lady in need.” 

You laughed quietly at the last part, finding the cheesiness of it adorable. You weren’t quite sure why you were still lingering on the street corner, except that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to walk away just yet. He seemed equally as reluctant to part from you, both of you grinning shyly at one another as you soaked in the meet-cute moment. Right up until his eyes fell to the ID badge clipped to your bag, that is. 

“Is that a Vil-Tech badge?”

There was a hint of disappointment in his tone that you couldn’t quite assign a cause for. It wasn’t the question you were expecting. You’d expected him to ask your name, or maybe offer you his, but you could practically see the gears turning in his head by now, so you humored him.

“Yep,” You confirmed. “It's my first day. I’m just a receptionist, though…” 

He nodded slowly, his eyebrows pinching together. He didn’t even try to hide his frown. What was it about Vil-Tech that seemed to bother him so much?

“I’m really sorry, but I’m running late for work,” He said finally, nodding in the direction you had just come from. He turned his attention back to you, his eyes staring into yours as he spoke with the utmost seriousness. “Good luck on your first day, and… Look after yourself, okay? Vil-Tech might not be what you think it is.” 

And with that, he brushed past you, seemingly in quite a hurry as he disappeared into the crowd and left you standing there, disappointment sinking deep into your bones. 

You didn’t even get his name. 

***

You didn’t see him again for a month. 

Not that you often thought about him or his dreamy eyes and ridiculously charming smile or his strong arms around your waist. And definitely not that you sometimes idly wondered where he was and how his day was going while you were grocery shopping or stuck at the laundromat. 

Okay, maybe you did. 

Maybe you went to that same coffee shop every week day, hoping that you might bump into him again. 

And maybe you sometimes imagined those eyes staring into yours and arms around you in situations where you weren’t making a complete fool of yourself. 

You felt silly for being that girl. The one who falls hopelessly in love with strangers you pass on the streets, with anyone who thinks that anyone who so much as holds the door open for you could be your true love. You were a grown up, for goodness sake. You weren’t supposed to believe in that kind of thing anymore. 

But it was those ridiculous daydreams you found yourself caught up in when a team of Heroics stormed into Vil-Tech on a Tuesday afternoon. 

“I apologize, sir, but Dr. Pershing is out of the office today…” You sighed, listening to the supplier ramble on and on about the importance of Dr. Pershing returning his call. You had already scribbled the message down, along with his name and phone number. “Yes, I’ll be sure to give him the message.” It was difficult to hide the exasperation in your tone. 

“That’s what you said the last time,” The man snapped. “Pershing didn’t return my calls for a week. I don’t know why they can’t hire someone who knows how to take a message properly. God knows they’ve got the money for it.” 

You tapped the tip of your pen against the notepad on your desk, feeling a lump beginning to form in your throat. “I apologize, Mr. Wells. I’ll make sure that Dr. Pershing gets your message as soon as he returns.” 

“You’d better,” He grumbled, before the line went dead. 

You let out a slow breath, easing yourself back from the edge of tears. It had been like this all morning. The scientists in the building were off at a conference for the week, leaving you behind to copy down messages and field angry phone calls. 

Stan, the elderly security guard, if you could call him that, offered you a sympathetic smile from his post by the door. You returned it weakly.

Closing your eyes, you tried to think of something else. Brown eyes, charming smile, strong arms. You repeated it like a mantra. Electricity. The feeling of safety. That warm, fluttering feeling in your stomach, and a rush of calm. 

When you opened your eyes again, you found Stan staring slack-jawed as the Heroics sprinted into the building, announcing to you, Stan, and the maintenance staff that you all needed to clear the building immediately. They offered no explanation for their frantic demands, but when a guy in spandex and a cape tells you to go, you go. You were sure that, whatever it was, you’d be able to catch the reason for the strange event on the news later that evening. You’d watched them destroy city hall enough times from the comfort of your living room to be sure that you wanted out of this building as soon as possible. 

But, given that this was your first call-the-Heroics-level emergency, it seems that your idea of immediacy was a bit different from theirs. In the time that it had taken you to grab your jacket, shove your laptop in your purse, and sling the bag over your shoulder, you had already been tackled to the ground by some idiot in a tactical vest. 

You don’t remember much about the explosion. 

You’d later learn that Vil-Tech Labs dealt in more than just technological innovation. The research they’d been conducting while locked away in the uppermost floors of the building, all of that gibberish involving the off-site particle accelerator you’d read about, was both sinister and invaluable. Rather than letting the Heroics get their hands on their files to uncover their plans and stop them from being set in motion, they’d decided to set off an explosion in their own goddamn building. And thanks to that ‘idiot in a tactical vest’, you were one of the only survivors. 

But in the meantime, while you were lying on your back in the middle of the lobby feeling like you’d been hit by a train, you were clueless about the nefarious action of the company you’d spent the last month working for. The only thing you could seem to focus on was the pain in your head from where you’d smacked it against the tile flooring, and the weight of the fully grown man on top of you that was currently restricting your breathing. 

You must have hit your head even harder than you thought, because there was no way in hell the man who’d been starring in all of your daydreams for months was here, now, on top of you, with katanas strapped to his back. You refused to accept that as a reality. Would he even remember you? Why would he? Apparently, the man you’d developed a  stupid little crush on was a superhero. He probably helped people all of the time and you were just another-

“What the fuck?” You finally hissed, gasping for air. The air was smokey and it stung your eyes and nose when you inhaled. 

His breathing hitched slightly when you looked up at him, the look of fear clear on your face. “You okay?” He asked, still hovering above you as he pushed himself up on his elbows, careful to avoid the shattered glass that now seemed to cover every flat surface in sight. 

“I’m… reasonably certain I’m not dead,” You replied, an edge of panic in your voice, which was a bit shakier than you would have liked. “What’s happening? I don’t- I don’t understand- Where is Stan-” You coughed, your lungs burning. 

You idly wondered how long you had before the building started to collapse, its structural integrity surely compromised by the explosion. Of all the ways you could die, being buried alive was up there with the ones you dreaded the most. Your growing panic must have been obvious. 

“Hey, calm down,” He reassured you. “I’m going to get you out of here. You’re going to be just fine.” 

The room was still spinning when you felt yourself being scooped up into his arms, the edges of your vision growing more and more fuzzy with each breath you took. 

“We have got to stop meeting like this, Clark” You murmured. You swear you feel, rather than hear, a laugh rumble in his chest just before the world goes dark. Maybe he did remember you after all. 

***

It’s only a little more than a week later, long after you’ve woken up in the hospital and been discharged, that you find yourself sitting in the coffee shop down the street. It’s a Thursday morning, and you’re staring blankly into your vanilla latte. 

You aren’t sure why you’re up so early. The doctors had ordered you to take it easy, and it’s not like you had a job to go to anymore. You could have slept in, made your own coffee at home, and stayed curled up on your couch watching Netflix and hiding from the rest of the world like you had been for the past week. You felt horrible that you’d been associated with a place like Vil-Tech. You should have known that something was off about the place, but you’d never realized it, never bothered to look into anything when things seemed off. You felt so stupid for it now. Were you just as bad as the rest of them? Sure, all you’d done was answer phones for them, but…

Stan, your only friend at Vil-Tech, the kind man who had shared half of his sandwich at lunch with you more times than you could count and always had a smile for you when he greeted you in the mornings, had never made it out of the building. You supposed that you should consider yourself lucky that the Heroics had saved you, but the loss of your friend and the knowledge that Vil-Tech was certainly not what you thought it was, had shaken you. 

You’d felt different when you woke up this morning. Like, maybe, leaving your apartment and getting some fresh air wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Your favorite barista had smiled sympathetically when you walked through the doors. You must have looked as bad as you felt. Considering you hadn’t showered since you’d gotten home from the hospital, you were sure that you were quite a sight. 

“Good morning!” She greeted, mustering up her cheeriest demeanor for you. “The usual, right?”

You nodded, not quite making eye contact as you handed her your card to pay. She quickly waved you off. 

“It’s on the house today, hon. And I insist that you take this chocolate chip muffin. I’ll make you feel better.” 

Your heart ached at her kindness, the act almost forcing tears in your eyes once again. That was the thing that you realized over the past few days. The Heroics were great, but there were plenty of everyday heroes out there as well. Sometimes it was Ashely the Barista, who scribbles a smiley face and a compliment on your cup on the mornings that seem particularly rough. Sometimes it was Stan the Security Guard, who offers to teach you sudoku on your lunch breaks. And sometimes it was a stranger you passed on the street, who catches you when you fall. 

You sat down at a table in the corner of the coffee shop, your vanilla latte and chocolate chip muffin sat out in front of you, untouched for the moment. You didn’t usually sit down to have your coffee, but you had nowhere to be today, and you were finding that you appreciated not being alone for a while. 

You heard the bells above the door jingle, signaling that a new customer had entered the shop. You looked up to see a man with dark hair and a familiar leather jacket walking towards the barista to place his order. You listened closely as he gave his name for his order, though you’d heard it plenty of times on the news this week. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips for the first time in over a week.

Marcus Moreno, your own personal Superman. 

You hadn’t meant to stare, but it was undeniably strange to see the man who had saved you not once, but twice, doing something as mundane as making his morning coffee run. After he paid, he turned towards the groupings of tables and chairs, searching for a place to sit while he waited for his drink to be ready. When his eyes landed on you, you raised your hand in a small wave. You were nervous about how he’d react to seeing you here. You had no doubt that he recognized you this time.

You weren’t exactly sure what the protocol was for meeting a real-life superhero again after they had saved your life. Were you supposed to pretend not to know each other? Should you have paid for his coffee? Did you make a public declaration to name your first born child after him?

To your surprise, he simply smiled back at you with the most heart-stopping, breathtaking smile you’d ever seen in your life, and returned your wave. It was as simple as that, you thought. Marcus Moreno, the superhero with katanas at this back and a team of Heroics at his side, the closest thing to Superman you’d ever met, was impressive. But Marcus Moreno, the helpful man with a kind, beautiful smile and warm, friendly eyes, whose mere existence had never failed to cheer you up? He was magnificent. An everyday hero, indeed. 

He made this way through the crowd and over to your table, gesturing to the seat across from you as if to ask for your permission to sit down. You nodded, feeling a sense of warmth blossoming in your chest. The same way you’d felt when you saw him for the first time. The same feeling that you’d been dreaming about for months. 

Hope, you realized. 

“Hi,” He greeted. “I, uh, I never caught your name. I’m Marcus Moreno.” 

As you gave him your name, you decided that maybe you could start by just saying thank you. 

General Taglist: @theravenreads @marshmallowtraver @computeringturtle @adikaofmandalore @pascalisthepunkest

Marcus Moreno Taglist: @xjaywritesx​

[doodleimprovement]

CSAU :: Moonie Jericho and the Mysterious Case of the Moon-Jumper Mask

At long last, It is finished! Happy Halloween! 

Below the line is a lighthearted fic taking place in the “Coffee Shop” AU (( @doodledrawsthings​ ))with Magic! Family fun! Low stakes! And a gratuitous cameo by my OC because of course Nell is here 

Seriously though this fic is about as lighthearted as it gets. At the end of the fic are a few sketches I drew but didn’t end up coloring. 

((There’s going to be an alternate ending posted separately at a later date, but its not relevant to the fic)) 

Enjoy! 

--

Fall in Subcon Forest came in gently as always, and by the time Halloween rolled around, everyone was firmly in their sweaters and beanies and thick leggings and hiking boots that were only occasionally used for hiking. The leaves of the trees and the shining sun framed the town in such lovely muted colors that it looked like a picture right out of a magazine.

Not that anyone in the Horizon was looking out the window to see it - the curtains were closed in an attempt to not blind the employees and clientele.

It was that time between the end of school but before trick or treating, which meant that all of the teachers and parents were coming into the Horizon with their kids to get the new specialty drinks - well decorated and tasty, and more importantly, not hilariously overpriced. The kids in particular seemed to love the “Ghoulishly White Hot Chocolate”, and the teens flocked to the “Jack-O-Spices Frozen Pumpkin Latte”

Luka was almost certain that the pumpkin spice smell would burn itself so deep into his nose he’d never be able to un-smell it. A small price to pay for the rise in business, he supposed.

“Luka, Two Snatcher-ccinos!” Clover called from the cash register.

“I still hate that!” He responded with a light tone

“Too bad, make ‘em!” She teased back with a light laugh.

“Don’t get all testy, you two! We’re only open for another hour!” MJ called, grinning before turning back to the coffee machine, where they were effortlessly making yet another latte.

“Too long!” Clover argued, grabbing a muffin for a customer from the bakery display

“You’re telling me, and I still have to take Bow and Hattie trick or treating” Luka huffed, finishing up one of the “Snatcher-ccinos” and moving onto the next one.

“WE are!” MJ corrected. Luka just playfully rolled his eyes.

The conversation ended up dying rather quickly as the business went through its last rush, and, at long last, 4 o’clock came, and the store shut down. The three employees did a rather quickly clean up this night around - they were all eager to be anywhere but work that spooky night.

Once in the back of the store, Luka seemed to almost melt in relief, leaning further and further into the wall.

“Ugh, my limbs feel like Jelly” he commented as his voice gained its echo

“For all we know, they are,” Clover teased. “We’re meeting at MJs in an hour, right?” She stretched.

“Yeah.” Luka nodded “Have they already run off?”

“Yup. They’re excited” She chuckled “You gonna get home alright?”

“Yeah, thanks. See you later”

“Later!”

0o0o0o0o0

That stupid, cursed thing of a mask had not moved in weeks since he’d found it, and its stupid grin had started haunting the corner of his vision when ever he was in his studio.

It seems like it's decided that sitting on the desk in his art studio was its happy place. At least it was out of the way, and in a place he didn’t frequent often.

Though its eyes definitely still moved, which gave MJ hives like you would not believe. Why he kept it in his studio he wasn’t sure.

Tim had told him that the thing was mostly harmless, that it just seemed a bit… off, which wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Timmy even said that he got “good vibes” off of it, which was a strange phrase to use on something that felt at the very least mildly cursed.

Finishing with the caplet for his costume, gently clasping it, he looked in the mirror and gave himself a smile.

It was obscure, sure, but he’d put a lot of work into it! The legend of the “Lonely Man” was well known in these parts, maybe someone would get it. Someone had to.

Whether or not anyone got it, he was still happy with the tattered thing. That faux old age took forever to get right.

As he straightened out his clothes, his eyes caught the mask once more.

His hand picked it up off his desk, and his thumb rubbed on the odd surface. He couldn’t really tell what it was made of, but it was… oddly smooth, he thought. His brow furrowed as he looked at its eyes, a single pupil in its left eye, and a cascade of diamonds in the other. It was certainly an interesting and eye-catching design. He also liked the blue and reds, and that weirdly off-putting grin.

Such an odd thing.

He held it up with one hand over his face - not putting it on, but getting a look in the mirror at how it would look with the outfit.

He found it utterly bizarre that he could see clearly through the eyes despite what seemed like thick paint over it.

The mask itself wasn’t actually that scary when taken all at once. Oddly enough, it seemed to match with his outfit - at least, color wise. It didn’t even seem evil or anything. It seemed… kind.

That was an odd word to use. MJ tended to flip flop on how he feels about the damned thing

Before he could think any more about it, his doorbell rang, and the mask was left on his desk, forgotten the moment company arrived.

“Who is it?” He asked as he approached the door

“The Dread Pirate Roberts!” A little voice announced as the oak opened up.

To his absolute delight, Harriet was dressed indeed the Dread Pirate Roberts, missing nothing but the mask (The town doesn’t allow masks on minors, for some reason. A weird little policy). Next to her stood an excited Bow, grinning from ear to ear. He knew exactly who she was, but still asked-

“And who are you?”

“My name is Inigo Montoya” She said with all the faux-seriousness she could muster, holding up a foam sword “You killed my father, prepare to die!”

“Oh, goodness, the finest swordsperson in the world and The Dread Pirate Roberts have come to my home, I don’t stand a chance!” He moved out of his way as the kids ran into the apartment, and their father walked up behind him.

When his eyes went to Luka, he let out a snort. The man was dressed in a slightly silly looking prince outfit dyed almost completely purple, and his form was mostly purple as well - an energy-saving tactic if ever there was one.

“And you are?”

“He’s the ghost of prince Humperdink” Bow grinned. “This was the best costume we could find for it”

“I honestly think he shoulda died at the end of the movie so I'm cool with it.” Harriet commented as MJ moved to the side and let the group in “Is Clover here yet?”

“Not yet, I’m sure she’ll be here any minute and we can get right along with trick or treating!” MJ announced

“Yay!” the girls responded in unison, taking their place on MJs couch and turning on his old television for a brief moment of entertainment

Mj looked at Luka and grinned “Well, you’re lookin’ spooky, Luka”

“You kind of do too… what do you look like?”

MJ snorted “I’m the ‘Lonely Man of Subcon forest’. Heard of it?”

“Nope, don’t think I’ve been here long enough” Luka shrugged “Does look nice though. Very zombie-ish.”

The two chatted for a bit before there was another ring barely 10 minutes later.

“That must be Clo” MJ pushed himself off of the wall. “Can you get that? I want to grab my wallet so we can get the kids some ice cream before they go running around”

Luka nodded, giving him a grateful smile before turning to the door to greet the final member of the trio

MJ popped back into his studio, grabbing his wallet… and looking again at the mask.

He pocketed his wallet, and picked the mask up again. His thumbs rubbing against the strange texture of the mask’s sides.

He couldn’t help but admit that he was tempted.  Maybe, he could just see what it’d look like, just for a moment. Who knows? Maybe this has all been anxiety for nothing and the mask is just… weird.

He looked back into the mirror, and placed the mask on his face.

There was a moment where he stared amusedly at his reflection - it added a certain air to his outfit. Maybe wearing it out wouldn't be so b-

And then his body seized

He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. He trembled and a pain started from his head and traveled down his spine. It was like the worst shiver from the cold he’d ever experienced. Like ice was pressed directly against his skin. It dispersed like a fog, freezing freezing, and, suddenly-

It stopped.

Panting heavily, MJ pulled themselves back up to a standing position - when had they bent over like that? - and lifted their head, making eye contact with themselves in the mirror.

“GAH?!”

They were - blue! And - and the mask was very much not a mask!!!

When they blinked, it blinked. When they moved, it moved. When they grimaced, the mouth moved along to create the expression. their eyes scanned over the crescent shape, past their neck and then landed on their-

“H-hands!” They stared - they were missing a finger and - had claws?? They clenched their fists in disbelief, eyes catching on a glinting just under their sleeve.

.. Where had the chains come from?

“MJ? MJ are you okay?”

Clover

“D-don’t come in, its fine!!” They panicked, “I’m uh, just, finishing up and stuff with my costume!”

“It looked finished to me” Luka commented “Did something rip?”

“Y-yes?? yes! Something totally ripped“

“They’re lying!” Hattie pointed out

“Sounds like their lying voice” Bow added.

Curse these adorable, smart little girls!

“I-I’m fine!” They yelled out “Totally fine, just fine”

“... MJ I’m opening the door, be decent”

“No, Clover, I - “

But the door opened anyway

And Clover - dressed up as “Generic princess” - looked in, and … stared.

“.... MJ?”

“.... H-hi, Clover.”

“Clover, what are-” Luka cut himself off “Uh….”

“It’s me! Its MJ, I uh - “ They tried to come up with a succinct explanation for the situation, despite not having any real idea.

“The mask” Luka quickly concluded, recognizing the face after MJs unfortunately previous run-ins.

“I … yes” MJ’s shoulders slumped a bit.

“Hey, at least you still have feet” Luka commented, causing MJ to look down and see that he did in fact still have his shoes on. Thank heaven for small mercies.

“What happened, what is it?!” Harriet pushed her way through, her eyes wide as saucers once they landed on the recently transformed adult “... Whoa”

“I … I put on the mask. I was curious and - and it..” They looked back down at the pale, blue hands, nervously moving the fingers and claws. “I felt like I was freezing, my whole body and then…” They trailed off.

“Whoa..” Harriet approached him slowly “It's like, Majora’s Mask!”

Lukas put his hand on her shoulder to stop her from jumping - now really was not the time “... I suppose that's one way to describe it.” He gave a deliberate, thoughtful face towards his transformed friend.

Bow was very firmly behind the adults, staring rather intently and slightly bewildered. Sure, she had been getting used to Mr. Princeton as a parent but.. This was somehow very different.

“... We need to talk to Tim.” Clover concluded

“Tim’s out of town” Luka reminded the group with a grimace “He and Timmy had some kind of meeting thing with other magical people. We don’t…” Luka huffed, his hair fluffing up a bit “We don’t know anyone else whose adept at magic like they are”

Harriet furrowed her brow a bit, looking at the discomfort that MJ was experiencing, rubbing their hands together. Could they be stuck like that? She wanted to think that maybe this really was like the Zelda game, but who could tell? It's not like they knew anyone….

“Yes we do!” She snapped her fingers“I kinda hate that Mu was right, but there is a witch in town!”

“What?” Lukas’ brow furrowed “Who?”

0o0o0o0o0

Getting to the edge of town was… novel, to put it simply. The group was rather lucky that Luka was used to doing this sort of thing. And he was about 4 times larger than the group, so that helped in flying them around.

With the sun kissing the earth, red rays crawling into the darker sky, they didn’t have too much time, but followed Harriet and Bow as they got past the town center, and led them down to-

“Wait, why are we at Nell’s place?” Clover stared ahead at the Mint-green home, succulents hanging from pots and a radio sitting on the edge of the porch.

“Because Nurse Nell is a witch!” Harriet announced walking up the two steps of the porch.

“What- Harriet!” Luka startled.

“Its true!” Bow defended as Hattie knocked on the door.

“Kids, we’ve known Nell for a long time, she’s not-”

“She is!” Hattie argued “We saw it!”

“She made us promise to keep it a secret!” Bow added.

Said nurse opened the door as MJ tried to speak up

“I wasn’t expecting trick-or treaters,” She greeted before looking out the door, “But I do-” She paused as her eyes landed on the strange group at her front porch.

There was a rather awkward, extended silence as her eyes scanned MJ through her thick lenses with a gaze that conveyed a strange kind of surprise.

“.... Inside, now” She pulled the door open further, leaving no room for argument.

The adults shared a glance, but did as she said, entering her small living room. She greeted them with a nod as they entered, and shut the door behind them, motioning for MJ to approach her.

She didn’t say a word as they did so, and very slowly lifted her hands to their face, holding it steady as she scrutinized. “What happened? Less than 3 sentences” She half asked/half demanded. Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it was serious.

“Uh, I put on a cursed mask and it uh… did this” They tried to sum up.

“Where did you get the mask?”

“I found it in the forest. I thought it was abandoned from the spirit festival”

“And why did you pick up an abandoned mask in the forest?”

They awkwardly didn’t respond. She sighed

“I get it, hun” She responded, resigned. “Stay still”

“I am”

“Stiller”

Clover and Luka watched her with some skepticism, seeing the woman take a deep breath, and as she exhaled, her hands suddenly glowed dimly, tapping at the side of MJs head.

“Hah! See! Told you!” Hattie pointed, jumping slightly

“Shhhhhhhh!” Bow shook her “She’s doin’ magic stuff!”

“Hm…” She masterfully ignored the yelling children “Well, good news is that the magic isn’t very strong, Just… aggressive.” Nell announced. “And it's not malevolent” She let go of their face.

“... I… How can you tell?” MJ asked, their own hand tapping their blue cheek.

“.. Let's say it's a feeling” She summed up. “You can sit down. I need to grab something from my library”

And she left the room

“.... I don’t think I’ve ever seen Nell that serious” Clover spoke out “Also the uh, glowing hands? Didn’t know she could do that”

“How did you not know she had magic?” Luka asked with a rather incredulous tone

“It never came up!” Clover retorted

“How did it never come up?”

“Its cool!” Harriet jumped into the conversation

“It think its cool too” Bow agreed “I always wondered how my paper cuts at school always healed so fast…”

MJ had sat themselves down, hand staying on their head, feeling the strange curve of their forehead with a certain fascination. Nell’s words - said with so much affirmation- did make them feel better about the situation.

The nurse returned, her expression still relatively serious, but calmer as she carried an old, thick book with a rather overly ornate cover in a faded blue.

“You’re lucky I collect these old things” She commented for a moment, sitting down next to MJ. She flipped through the pages, finding a two-page spread with a plain mask listed on it, and text printed so small that MJ just could not read it. “Here we are.”

Harriet climbed up next to her “What's it say? That’s a lot of words!”

Nell chuckled a bit at her eagerness “It is, but... “ she hand rested on the book for a moment, and then she lifted it, and the text glowed, lifting and circling around her hand like a ring.

“Whoa…. It's like the unknown from the Pokémon movie!” Bow jumped, causing Nell to laugh more.

“A little, I suppose” Nell responded, and she looked over at the other two adults, mostly at Clover, whose bewildered stare caused her to laugh again “You okay there?”

“... How did I not know this about you?”

“Never came up, dear. Don’t think too hard about it. You too, “Snatcher”” The woman gave a smirk. Luka cleared his throat. “Now…”

A simple flick of her hand, and the letters were floating around MJ’s head, and some of them glowed just a little bit brighter “Hm….. Alrightie, that's a good sign” She snapped, and the letters, very suddenly disappeared as if popping a bubble. “Well, Give until dawn, and then you should be able to take off the mask. If you can’t, come to me. I don’t work tomorrow”

“Oh… Well, that uh, wasn’t so bad. I’ll be okay?”

“Of course” Nell nodded, shutting the book “I’d’ve called the Kagai’s the moment I let go of your face if I thought otherwise”

“The who?” Hat questioned.

“Another time, Hattie, another time” Nell placated. “Now….” she exhaled, putting the book on her coffee table and clasping her hands together “I just realized I haven’t even said hello to any of you”

Something about that sentence finally broke the tension, getting a laugh out of Clover and Luka, and a snicker out of MJ.

The next ten minutes consisted of Nell reassuring the group that MJ would be fine, and reiterating that they needed to come to her if the mask did not come off by sunrise.

“There’s a lot of magic in this that I can sense. So uh, just be careful.” She warned. “I don’t know a lot about that, so you’ll have to ask Tim”

MJ nodded “Uh, thank you, Nell”

She gave them a kind smile “Don’t mention it. Next time you need me though, have Clover send me a message or just call me, alright?” She looked passed them to Harriet, who gave her a sheepish smile.

“Got it” The transformed barista nodded.

“Oh and, don’t be too worried about people seeing you. Just say it's a costume” She recommended as they walked out with their family waiting just beyond the porch. “Happy Halloween!” She called before abruptly shutting the door

“So……” Bow started

“Can we go trick or treating now??” Hattie finished.

Luka looked up to MJ, who seemed much calmer than before, despite continuing to lift their hand to their weirdly shaped head.

“.. Yeah, yeah i think we can” they gave Luka a grin “And thanks for getting us the help, Hattie” MJ reached down and picked her up “Who knew the Dread Pirate Roberts could be such a help!”

The girl giggled before being put back down “Then let’s go!!”

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

MJ was initially a bit tittered when they entered the town, but the moment anyone noticed them, the compliments rolled in.

“Wow! You look like a spooky zombie!”

“What game is that cosplay from?”

“How did you get the prosthetic to look like that, damn!”

“Wow, that is a really cool idea for the Lonely Man!”

MJ was beaming at the semi-undeserved praised as they took the kids from neighborhood to neighborhood, filling their pillow cases close to brimming with so much candy that Luka kept making a face and seemed to be mentally preparing to hide all of it, whispering to Clover and MJ about taking some of the candy so that it wasn’t all in his apartment.

“Seriously, all that candy?? They’re going to get cavities and I cannot pay for dental work like that.” The father aggressed. MJ just laughed a bit, looking ahead at the two girls who were trying to run ahead to the next house.

And then Bow’s foot caught a crack.

“Ah, Bow!” MJ startled, hand reaching out - but there was no way they’d reach her before she fell-

And then, she just stopped falling, stuck in midair as if floating.. But she wasn’t.

Upon closer examination, she was held up by a variety of red strings, connected to MJ’s clawed fingers

“... Uh”

“Whoaaaa” Hattie gaped “Magic! Cool!”

Bow pulled himself up to a standing position, and MJ put their hand down, the strings disappeared

“.. Thanks” Bow cleared her throat “That was really cool”

“It kind of was... “ They commented, looking down at their hands “I’m gonna be having a heck of a long talk with Tim when he gets back from wherever he is”

“Yeah, definitely” Luka nodded in agreement.

Lucky for the group the rest of the night went without incident, with MJ joining Luka at home and the two of them staying up until the sun started showing through the windows.

“Ready?” Luka asked him, the being no longer human shaped, as he’d finally reached his limit

“Yeah.. I think so” MJ took in a breath “She said it can just… come off like how I put it on…”

“Alright….” Luka’s voice trailed off as MJ reached their hands up to their face, thumbs by their cheeks, but then - wait! The edge, the mask! They felt it.

Barely bothering to breath, they mentally counted… 1… 2… 3!

they pulled it off and gasped as that icy feeling went through them even faster than last time, trembling and nearly falling over as Luka kept them up with their tail.

“Hey, hey! You okay MJ?”

MJ looked up, nodding “Yeah, uh, how do I..?”

“You’re back to a nerd, if that's what you’re asking” Luka lightly teased

Their hands went back up to their face, and gasped when they felt their regular skin, and their glasses (Where had they gone? Didn’t matter)

“Oh, thank god” The tired barista flopped onto their partner, “That was exhausting. Thank goodness the Horizon is closed today…”

“Hah, ready to sleep?”

“Oh, definitely” MJ commented, looking down at the mask still in their hand, its smile seeming not nearly as spooky than before.. “Hm..”

“What?”

“.. Why’d it choose me, I wonder” They muttered, sitting up and placing the mask by the window sill “But… we’ll see about finding out more, hm?”

“.. Yeah, we will” Luka confirmed.

MJ gave him a smile, hugging his partner with a slight nuzzle “Come on, we need to sleep. Hattie and Bow-”

“Oh, don’t remind me. We’re in for a hell of an afternoon” Luka groaned, but he was still smiling.

Saying that things were “back to normal” was never correct with this group, but things were still pretty okay. Maybe better, even.

Moonie figured they’d just have to wait and see.

--

BONUS:: 

Costumes! I wasn’t able to finish these in time, but I hope they suffice! 

[stark-tony]

underrated irondad and spiderson fic recs part 2

part 1

Queer Eye for the Cacti by silentsaebyeok

summary: He bought one-hundred cacti on Amazon! Pepper was going to kill him!

What had possessed him to do such a thing? He never went on shopping sprees when drunk. That just wasn’t a Tony Stark type of thing to do. And in all honesty, he was astonished he even remembered the Amazon password.

--

Tony makes an interesting purchase while drunk. What he doesn’t expect is for said purchase to bite him in the ass in the worst possible way.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Tumblr Posts by Jen27ny

summary:   Literally what the title says. All the prompts and one-shots I post on tumblr.

pairings: pepperony, spideychelle

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, angst

warnings:

It Lasts for Always by YellowDistress

summary:  Peter has never asked anyone to kill for him, especially not Tony.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Cursed Christmas by sahiya

summary: A series of unfortunate events befalls Tony, Pepper, Peter, and Morgan (and Happy and May) in the week leading up to Christmas.

It'd be kind of funny if it didn't totally suck. Fortunately, they've got good back-up.

pairings: pepperony

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Keeping your head up by frostysunflowers

summary: It’s been a while, a long while, since Tony felt this defenceless. He’s without a suit, the manacle around his ankle is solid steel, and he can’t see a single way out.

 He’s been here before, but back then there had been tools, resources, options.

Here, there’s just the walls, his missing kid and the water. 

The water.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, angst

warnings: kidnapping

Young, Dumb and Suffering by wordscorrupt

summary: In a moment of desperation, Peter decides to take Steve's pain medication to relieve a migraine.

or

Peter accidentally overdoses on pain medication.

pairings: none

tags: 

warnings:

Midnight Oil by JolinarJackson

summary:  After everything that has happened to Peter over the last year - or five, really - he shouldn’t be worried about something as mundane as the ACT. When he fails it, though it sends him into a spiral of self-doubt, which only gets worse when Peter realizes that he doesn’t seem to be able to fix whatever is broken.

pairings: spideychelle, pepperony

tags: hurt/comfort, angst

warnings: none

Love Will Remind Us Who We Are by blondsak

summary: There had been many times in Tony’s life when he’d known the piercing clarity that separated a Good Day from a Bad Day. Had known the ways in which, upon first waking, one’s soul would strike a balance between agony and relief either in your favor, or not.

But none of his earlier Good and Bad times had prepared him for his reality now.

//

Nine months after the Avengers defeated Thanos, Tony is still reckoning with the toll the final snap took on his body. Between grueling physical therapy, near-constant pain, and the inability to so much as tie his own shoes, well-- things aren’t exactly like Tony had imagined.

Luckily for him, there’s a certain kid from Queens who won’t let Tony give up so easily.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Summertime Sickness by Spideysickfics

summary: "Well, this is your lucky day, then!" Peter replied enthusiastically, putting his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest as he broke into a wide grin, "You're looking at a former Boy Scout!"

Tony let out a huff of air.

"No shit, a Boy Scout, huh? When did you quit?"

"First grade." Peter's grin didn’t waver. Tony rolled his eyes with a laugh.

"I'm sure you're very knowledgeable."

OR

An Irondad camping trip and sickfic to soothe your soul

pairings: none

tags: 

warnings: none

to break in these bones by searchingforstars

summary: “We’re gonna go play baseball? I’m not exactly a great shot, and you might have to let me out of these first,” Peter rattles his wrists around in the metal chains and they clink together, echoing around the sparse room, “but sounds like fun.

“We’re not playing baseball.”

“Shame, because I passed a park on my way here and I’m pretty sure that there’s only been like, six murders there this year so that could have been a fun spot.”

“I’m going to enjoy this, you fucked up little kid.”

“Hey, I’m not a little-” Peter starts, but he’s cut off by all the air being knocked out of his lungs as he sees the bat raised in front of him.

--

or, Peter doesn't listen to Tony, pisses off someone dangerous and ends up on the wrong end of a baseball bat.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

5 Times Peter Gave Tony Something by impravidus

summary:  and the 1 time Tony gave him something back

pairings:  none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

You'll Be Here (in My Heart) by seekrest

summary:  The morning that Tony’s life changed forever began as his days usually began now — shuffling into the kitchen half asleep, going through the motions as he searched for Pepper’s favorite coffee mug.

Tony stifled a yawn, grabbing the Black Panther novelty mug she adored while he grabbed one that Morgan had made them years ago - one that made her now cringe with embarrassment anytime she saw him use it, the childish scribbles that made him laugh.

  He sets Morgan’s creation down on the countertop as he reaches for the Black Panther mug, it being just barely out of reach for when Pepper has put it last.

“Damn thing.” Tony mutters to himself, fingers barely brushing against it before he grabs it - going to set it down on the counter only to be surprised when Pepper walks in from the bedroom, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Morning. You know, you and I need to have a talk about about your choice of mugs. I know T’Challa somehow perfected the cup warmer thing here but you could at least show a little—“

“Michelle’s in labor.”

pairings: spideychelle

tags: angst

warnings: none

the little things we don't say out loud by JBS_Forever

summary: “It's not funny,” Peter says, voice catching as he whines, “This is life or death, Ned. I'm actually dying.”

On the other end of the line, Ned sighs, amused and not at all concerned. “So you're Mr. Stark's secret Santa. It's not that bad.”

- - -

In which Peter is Tony's secret Santa, and it is, in fact, that bad.

pairings: none

tags: humor, fluff

warnings: none

Hiking Essentials: A backpack, plenty of water, and a Spider-kid by kiwifeather

summary:  Morgan, Peter, and Tony enjoy each other's company on a hike through the woods while Peter is staying with them for the weekend. Father-and-son bonding ensues

(Takes place after the snap but Tony survives because this is the good timeline and we know that Tony deserved a happy ending)

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

In Case of Emergency by Bowtiez

summary: Babysitting his little sister at the Stark's lakeside cabin seems like quite the gig for 17-year-old Peter. Of course he's got that covered- he's a mature individual and he can watch over a five-year-old for forty-eight hours.

On a totally unrelated note, did anyone know that super-healing doesn't really work on bacterial infections? It's a good thing Morgan knows what to do. Well... it's probably a good thing?

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Three Times Tony Stark Used Italian Nicknames and One Time He Received One by MCUsic_to_my_ears

summary:   Tony can't help but slip into his Italian when with his children.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

More Ancient Than Magic by ironfamjam

summary: Life isn't exactly normal when your Head of House is also kinda your father-figure and his daughter is kinda sorta your little sister.

It's also not normal when the bad guys your real-life-war-hero-not-actually-dad defeated in The Great War threaten to return and you're still just trying to finish your Charms essay.

But Professor Stark asked him to protect Morgan. And that's what he's going to do.

Even if it breaks him.

The mini Hogwarts AU

pairings: spideychelle, pepperony

tags: fluff, angst

warnings: torture

Peaches by peterparkr

summary: There’s no response, not even a faint twinge of muscle. Peter tries to listen for a heartbeat, but he can’t seem to focus enough to pinpoint it. Another bubble of thought starts to rise. This could be the reason his spidey-sense is going haywire. Tony could be—

He pushes the bubble down.

OR

Peter and Tony find themselves stranded in the woods after an Avengers mission

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Snowflakes by Jen27ny

summary:  Tony just wants to see his kids happy - which means letting Morgan stick as many snowflakes to the window as she likes, and making Peter talk about his nightmares.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

I Sure Do Like Those Christmas Cookies by baloobird

summary: Tony is spending a fun afternoon baking cookies with his kids, but his older one isn't acting like himself.

Whatever the problem is, it's up to the now-retired hero to figure it out.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: bullying, acephobia

An MIT Halloween by bethy_277

summary: Coming to MIT had been difficult, having almost lost his mentor when he had snapped to save the entire universe, and Peter had really struggled. If it hadn’t been for Ned and Harley- who he had met shortly after he came back and become good friends with- he didn’t think he would have made it past the first few weeks at school. He had called both May and Tony that first week, hysterical and begging to come back to New York. May had been patient, Tony had been ready to get in his car to drive to him to help him through it, and Harley and Ned had been there and talked him down both times.  

** Peter is a college student at MIT and Tony brings Morgan up for some trick-or-treating.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Someone Take Me Home by GallagherHunter

summary:  More than a month since May's death Peter is having a less than stellar day at school in the hopes of making it through the day so he can get to the apartment where he's been living with Tony since his world came crashing around him. Meanwhile, Tony has been advised to adopt Peter to assure him he won't leave him.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: bullying

It’s Gonna Be Lit by Pawprinter

summary: What Christmas gift does one get for the man who seemingly has everything?

Peter is struggling to find out.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

I'll Be Home For Christmas by snarkymuch

summary:  May gets called away for work, and Tony steps in to make sure Peter isn't alone for Christmas. Harley, Morgan, and Peter being adorable kids, and Tony being a great dad.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

The power of makeup by SparrowFlight246

summary: Peter shows up to a prestigious awards ceremony with a black eye and a whole lot of regret.

Tony raids Pepper's purse and decides to improvise.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff

warnings: none

if you'll be my star, i'll be your sky by ftmpeter

summary: There are two things Tony learns about Peter after Morgan is born.

The first thing is that when it comes to kids, he's a natural.

The second thing is that he's a self-sacrificing little shit.

(Tony already knew that. He has the gray hairs to prove it. But. Still.)

It isn't the kind of self-sacrificing that will get him killed or seriously injured - thank God - but it's just as annoying. Maybe even more, because while he can ground Peter from Spider-Man, he can't exactly ground him from staying up all night to make sure Morgan sleeps through it.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

give the cookies a miss by searchingforstars

summary: “Surprise!” Morgan exclaims as soon as they’re both in the room. She gestures excitedly towards a few slightly sad looking lumps of something drenched in icing and severed onto sticks. There are sprinkles as well, which look like they might have been a nice touch to cheer the entire thing up, had the majority of them not ended up scattered around the surrounding bench space.

“Daddy and I made cookie pops! Well, I made them, he just helped me use the big scary whisk-y thingy. They’re for Katie’s birthday party tomorrow because we all have to bring something yummy to eat, and Daddy wanted to do regular cookies but I told him that was boring. So we made these instead!”

--

or, Peter is poisoned by the ones he trusts most.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

i want to be with you 'til the whole world ends by searchingforstars

summary: The last thing he does as his eyes slip shut is wrap his arms tighter around Peter, as tight as he can manage when it feels like the life is draining from him.

Please, for the love of God, I'm sorry I couldn't do it, but please, please, someone look after this kid for me.

Tony would give anything to make sure that Peter Parker is safe.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have much left to give. He’s about to have nothing left to give.

The world goes dark.

He drifts away.

--

Or, Peter and Tony nearly lose each other.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Of bright autumn days and things that go bump in the night by frostysunflowers

summary: Halloween/fall themed fics featuring plenty of fluff, feels and seasonal shenanigans!

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor, angst

warnings: none

Twelve Days of Terror: A Whumptober Collection by seekrest

summary:

pairings: spideychelle

tags: 

warnings: 

[taegyuun]

finally, the wings took off | pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

genre: angst, fluff

pairing: sunghoon x reader

warnings: mentions of depression probs swearing

word count: 1.8k

“ok this is a great start already! you woke up... 5 minutes before you usually do....” sunghoons voice gradually faded out from being happy to disappointed after checking the time.

a week has passed since you met the said angel and the whole time he’s been trying to “fix” you, his words, not yours. and sure, you’ve made some improvements like waking up at different times and... well that’s about it. sunghoon thought that after a few days or so, you’d gradually grasp the concept of normal life or something in your brain would click and you would’ve had some grand epiphany that the way you’ve been living for the last few years of your life aren’t normal - but contrary to his beliefs, you were nothing of the sort.

you were also very difficult to work with; and incredibly stubborn. you’ve gotten more accustomed to living with the boy but listening to him tell you what to do was not exactly very entertaining on your behalf. sunghoon personally thought that ordering you would be the best way to go about your little situation, considering your life is based on routines and authoritative figures that came from school - but perhaps his idea wasn’t so great.

“sunghoon, i already told you. i don’t need some ‘guardian angel’ or whatever, i’m fine with the way that i live my life even if it isn’t whatever you would call an avergae teens life. i know that. you’re just wasting your time being here.” you sigh dejectedly. you were secretly hoping that somehow you would mange to get out of this hopeless routine. it was often a pain, reliving the same day every single second. but you yourself couldn’t do it. you had to have some sort of help; sunghoon just wasn’t great at it.

“well no matter what you believe, i have to stay here up until you live a normal life. and before you say anything, even if i go up to the upper angels and try to talk to them, theyll just instantly send me back down, because believe me... i’ve tried it many, many times.” his face wasn’t the usual soft almost nonchalant look that he typically wore, instead he seemed more aggravated.

“ok then. what if i just live my life “normally” for a week and then you can move onto another person because i’m “fine” and then i can go back to living my life the way i want to?” you ask after sitting up from bed, getting ready to do your usual stretch before heading to the bathroom. but before you could even reach your arms out, sunghoon was already pushing them down back to your sides before speaking himself,

“y/n you moron, the upper angels aren’t stupid. they literally see everything.” he stares blankly at you as you roll your eyes at his actions before looking around your room and mulling over the idea of actually contributing to his work and trying to change your life.

“fine i guess. i’ll try harder this time.” the sound of his cheering almost made your lips form a smile.

“so what now, huh?”

“well... maybe let’s go shopping? yeah i think that’s a good start. personally, i’m not very huge on shopping but that’s because i’m indecisive but you need to go food shopping and then we can go buy more clothes. y/n you need to start eating more various foods, alright?” sunghoon talks to you almost as if you’re a child, it gets irritating but you understand his reasonings behind it. you like to follow routines, and your routines have to be simple therefore he speaks to you simply.

“alright then, what food should i be eating?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“honestly anything but a balanced diet is the best,” and then sunghoon goes on about all the carbs you need to eat and what sort of proteins there are and all the other things that you already knew except didn’t own, or eat. as he talks to you, you’re already putting your shoes on and taking one of your jackets down from the hooks before quickly grabbing your car keys.

even though you didn’t seem like it, you felt excited for this new change. you were a complicated person. even though you had to have routines, you got bored of them quickly and sunghoon has somehow managed to spark some excitement into your life.

as you both walk down the block to get to your car, you get a few stares from the passerby’s. ok, maybe it wasn’t you who got the stares and it was perhaps the model that was beside you, but that’s just a minuscule detail that you could easily miss.

“sunghoon?” you hear a hum in reply.

“you do realise you’re really pretty? like, incredibly good looking.” instead of a normal reply, you hear a choke and then a fit of coughs. “don’t tell me you’re about to die from choking because someone complimented you? you’re an angel right? you’re meant to be pretty or something.”

“i dont usually get compliments from people alright? i’m not used to it, the most i get is whines from the higher ups or some old pervs trying to hit on me when i get some weird cases,”

“do you wanna talk about it?”

“there isn’t much to talk about, it’s not like they can actually touch me considering i’m an angel so theres nothing to ever worry about.” neither of you realised that you were already in the car, driving and almost at the supermarket. he looks over and sees your brows in a furrow, an obvious sign of confusion. before he gets to ask anything, you beat him to it.

“wait so... i cant touch you? like not even high five or anything? that’s so cool! you’re like... i don’t know, the things in movies- you’re like a ghost!” sunghoon was going to tell that you can actually touch him, only when granted permission, but your expression and the contrast in your voice from usual monotone and bored, stopped him as he instead hummed in agreement and softly smiled, grabbing a shopping cart and heading inside the store.

you huffed as you set down the last bags full of food that you had either never tried or forgotten the taste of down onto your kitchen counter. you then started taking the products out of the bags and placing them in their correct cupboards or shelves in the fridge and some in the freezer.

after you were finally finished with the tedious job, you look over at sunghoon who was leaning against the door frame to your kitchen, as you beamed proudly at him. he lets out a soft laugh as he walks closer to you and looks at what you did to your kitchen.

“you see, look how many choices you have! all the cupboards are full and the possibilities you have with all these ingredients!” you’re surprised at how excited he seemed for you and your now discovered love for placing things away. “whenever you get hungry, tell me so i can teach you new recipes, alright?” you quickly nod at him as he walks off, letting his large wings appear out of his back. he rolls his shoulders and releases a loud sigh and groan, softly propping down onto your couch.

“yeah, why do you even do that? y’know... keep your wings in. isn’t it painful?” you ask as you walk closer to him, before sitting down onto the seat next to the angel.

“i wouldn’t say it necessarily hurts but it’s more like when you sit in one position too long and then you stand up and stretch. i have to do it so i don’t make myself invisible and make you look like you’re a fool speaking to yourself.”

“then... whenever we don’t go out, just have them out! whenever we’re here alone just leave them how they are, let your back rest.”

“i think that’s a good idea,” he then softly smiles at you as his arms extend across the back of the couch, before letting his head roll back and fall onto the the soft cushioning below

more weeks pass, and it has finally reached the mark of sunghoon being your gurdian angel for almost 4 months. you’ve changed an indescribable amount - it occurred to you after a deep talk with sunghoon that routines bored you, but you simply didn’t know what to do with yourself and how to live your life.

you were honestly glad to meet the guardian angel.

you now went out at random times simply for your own will, and you cooked different recipes almost everyday - trying new food constantly. you changed your style and did a whole 180. but sunghoon didn’t want you to completely change, he only wanted you to live like a teen. so, he obviously let you keep certain things the way you liked it; the days you did your laundry or which days you went shopping.

it was nice having him around.

but, the dreaded question had to be asked.

“sunghoon... are you going to leave soon?” you quietly asked, as you went out to latch onto his sweatshirt - another thing you learnt which you could do, only with his consent.

“i’m not sure, y/n. but why ask?” he stopped stirring his coffee with the tea spoon and instead looked down at you with a confused expression.

“it’s just... aren't guardian angels meant to only stay till their case is better? i mean, you’ve figured out why my chart was empty and now i live how i should've lived all along. is there anything you can even do now?”

and then it was silent. it didn’t even occur to the boy that he had completed his task. he had nothing else to do in the human world that was correlated to you. he plainly had no reason to stay, even if he wanted to.

“... do... do you want me to leave?” you almost tug at his arm in anger at the stupid question.

“are you insane? of course i don’t want you to leave! you’re the one who made me finally feel happy, there- there must be a way you could stay... right? or do you want to go?” now it was sunghoons turn to latch onto your arm in disbelief.

“why would i want to leave? i love it here, y/n. being here with you completely changed my life. i’m not chained to some random criminal and i don’t have a crap ton of responsibilities that i couldn’t care less about, it’s literally heaven down here for me... ironic i know, but it is! if i could stay, i promise you, i would.” during his words, his hands moved up from holding onto your arm to cupping your face in his warm and gentle hands. you leant into his touch, with a coil of unfortune building up in your stomach; as if your body knew this might have been the last times you’d feel his soft touch.

“sunghoon please... don’t leave me.”

“i’ll stay for as long as possible, even if it means my wings are taken off.”

[rhysismydaddy]

The Bodyguard (Elorcan)

MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE SHIP.

I wrote a lot of Elorcan a while ago on my phone and realized I’ve literally been posting Nessian nonstop, so we’ll take a little break. 

I have no idea how many parts this is going to be, but it’s a bit more of a slow burn than my usual fics, so probably 5ish. Not much happens in this part, but it get’s more interesting lol. Let me know if you want to be tagged :)

Part 2 | Part 3

______________________________________________________________

Elide rolled out of bed Monday morning to the sound of a loud, incessant banging on her front door. How someone was managing to put that much aggression and frustration into a simple knock baffled her. 

She swung it open and yelled, “What the hell do you want?”

When she looked up--and up and up and up--to the man standing in front of her, she instantly regretted her choice of tone. 

This was not a man you yelled at. Hell, this was not a man you poked with a very, very long stick. 

The stranger towered above her, making all five feet of her feet insignificant. He had long dark hair pulled back in a bun, tan skin, and eyes that looked almost black. Chiseled cheek bones, a jaw set in a scowl, and head to toe black clothing completed the look. 

Elide didn’t know how to feel about his appearance, actually. 

It was definitely abrasive and intimidating. Or to most it would be. She’d lost her fear of “scary” men a while ago. She knew firsthand the most innocent looking man could be the most sadistic. 

And yet, beneath all the black clothing and deep scowl, the man standing in front of her was also attractive in a dangerous, rough way. 

But what the hell did he want?

“Elide Lochan?” he asked, his voice conveying everything written across his face effortlessly. 

“Um, yes?” How did he know who she was? 

“I’m with The Galathynius Guarship. I’ve been assigned to watch over you.” He seemed satisfied with that explanation, but she sure as hell wasn’t.

“Galathynius? As in Aelin Galathynius?”

If possible, his scowl got deeper. “The one and only. But more specifically, I owe the whipped little bitch who calls himself her husband a favor.”

“Hold on,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “Rowan sent you?”

This was beyond weird. Aelin was one of her best friends, but she didn’t spend all that much time around her husband. 

The man in front of her sighed, so much aggression in the one simple sound. “I suspect that he was told to cash in the favor in this specific way by a certain fire-breathing bitch queen, but yes, he was the one who called me.”

“Okay, but why?”

His eyes met hers, and she somehow knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth. It didn’t soften the words in the slightest, though. 

“He found you.”

Fuck.

An involuntary shiver ran over her, but she hid it behind a stretch. “How do they know?”

“Rowan said they’ve been watching your uncle for a while, and that he just bought an apartment in the city. He’s also made inquiries into this complex about you, and a black sedan has been spotted canvassing the building you work in.” 

He said it all in that same cold, almost bored tone, and for some reason, that kept the panic at bay. 

Elide straightened her spine and put on her best smile. “Thank you for telling me. I don’t need a bodyguard, though.”

He shrugged one massive shoulder. “I don’t care.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I owe Whitehorn a favor, and this is what the bastard asked for, so I don’t particularly care if you think you don’t need a bodyguard, although I expect that to be false.” He looked her head to toe as he said that last part, and her blood started to boil. 

She wanted him gone. Now.

Glaring at him, she snatched her phone and dialed Aelin’s number. 

“Hi, Elide. You know it’s like six in the morning, right?”

“Believe me, I’m not happy to be awake at this hour, either. I was woken up by...” she realized she didn’t know the man’s name. “someone pounding on the door. He says he’s my new bodyguard and that you had something to do with it.”

“His name is Lorcan Salvaterre.”

She sighed, continuing to glare at him. “Well, I appreciate the thought, but tell Lorcan Salvaterre to piss off. I’ve been on my own my entire life, and I’m fine.”

“Barely,” Aelin said quietly. 

She paused, ignoring that train of thought, then tried a different tactic. “You know he’s like ten feet tall right?” Lorcan rolled his eyes. “How am I supposed to keep a low profile with him following me?”

Aelin laughed softly. “He’s a tall, insufferable bastard, but he’ll keep you safe. At this point, your uncle’s seen where you live and work, so keeping a low profile doesn’t exactly matter.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “But-”

“Listen.” There was a little fire in her best friend’s tone now. “I do not plan on repeating what happened two years ago. Ever. So until we figure out how to throw Vernon in a deep, dark hole no one will ever find him in, Lorcan stays. Just ignore him.”

“Easier said than done,” she muttered back.

She could practically see Aelin’s smile. “Good luck. Stay safe.”

The line clicked dead, and she threw her phone on her couch in defeat. 

“Your powers of persuasion are truly something magnificent,” Lorcan Salvaterre told her in a mocking tone. “I’m tall? Seriously? That’s the best you could come up with?”

“It’s 6 AM and I’m tired,” she defended, suddenly annoyed. “But I’m already up, so I guess I’ll just go to work early.”

She shut the door in his face so she wouldn’t have to even think about inviting him in.

Damn.

Damn damn damn!

This was so frustrating. She felt... helpless and desperate and trapped. Everyone in her life was trying to keep her safe, but she found herself wanting to be alone and independent for once in her life. 

And she was afraid. 

After finally escaping her uncle’s country estate and moving to the city, she’d sworn she’d never let him make her feel like this again. 

And yet, just the mention of him being in the same city as her made her tremble with fear. Fear, and more than a little rage.

Elide stepped under the shower spray, closing her eyes. Images from her lifetime of misery flickered through her mind, and unlike usual, she didn’t even bother blocking them out. 

They played like a montage in her head, showing her all the reasons she had to be afraid of her uncle. 

Her parents funeral. The first time Vernon had asked her to come to his office. The hidden bruises. The ruined ankle from the time he’d refused to let her go to the doctor and get the bone set. The scars on her wrists and ankles from her chains. 

The emotional scars from everything else.

She squeezed her eyes closed, shut off the onslaught of memories, and stepped out of the shower. 

As usual, she put on jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, even though it was almost summer. Even though she’d made peace with her scars, she didn’t want people to see and gawk. She got a few odd looks for being dressed so heavily, but it kept her more comfortable, so Elide didn’t care. 

She straightened her dark hair, swiped on a little makeup, and grabbed her bag. 

When she opened the door again, Lorcan was still standing there, leaning against the wall across from her. He didn’t even seem to notice her very conservative apparel, but his eyes swept over her face, studying her closely. 

“Ready?”

She nodded, a little nervous by how observant he seemed, but followed as he turned and walked towards the stairs. 

Living on the second floor had a few advantages, but the biggest had to be that she didn’t have to wait for the slow ass elevator that almost never worked. Soon, they were out on the street, walking towards her building. 

Feeling like a million eyes were on her now that she was in public, she tugged on her sleeves and ducked her head. 

“They’re probably staring at me, not you,” Lorcan said with a grimace. 

Oh, there was no “probably” about it. 

Everyone--everyone--was looking at the man strolling next to her. Some with blatant fear on their faces, some just in shock. 

She supposed she couldn’t really blame them. He was large and imposing and looked like he could snap anyone in half who dared to cross him. 

The attention still made her uncomfortable. She preferred to go through life unnoticed, and Lorcan was like a magnet to both men and women’s attention. 

Spotting her favorite coffee shop, she almost cried in relief. She tugged on Lorcan’s arm, and he followed her inside, dark eyes scanning everyone there for signs of a threat. 

Considering this was the most hippie, backwater place in the city, it was a short search. 

“Hey, Elide,” the woman behind the counter said with a smile.

Elide smiled back. “Hey, Asterin.” 

Asterin was one of her best friends in the city. They’d met in the hospital’s mandatory group therapy for people who had suffered certain times of “trauma” and had instantly bonded over their shared hate of one of the nurses. 

“Same as usual?”

She nodded, then turned to Lorcan. “Do you want anything?”

“No,” he responded, eyes hovering on Asterin as if she were a threat.

Granted, her friend was in her usual all black, mostly leather attire and had multiple piercings gracing her beautiful face, but this was Asterin for crying out loud. She was more than a little protective of Elide.

“Who’s the mutt?” the object of his attention asked in a too-friendly voice. 

Elide sighed, unsure how to explain. If Asterin knew her uncle was in town, things were bound to get a little haywire. 

“It’s a long story,” she dodged, sliding a bill across the counter. Her friend looked at her like she’d grown two heads. 

“When’s the last time I charged you?”

Never. 

She stuck it in the tip jar, making Asterin roll her eyes. A moment later, she brought back her vanilla latte and said, “I’ll see you Friday, right?”

For a moment, she didn’t know what the hell she was talking about, but it came rushing back a second later. Friday. Concert. Asterin’s band. “Yeah, sure.”

She could feel Lorcan’s eyes narrow, but she pulled him out before he could cause a scene. 

“What’s happening Friday?” he asked as soon as they were outside. 

Taking a deep drink of her coffee, she replied, “Asterin’s band is having a concert at MSK.”

He brooded for a minute over this information. “No. A crowded area is not exactly safe for you right now.”

Elide stopped walking, her eyebrows high on her forehead. “No? No?”

He was fucking crazy if he thought she’d do whatever he wanted just because he’d been assigned to follow her around. 

Lorcan repeated the word, and she saw red.

“You are not going to tell me what I can and cannot do, you stupidly large bastard. I’ve spent my entire life with someone who did that for me, and I won’t put up with it for a second longer.” 

He sighed, and that just pissed her off more. 

“If you’re not confident in your skills to guard me in a crowded area, then maybe you shouldn't be here,” she snapped. 

His dark eyes narrowed. “I’m more than confident in myself, Elide. That doesn’t mean it isn’t stupid to put yourself in unnecessary danger.”

She just rolled her eyes and stormed away, well aware his long legs would catch up to her in a second. “I’m going.”

“Fucking hell. You mean we’re going,” he corrected with a gruff. 

She smirked. “At least you won’t have to buy any new clothes. They’re a pretty goth band.”

Elide didn’t need to look to know his scowl deepened, and the thought brought a bright smile to her face as she walked into her office building. 

“Morning, Elide,” the receptionist, Tom, called. She waved back.

Lorcan did not. 

He just followed her down the hallway to the suit labeled Perranth Wellness Center, through the lobby and staff kitchen, and into her office. When she tried to shut the door behind her, his hand shot out above her head and stopped it. “I’m coming in.”

“You most certainly are not.”

He showed her she was, in fact, incorrect in that statement by pushing her out of the way and strolling in. Her office was exactly what it was supposed to be: calm, relaxed, covered in plants, and home to a comfy black sofa, two chairs, and a desk. 

As a therapist, it was all pretty much standard. 

Lorcan dragged one of the chairs into a corner near her bookcase, then sat down. 

“You can’t stay in here! I have appointments today!”

He gave her a strange look. “I assumed as much. I’m fine here.”

Elide pinched the bridge of her nose to keep from strangling him. “I’m bound by doctor-patient confidentiality. You legally cannot be in here.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not leaving you in here with a bunch of crazy people.”

“They aren’t crazy! They just talk about their problems.”

The look on his face said that statement proved his point. “I can assure you I won’t care what they say.”

“I am not losing my license because you have some insane idea that my clients are violent!”

Suddenly he was on his feet, towering over her, looking at her as if she were a naive little girl. “Elide. Has it not occurred to you Vernon could send someone as a fake client to get to you?”

No. 

“I’m safe here,” she lied. She wasn’t safe anywhere.

“If you actually believed that, then why do you have a knife strapped under your desk?”

How the hell had he found that? He hadn’t even searched the place!

She bit her lip, trying to figure out how to diffuse this situation. “I’m getting the idea you’re not up for negotiation on this point.” He shook his head like the stubborn asshat he was. “Fine. You can stay as long as you tell people you’re shadowing to become a therapist yourself.”

His dark eyebrows shot up. “I don’t exactly fit the bill for a therapist.”

“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed.” The dark attire and permanent scowl were sure to raise some brows, but it was the only option. Elide rolled her eyes and tried to calm down. “Try smiling or something.”

He looked as if she’d suggested he run naked through the city in the dead of winter, but before he could argue, a knock on the door sounded. “Dr. Lochan? Your eight o’clock is here.”

She shoved Lorcan to the chair in the corner, and he plopped down with a sigh. 

“Send him in!”

This would be interesting. 

Twenty minutes later, Elide corrected her statement from interesting to big fat mistake. 

Her client, Wayne Jefferies, kept looking towards the corner Lorcan was situated in, eyes wide. As someone who had a strong fear of practically everything that moved, this situation was less than ideal. 

He tilted his ear toward something she couldn’t see, then whispered, “He’s here to kill me.”

Wayne was also a raging schizophrenic. 

“No one is here to kill you, Wayne. Close your eyes and focus on the sound of my voice.” Once he did, she turned around and shot a glare over her shoulder at the hulking brute. Stop it, she mouthed. 

His brow scrunched. Stop what? 

Scaring him! 

Before he could mouth something back, Wayne’s eyes shot open. “They’re saying I should kill him first.”

Oh, good gracious. 

“Feel free to try,” Lorcan said in a low voice. 

Wayne jumped to his feet, thrusting an accusatory finger towards the corner. “See! He’s after me!”

“If I was after you, you’d be dead,” her very helpful protector reasoned. 

Wayne paused, then opened his mouth to shout something else. Before he could, Elide said gently, “Sit down, Wayne. No one here is going to hurt you. I promise. Shut the voices out and imagine a wall being built around your mind, keeping you safe.”

Her client was silent, so she turned around and glared at Lorcan. He just rolled his eyes, then leaned back and closed them.

This was going to be a long day. 

~

After three other appointments, which had gone a little smoother actually, Elide was exhausted. Hearing about other people’s problems both helped rationalize hers and drained her. 

She walked to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, Lorcan following behind dutifully. 

“Dr. Lochan! Got a package for you,” Tom said, handing her a thin package. 

Before Lorcan could snatch it up, she grabbed a knife and cut it open, revealing what was inside. 

Yet another mistake. 

A handwritten note in beautiful, recognizable calligraphy, read: I’ll see you soon.

It was a promise, threat, and taunt all in one. How like Vernon.

Knowing he would never send just a little threat, she ignored the dread unfurling in her stomach and flipped the card over.

And stared down at a black and white picture of herself, asleep in bed. 

The covers were thrown back, exposing her bare legs, and her shirt had ridden up while she slept. She looked young and innocent. Vulnerable. 

But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that it had been taken from directly in front of the bed. Inside her room. 

The angle of the camera made that obvious. It also revealed that the person who’d taken the picture had done so with painstaking care, getting just the right angle to make it look as if a lover had taken it. 

Bile rose in her throat as she stared at it, trying desperately to figure out how they’d gotten inside her apartment. 

And why hadn’t they just taken her then and there?

Lorcan snatched the note and picture out of her hands, jaw locking tightly. He studied the photo, the note, everything. “I’ll search the apartment when we get back. They can’t get to you with me there.”

His confidence was unwavering and let her relax a little. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

But somehow, in the back of her mind, she knew it wasn’t. This was just the beginning for Vernon. 

He’d always enjoyed the thrill of making her as terrified as possible before finally unleashing whatever sick desire he had planned out. The waiting was half the fun for him. 

And he’d just let her know he could get to her whenever, wherever. No matter who was around. 

It was a strong opening move, she had to admit. The obviously-desired fear was there, pushing on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. 

But there was something else, something new. Something that had only developed in the year she’d been free. 

It was rage, sure. But it was a cold, calculated rage that only came with one thing. 

Revenge. 

______________________________________________________________

ooOOooh dramatic ending for the win. 

Part 2

@ladywitchling @perseusannabeth @studyliketate @cursebreaker29 @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @a-bit-of-a-cactus @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life

[imaginedxlan]

Champagne & Shackles; Beta Part Two (Fred Weasley)

a/n: i’m SORRY i’m terrible at time management, school is kicking me ass. i had no idea so many of you had the same affinity for the brothers of the beta fraternity as i do, this is for all my frat rats out there i love you most. this is an ode to my very favorite date party theme: champagne and shackles. in which you and you’re chad or brad of a date are candcuffed together until you finish a massive bottle of champagne between the two of you.

weeks after the infamous beta darty, you can’t seem to pull your thoughts or presence away from the ginger boy who made your heart skip a beat. That is, until you’re invited to the beta champagne and shackled date party.

y/f/n: your friend’s name

warnings: cussing, alcohol, mentions of sex, modern!fred, and also very typical frat boy lingo stolen straight from the mouths of frat boy i associate myself with

disclaimer: while they’re semi-drunk in this they’re still coherent and stable enough to know what they’re doing. nothing that happens in this is coercive or decided under an incapacitated mind. king freddie would never take advantage of a girl like that.

part one

consumed.

You have been completely consumed with the the thought of a certain red head for weeks now. Since you kissed him goodbye on your front lawn, the image of Fred Weasley has yet to leave your brain. While you’ve been at the same school for almost two years, you’ve seen him more in the few weeks following the beta darty than you have in the 18 months you’ve spent on campus. Lines in coffee shops, the terrace at the union, the corners of the library you’ve inhabited for years. He’s everywhere. Not that you’re complaining.

The grin that plays across his lips every time you catch his eye sends your heart into overdrive. You’ve spent countless nights awake in y/f/n’s bed analysing every text, every snapchat, every story. You replay the day in the beta backyard at least once a day, yearning for the feeling of his touch on your skin. You’ve hardly returned to the brick-faced mansion, however. You’ve of course been invited through Draco and the countless group messages that flood your phone the nights leading up to a beta party, but you want him to invite you. You want him to want you there.

Of course he wants you there. He spends hours in that filthy basement he calls home every weekend searching for you among the dozens of drunk girls, hoping you had decided to turn up this time. But you’re not there.

Y/f/n mentioned date party to you this past weekend. Draco being social chair of the fraternity, he’s been planning the function for weeks. Champagne and Shackles. A fan favorite among every sorority girl throughout the school. Mixing together handcuffs and a massive bottle of champagne would have nearly anyone begging for an invite. You decide not to get your hopes up, constantly reminding yourself that while he is the boy that made you feel like you were the only two people in the world while you were surrounded by hundreds of drunk college boys, he’s still a twenty year old beta boy. It’s hard to stray from the hook up culture that he’s been practically bred into. Nevertheless, there is still a glimmer of hope in you that you’ll be cuffed to him this Saturday night instead of another girl he’s probably found on greek row.

He’s been drafting this text in the notes app of his phone for three days now. He’s changed the wording, the punctuation and the amount of details in his intended invite to you one hundred times now. George and Oliver groan every time he stops their studying or game of Call of Duty to read them the revised text he’s come up with this time.

“My god, Weasley, you’re acting like you’re writing your vows.” Oliver jokes, setting his xbox controller down on the makeshift coffee table in the twins room. “Just send it, you know she’ll say yes.”

But that’s the problem, he doesn’t know that.

“Wood we’ve thrown six times in the past month, she’s come once.” Fred reminds him of the painful fact that it seems like you’re just not that into him. “If I was sure she was gonna say yes I would have done it by now.”

George snatches his twin’s phone from his hands, copying the now final draft of this overly thought out text asking you to his date party. Before Fred can spring up from his bed, George has already got the message pasted into Fred’s text chain with you and hit send, making the color drain from his twin’s face.

“Are you fucking serious, George.” Fred finally reaches his younger brother and tackles him to the ground. “I barely read through it she’s gonna think I’m a fucking weirdo.”

George is able to shake his brother off of him, bursting out laughing with Oliver at Fred’s crazed state. George knew Fred had feelings for you, well practically every who spoke to a drunk him for more that ten minutes knew, but it was still comical to see his twin get so worked up over a girl he hadn’t even slept with yet.

“Fred you’ve been reading the stupid thing for an hour now,” He points out, Oliver nods his head in agreement. “What’s the worst that could happen? Huh? She says no and you ask one of the eight hundred other girls who fawn over you every chance they get. I know you like her Freddie but this isn’t a life or death thing.”

As Fred caught his breath from his outburst, he knew George had a point. He wouldn’t drop dead if you rejected his offer, but it sure help like he would.

hey idk if you’ve heard but our date party is this saturday and i was wondering if you would want to come

Your phone lights up just as you sit down to eat dinner with a couple of your friends. Once you see the name fred weasley next to the notification your heart stops. Taking y/f/n’s hand in yours, you turn the screen so she can read it. Her lips turn up in a grin as she squeezes your hand.

“I told you he would ask you,” She squeals, shaking her shoulders in her little ‘happy dance’ as she likes to put it. “Draco won’t stop talking about how tweaked Weasley’s been over some stupid text. I knew it was about you, I just knew it.”

You laugh at her imitation of her boyfriend, knowing it’s not far off from how he actually sounds. You reread the text probably thirty times, feeling even more giddy over such a simple and honestly not very personal text, but you don’t care. He asked you.

You spend far less time crafting a response than Fred did writing the initial text to you. If what y/f/n said is true and he really mulled over this for days, you may pass out.

i’d love to :)

The love seemed a bit overboard in your opinion, but y/f/n convinced you that it was a perfect response. You didn’t allow yourself to start looking for possible dress options until he really asked you, afraid you might jinx it if you bought a dress prematurely. Now, however, you’re on a time crunch. Someone in the house had to have something you could borrow. That night you try on at least ten dresses, all the girls on your floor flooding your room gushing over the fact that the Fred Weasley is taking you to his date party. He’s someone nearly everyone knows, and if they didn’t they were probably a geed, or lived in sophomore slums.

You finally land on a dark blue, spaghetti strapped sequin dress that clung tight to your curves. While nearly every dress you tried on felt like it might work, this is champagne and shackles after all, you have to dress to impress. Y/f/n won’t stop talking about what Fred will do the minute he sees you in the dress, praying she gets to watch his jaw drop. The two of you stay up late into the night again mushing over the thought of the two of you being swept off your feet by beta boys, the same boys you could hardly think about a month ago without becoming nauseous.

pregames at the house, malfoy and i will come by yours to grab you and y/f/n at 6:30

The text comes in Friday night. You can hardly contain the bubbling feeling in your stomach. As much as you feel like you’re sixteen years old again, you don’t care. You’ve finally joined the ninety percent of girls on greek row in one category, you’re crushing on Fred Weasley.

As the day finally rolls around, Fred is surprisingly back to his calm and collected demeanor. As much as the boys, and to be honest he himself, expected him to be bouncing off the walls over a slew of what if’s regarding the night ahead of him, he was rather calm about it all. He’s one half of the coveted Weasley Twins after all, he has a reputation to uphold.

The same cannot be said for you. As you curl your hair and apply your makeup to perfection, you can’t stop your knee from bouncing under the vanity counter you’re sat in front of. What if he secretly thinks you look bad in your dress? That you look like you tried to hard? As much as y/f/n tried to remind you of the fact that he was the one nervous about asking you, nothing seems to ease your growing anxiety. The hours tick closer to six-thirty and you sit patiently on your bed, completely ready and aimlessly scrolling through your socials to keep your mind off of the fact that in only twenty minutes Fred and Draco would be at your door to take you back to beta. The actual date party would be at one of the satellite houses, the penthouse of a nearby apartment paid for by betas massive budget.

Y/f/n takes your hand and forces you to look at her.

“Y/n,” She begins, now holding both of your hands between hers. “You are the hottest bitch this campus has ever seen. No one, not even Fred Weasley, deserves to be blessed with the absolute vision you are right now, but I guess he’ll have to do.”

You laugh at her attempt to hype you up in ten hopes that the knots in your stomach fade away. They partially do, but part of you is still in shambles over the thought of seeing him. He probably looks like even more of a greek god in a suit. Y/f/n’s phone buzzes with an ever so poetic ‘here’ text from her boyfriend and she gives your hands one more squeeze before dragging you down the staircase of your house. The boys are waiting just beyond the lawn, the same one you kissed Fred on weeks ago. The two of them have their hands in their pockets, looking like they’re deep in conversation, not even noticing that you and y/f/n are standing walking toward them.

He’s wearing a dark gray suit with a white button down with the top three buttons undone. His hair is perfectly messy. You didn’t even think it was possible for him to get any hotter, but here he is.

The boys turn their heads and immediately stop their conversation. The blonde’s face turns up in a smirk as his eyes trail over y/f/n’s body, but Fred is standing perfectly still with his mouth slightly agape as he watches you come closer to him. His cool and collected affect quickly runs out of his body as he watches your dress glitter under the street light.

“Told you.” Y/f/n whispers in your ear before she drops your hand to meet her boyfriend.

Draco greets y/f/n with a kiss and Fred pulls you into a hug. You melt at his touch. Even in the heels you borrowed from y/f/n, he still towers over you, his chin resting on top of your head.

“You look...” Fred trails off, trying to find the words to describe the sight in front of him. Heavenly, goddess like, like he might just skip the date party and get down on one knee. “...incredible.”

You muster up whatever confidence you have in the midst of your imposing anxiety to give him a somewhat composed reply. “You don’t look half bad yourself, Weasley.”

That heart-melting, mind-scrambling smile returns to his lips before the four of you begin walking what to the beta house. Fred keeps his hand on the small of your back the entire walk, desperately trying to keep you close to him.

The ungodly amount of alcohol you consume at the pregame seems to overtake any remaining worries in your body. Fred never leaves your side, as if you’re already cuffed together before you even arrive at the function itself. You talk with George and Oliver again, and meet some of Fred’s other fraternity brothers like Lee Jordan and Theo Nott. They all seem to know who you are before you can even introduce yourself. It would be difficult to not know your face after watching fred gawk over your every instagram post. Any sort of reservations you once held about the beta boys melt away. They may be wildly intimidating to a stranger that passed them on the street, but watching the boys sing along to whatever song is blasting through the speaker while dancing like they’ve just learned to walk shows you that they’re like every other boy you’ve met.

The walk to the penthouse is short, but it seems to take forever to reign everyone in everyone once in a while. Fred is continuously checking up on you, grasping your hand or your waist, making sure you aren’t cold in your dress. The second you make it to the penthouse you’re immediately cuffed to the red haired boy and handed a comically large bottle of champagne and told the rules.

No unshackling until you’ve finished the bottle.

The party is far more cramped than the one in their backyard. You can’t bring yourself to care about the occasionally bumps from someone in the crowd or the growing smell of alcohol around you. You’re completely consumed by the angelic giant dancing with you. Even with the handcuffs, Fred’s fingers are still intertwined with yours as his other hand is holding you close to his body, roaming from your waist to your back and over your ass. Anytime you go to open the bottle you’d been given at the door to continue on feeding the buzzed state you’ve been in since you arrived at the beta house, Fred stops you. He still grabs you drinks from the makeshift bar and pulls you into the ‘shot room’ to send copious amounts of burning liquor down your throat, but the bottle stays off limits.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about you this month, y/n.” Fred hiccups his way through his confession as his lips are pressed close to your ear to make sure you hear every word he says over the loud music. “You do something to me.”

You know whatever you try to say will come out slurred, so you do the next best thing you can think of to tell him that you’re feeling the same way. You wrap your free hand behind his neck to press your lips to his. He immediately pulls you closer into him like he was a dying man grasping onto his only source of oxygen. Again, with your lips tangled in his, you’re suddenly the only two in the room. This moment is one you know will occupy your thoughts until the end of time. Held by the boy you’re completely enamored with as the world seems to stop around you. In every sense of the word, it is perfect.

When you pull away from each other to gasp for air, you move your lips to his ear.

“Why can’t I open the champagne?”

He leans back to look you in the eyes. The colored led lights changing on his face make him somehow even more breathtaking. That same smile appears on his lips before he leans down toward you again.

“I don’t want to finish it,” He yells over the bass of the speaker. “I want you to be stuck with me for as long as possible.”

Without a second thought, you pull your hands together to take the bottle from Fred’s free hand to pop the cork off the top before he can stop you. You bring the freshly opened champagne to your lips and take a swig before offering it over to him. His brows furrow in confusion, wondering if maybe you do want to be unchained from him.

“Freddie, if you think it’s going to take an empty bottle to get rid of me you’re wrong,” You try to shout, even in all the noise he hears you and his chest tightens. “Cuffed or not, I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

He doesn’t reply, he simply takes the bottle from your hand and begins to chugs the fizzy drink, spilling over his face slightly. Watching him fumble over the liquid you know isn’t easy to take in large amounts, you can’t help but laugh at the sight in front of you. The words of Kid Cudi’s Pursuit of Happiness flood yours ears and you pull yourself right back against Fred’s body. He pulls the bottle from his mouth and hands it back to you before bringing his hand to your cheek to meet your lips once again. You’re sure you’re perfectly done hair and makeup is a wreck by now but your mind is continuously pulled back to the impossible reality that you’re kissing Fred Weasley. Of all the girls in the party, on this campus that flock to his side any chance they get, you’re the one that Fred Weasley suddenly became nervous around. The one he spent days wracking his brain to craft the perfect image of himself to.

His hand entangles in your more than likely sweaty hair, keeping you held exactly in place against his body as his hips sway against yours. His lips move from yours to your jaw, placing quick and light kisses across the skin. Something that would under any circumstance feel sexually driven feels lighthearted, pulling numerous giggles from your lips. His hand wanders down to your side and in a swift motion begins to tickle you through you dress. You laugh only become louder as you try to keep from doubling over.

“Fred!” You squeal through the stream of giggles. “Freddie stop!”

When you begin to snort, Fred loses it. He can no longer contain his stoic face he had on when he began to tease you. You’re eventually pulled from the party, Freds hand clasping yours as he discards the empty bottle in some corner of the penthouse and brings you to be unchained from him by the pledges standing by the entrance. Even with the cuffs off your wrists, you’re still chained to him as if you’re forced to be. 

Before you can leave the apartment, Fred’s jacket is shrugged from his shoulders and placed around yours. You pull yours arms through the sleeves that are obviously too long for you. “What a gentleman.”

“Can’t have you catching a cold,” He replies, holding you by your waist as you walk back to the beta house. You’ve never seen it so empty or quiet, no one around with the exception of a few boys studying in their lounge. You return to the bedroom you were in only hours ago, it’s a mess from the pregame but you’re able to make out Fred’s bed from his brothers. Massive movie posters and stolen items from various sororities hanging on the walls around his bed, the Good Will Hunting poster above the bed with the blue comforter being a dead giveaway that it belonged to Fred. He told you it was his favorite one night.

“You don’t have to, but you’re welcome to crash here,” He asks, beginning unbutton his now stained dress shirt, revealing his toned abdomen. It’s a sight you don’t think you’ll ever quite get used to. You stop yourself from nearly drooling and shake yourself back to reality. “You can borrow some clothes, probably be pretty big on you but they’d be better than that dress.”

He already has a tee shirt and boxers held out for you. He’s secretly hoping you’re too tired to walk back to your own house so he can spend a little while longer with you. Taking the clothing from his hands, you begin to slip the straps of your dress down, signalling Fred to immediately turn around to give you some privacy. You mouth a quick oh my god to yourself before continuing the change into the boy’s clothing.

“You can turn around,” You tell him and his eyes meet yours once again. He gives you a quick once over before his lips break out in a smile. “What? What are you so smiley over?”

“I like you in my clothes.”

Immediately your heart begins to hammer in your chest as your cheeks begin to heat up. Exhaustion washes over you, the lack of sleep you got in the past week due to your constant overthinking finally catch up to you. After switching off the lights, he pulls back him dark comforter to let you slip into the warmth of his bed. As soon as your settled you turn on your side to face him. You’re both quiet, wordlessly taking in the sight of each other.

“I like you, y/n. A lot,” He finally breaks the silence. You can’t help but wonder if he’s drunker than he’s let on. He’s not, he knows exactly what he’s saying and means every word. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone before.”

You reach over to trace your finger up his defined cheek bones before resting your palm on the side of his face. His arm is lazily slung over your waist, absentmindedly keeping you close to him. You lean in further, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“I like you, Freddie, more than you know,” You confess. Your heart has never felt more full, you’re sure this whole month has been a dream and every second you’re terrified to wake up without even knowing Fred Weasley like you do now. “Thank you for taking me tonight.”

He softly chuckles, his hand moving up your body to stroke through your hair. Even in the dark you can see his bright smile, you’re new favorite sight. “I should be the one thanking you,” He tells you. “You have no idea how nervous I was that you wouldn’t come.”

You continue to shift closer to him, trying to expel the practically nonexistent space between the two of you. You nestle your face into the crook of his neck, finding his steady pulse quite calming. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Freddie.”

“I like it when you call me Freddie.”

You hum a response, suddenly becoming too tired to even speak. The warmth of his body radiating against yours mixed with the rhythm of his heartbeat lull you further into a deep sleep. His arms return to being wrapped around your waist, drinking in this moment and silently praying in would last forever. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head before whispering, “Goodnight, y/n.”

Hours later George, Lee and Oliver stumble into the room, all with slices of pizza from the late night shop down the street and are met with the sight of you and Fred tangled in the sheets, light snores coming from the red haired boy. They wish they could find something about the moment that they would tease him about later, but they come up short. The image laid out in front of them looks like it was taken straight from a movie.

Needless to say your constant thoughts of the beta boy are soon replaced by his presence anywhere and everywhere you go. You aren’t sure of many things in life, but you’re certain that he was made for you and you for him.

tags:

@justmesadgirl @greyspilot @sunflowerdarlingx

[hopetofantasy]

Culture, parallels & meta - S3 E2

Zaterdag 10:21

That’s character: In this scene, they’re again establishing some of Robbe’s insecurities. We already know from previous seasons that he often feels like the third wheel, keeps to himself, lets people walk all over him or apologizes a lot, so that they don’t hate him or abandon him (like his dad did). But this scene takes it even further: he doesn’t want to be a burden. Not with stuff like his friend’s party mess, so he cleans up as early and fast as he can. Not with taking food that doesn’t belong to him, so he chooses to not eat anything instead. 

Perfect parallel: Zoë mentioning “Especially the pasta” in this season, because Milan stole her pasta at the beginning of hers.

Surprise bitch, guess who? Milan’s one-nightstand appears to be ‘Georgy Chtchevaev’, a close friend of Jonathan Michiels (Viktor) and other cast members. Small, small world.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe’s expression at the end reveals how he longs for something like Milan has, but then realizes he might never have/want that. (Internalized homophobia is a bitch, y’all!)

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The guy pulls out strawberry yoghurt from ‘Colruyt’ out of an almost empty fridge along with a spoon, from the cutlery drawer. Robbe’s gaze keeps lingering a tad too long on the half naked boy in their kitchen.

°

Zaterdag 14:43

C is for culture: 

“Hey, I’m working here” - Teens are allowed to get a student job, as long as they’re at least 15 years old and completed the first two years of high school. The rules around how often they may work, has changed a lot during the last decade. However, nowadays, they’re allowed to work at a lower social security tariff as long as they don’t go over 475 working hours per year. Otherwise, they’ll have to pay the normal amount or even taxes if they surpass a certain income limit.

“No, I was just shopping” - C&A (Clemens & August Brenninkmeijer) is a Dutch chain store of origin with approx. 1,500 stores in Europe. They mostly attract older generations, as their style is seen as a bit old-fashioned and classic. That’s why their popularity significantly dropped in recent years, causing closures in some cities. - A smart move of putting product placement in a youth tv series.

Perfect parallel: 

Robbe pulling a t-shirt off the rack to get Noor’s attention in this episode, him using the same tactic with a sweater in the last episode.

Noor sitting on a reluctant Robbe’s lap to kiss him here, Robbe happily straddling Sander to kiss and talk later on.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe again faking that he likes Noor’s sexual advances.

Lost in translation: Robbe’s mom texting him “Ziet ge mij niet graag?”, which could literally be interpreted as “Don’t you want to see me?”, but in this context it actually means “Don’t you love me anymore?”.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: In case you didn’t catch it, Robbe is making a double joke with the t-shirt - saying that Noor is sexy as well as repeating the song on the store radio. Jana’s look at a disheveled Noor reveals that she knew Robbe wasn’t just ‘trying something on’.

Bonus: This season uses a lot of mirrors to reflect Robbe’s emotions and inner turmoil. Even his relationships with Noor and Sander are mirrored within the season itself: he never liked what Noor did for him (waiting outside the school, making out in public, going next level) and he was amazed at Sander doing the same. Mirrors are the perfect way of showing how Robbe has two faces: his ‘straight’ public persona and his struggling inner ‘gay’ self.

°

Zondag 19:59

That’s character: Zoë’s mom behavior is at full force here. When she spots her friends, roommates or boyfriend in difficult situations, she jumps to the opportunity to make them feel better. She instantly defends them, provides a shoulder to cry on, gives advice, feeds them when needed, tries to figure out what they’re feeling, ... Sometimes giving some tough loving too. Zoë just has that caring nature of her own. This probably stems from the fact that she missed out on parental figures and wants to feel needed as a compensation.

Perfect parallel:

Symbolism! Robbe walking away from his mom’s room in a cold-looking hallway, because he’s not comfortable (yet) with the situation. And him walking towards Sander’s room in a warmly lit hallway, since he’s at peace with what’s happening with his love.

Zoë asking Milan if he’s “Playing hard to get?” in this situation, Milan asking Robbe if his clothes say “Hard to get or playing hard to get?” later.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe analyses what Milan is doing with his partner, not really sure how to feel about it.

Nod to the OG: Zoë stating “The only thing you can do now is just be there for her and yes, that you have to wait”, sounds oddly familiar to the minute-for-minute speech by Sonja.

Funny coincidence: Milan making out heavily with his boy in front of Robbe and his salad, might look like a nod to the ‘Right in front of my salad’ meme.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Robbe’s other (thicker) coat is hanging on a hook in the hallway. Senne’s “If I had have known that, I would have tried harder” indicates that he probably had to retake a year in high school, because otherwise he’d been a student in uni earlier on. 

°

Maandag 16:27

C is for culture: “Kwak en Boemel kwamen binnen” (= “Kwak and Boemel entered”) - Robbe is referring to two side characters in the Belgian comic books ‘Jommeke’, who are homeless, lowlife criminals. The main protagonist in the series is the 11-year-old boy ‘Jommeke’. He is clever, honest, brave, loves adventure and is recognizable by his distinct blonde bowl cut. It’s one of the best-selling strips in Flanders, besides ‘Suske and Wiske’. 

Perfect parallel: Jens’ first time suggesting toothpaste to jerk off happens here in S3, but he repeats it again during wtFOCKDOWN. 

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: The boys questioning why Robbe didn’t go all-the-way with Noor yet.

Lost in translation: Noor saying “Is dat een eik? Want ik zie veel eikels hier!” has completely lost its meaning when translated. ‘Eikels’ means ‘acorns’, which come from the ‘eik’ (= ‘oak tree’). But ‘eikels’ also means ‘assholes’. That’s why she’s pointing out the oak tree, to diss the boys that they’re actually ‘eikels’. 

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Again, the very subtle hint at the beginning that Sander was at the skatepark - checking Robbe out. Robbe pulls the middle finger at the boys hollering. His skateboard has a ‘World Industries’ sticker on it. 

°

Dinsdag 14:56

Perfect parallel: 

Robbe arguing “A whole weekend on a trip with people you don’t know?” against Noor coming along in this episode, his flirty affirmative answer to Sander’s “Like a weekend trip with strangers, right?” in the next.

Amber and her match making skills again! First, she tried to set herself up with Senne in S1, then Jana and Zoë with Max in S2, now Luca with Aaron in S3. 

Lost in translation: “Ik denk niet dat ze daar goesting voor heeft” - ‘Goesting’ is a typical Flemish word for anything that has to do with desire, preference or willingness to do something in any context (work, food, activities, sex, ...). That’s why Aaron answers him with “I had a different impression on Friday”, taking the “I don’t think she has ‘goesting’” in a very sexual way.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: The real reason why he doesn’t want Noor to join the trip, is him not wanting to fake his attraction to her. Except Robbe isn’t willing to admit that to himself yet.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Luca has braces!

°

Woensdag 12:21

Perfect parallel: Noor’s “And then you haven’t even seen the men yet” as a rebuttal to Moyo’s comments about art school girls in this episode, Robbe meeting the beautiful art boy Sander in the next. 

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe just doesn’t see the appeal in watching women dance, since he’s not attracted to them. But the guys don’t get why he says ‘no’ to the recital.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Noor is greeting Britt with a hug in the background. Moyo kisses the dance recital flyer right before going outside. 

°

Donderdag 07:21

C is for culture: Robbe is making a sandwich with choco spread and speculaas cookies. ‘Speculaas’ (’Biscoff' in English) is a spiced shortcrust biscuit with origins in the Netherlands and Belgium. It’s typically baked for the ‘Sinterklaas’ and Christmas celebrations. Though, it can be eaten as a treat to accompany coffee, thee or ice-cream as well. 

Perfect parallel: 

Zoë saying “I think you’re not used to eating healthy” earlier this episode and Robbe making sweet sandwich at the breakfast table, confirming her statement here.

Milan taking revenge for Zoë on a sleeping Senne in this episode, him helping Robbe prank Moyo for being homophobic in a later one. 

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Milan’s breakfast is a banana. Senne pulling Zoë into their bed, without her spilling the coffee in her hand.

°

Vrijdag 18:02

Perfect parallel: Luca dissing Moyo’s sexist statements with “Do you actually have a girlfriend? ... I understand why” earlier, her saying “Moyo, then you better take a good look at it, because it will be the last time you’ll see that room” here.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Zoë and Jana hugging each other outside. Luca giving Moyo a clear wink after dissing him. Robbe didn’t expect Noor to sleep with him in the bunkbed, as his face falls when she says she will.

°

Vrijdag 22:04

C is for culture: "It isn’t because he isn’t here...” - The reason that Senne couldn’t join their trip to the seaside, is that he doesn’t have a fall break. Universities usually start their school year a week later than university colleges, so they’re the only ones who don’t have a vacation at the end of October.

Perfect parallel: Robbe looking at drunk Noor with a sad expression of “Why can’t I just love this girl?” in this episode, him looking at a sleepy Sander with a face filled with love in the last episode.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe trying to pry Noor’s hands away from his body.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Senne responds with “#metoo” as a joke, referencing the movement and him missing Zoë. Her face freezes for a few seconds to indicate that she is indeed jealous. Robbe’s little wink at Luca. 

[hermannsthumb]

"newt isn’t sleazy and is also too busy wrestling with the ethics of hitting on his hot TA if the guy is 5 months older than him to even notice" pleeeease write this

Anonymous asked: "When I Kissed the Teacher" AU ft professor newt and his hot 5-month-older TA hermann

and coincidentally, this older one

Anonymous asked: i just rewatched mamma mia 2 and was wondering if i could request a "when i kissed the teacher" newmann fic?? love your writing!!!!!!

Ask And Ye Shall Receive. sorry ive been MIA 😔 concept from this post I made earlier this month. idk what class newt teaches that hermann would be qualified to TA for but just like, decide for yourselves

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

Newt’s never been a list-making kind of guy, or--for that matter--even really a planning ahead kind of guy, but certain circumstances have thrown his life more out of wack than usual lately, and he kind of needs the stability the like of things like lists offer. Desperate times and everything. Or, at the very least, Newt is desperate. 

So Newt plans, and plots, and deliberates, and he even agonizes a little, but most of all, he makes a list.

On one half of the page, he writes pros. On the other, he writes cons. On top, he writes--what else?--Hermann.

The problem started in late August. Newt knew for months he was going to be assigned a teaching assistant come that semester--it was him, after all, who’d suggested it to the dean in the first place--but the Hermann Gottlieb of extensive, impressive, overachieving CV and overly-former cover letter was a far cry from Hermann Gottlieb in the flesh. Newt expected a dork, frankly. Someone too socially awkward to feel brave enough to thank someone for holding a door open for him. He expected a PhD student so eager to please he’d cater to Newt’s every whim, whether it was grading horrendous freshman lab reports or fetching him a sandwich from the commissary between class sections. 

They met for the first time at the campus coffee shop. Hermann was dressed in an oversized pair of slacks, a threadbare green sweatervest, and honest-to-God saddle shoes; the buttons of his Oxford were done up all the way, from the collar to the cuffs, and an ornate cane was settled against his thigh. His haircut was tragic. “Dr. Geiszler,” he said, all clipped and English, and held his hand out to Newt. “Hermann Gottlieb. It is a great pleasure to meet you. I’m an admirer of your work.”

"Sup,” Newt said, and tried to bump their fists together.

Newt knew he was in deep shit then. It wasn’t just because Hermann was gorgeous (which he was, in a sort of weird, frumpy, ripped-outta-1945 way), or that the scowl he proceeded to level Newt with made his soul wither and his heart race a little bit too fast, but both of those things in conjunction with a big one: Newt was, and is, so fucking love-starved. It’s an unfortunate byproduct of being made a professor when he was as young as he was and completing a PhD before he completed puberty. His early twenties should’ve been spent dyeing his hair terrible colors and adding to his already impressive tattoo collection and having questionable hookups with other young twentysomethings; unfortunately, the only young twentysomethings Newt ever seems to come across are his students, and he has a very strict code of ethics. Not to mention it wasn’t like he was getting any action before that as a weird, gangly teenager with peers several years his senior. He was bound to latch onto the first genius hottie who crossed his path who wasn’t trying to flirt their way into bumping that B- to a B+. And better yet, Hermann is five whole months his senior!

The shit only got deeper when the semester started. No, Hermann was not the sort to fetch Newt sandwiches, or coffee, or Aspirin from his office, nor was he the sort to handle the dreaded lab reports (at least not unless Newt handled them with him), and he definitely wasn’t eager to please. Newt, anyway. If anything the opposite was true: he seemed to actively derive enjoyment from undermining Newt at every turn.

“Wrong,” he’d mutter during class if Newt screwed something up in a lecture, or “No, Geiszler, you’re doing it wrong again,” or “How in the blazes did you get three bloody PhDs when you can’t even do simple addition?” and snatch Newt’s dry erase marker away to scrawl his own answers on the whiteboard. It was less like having a TA and more like having...well, a bitchy, annoying co-teacher. Or, God help Newt, a colleague. And boy, did he wave those five months over Newt’s head like a fucking flag. Newt was immature; inexperienced; clearly not as serious about his studies--his completed studies--as Hermann. Meanwhile Newt’s class (bright young twenty somethings, taller than Newt, cooler than Newt, with more friends than Newt) would giggle and snicker, and Hermann would look smug.

It drove Newt fucking batty.

It also made him, like, super turned on.

The two can co-exist. Apparently. Hermann Gottlieb is already helping Newt discover new and existing concepts; what a fucking excellent TA he is. Someone give that man a raise.

So Newt draws up a list, and he writes Pros, and he writes Cons, and he writes Hermann. The pros are regrettably easy to come up with, because Hermann is Hermann, and (bitchiness and undermining of Newt aside) it’s unfair how many he has. Hot. Stupid sexy accent. Stupidly smart. This is crossed out and replaced with so smart he makes me feel stupid (in a good way), because it seems like an important distinction. Glasses on chain. Mysterious. (In a tall, dark, and handsome way. Sort of. Average height--which is tall to Newt, pale, and handsome. He still scowls more than he talks, which makes him feel mysterious. In a Bronte sort of way. Newt can picture Hermann drawing a billowing cloak around his shoulders and stalking some desolate moor in the moonlight, though in this case maybe’s more of a puffy parka than a cloak.) In tiniest font of all is makes me laugh, because Hermann does, goddamn it, with his snide asides and cutting remarks and sarcasm, often not even directed at Newt when it’s just the two of them alone in Newt’s office at night.

The placement of “is my TA” on the chart is acting as a particular annoyance to Newt, entirely on account of the fact that he can think of several pros and cons for that as well, and he’s not sure whether to nestle it between dark eyelashes and once called me a moron in front of my class and I got a hard-on or beneath sweaters smell like sweat and mothballs, has annoying tic of clearing throat when lost in thought, and the dick wins 86% of our arguments. Sexy forbidden fling. Abuse of power. Is older than me so it's not as weird as it could be? I’m his boss. The school’s paying Hermann though, not Newt, and it’s not like he’s going to scurry off to the dean and demand Hermann’s funding slashed if Hermann turns him down (which he’d most likely do). But it still feels like a breach of ethics.

On the other hand, Hermann is exactly the sort of guy he’d try to pick up at a bar if he still did things like that. (Tenure, rather than giving Newt breathing space to kick back and relax a little, has only increased his obsession with his work, and now when he gets a Friday night free to himself he mostly switches crap on the TV and falls asleep with his cat on the couch.) It’s about the experience, the impossible task of seducing someone who--by all accounts--is too straight-laced and tight-buttoned to indulge in something that debase. They were always the best in bed. Tension, Newt knows, has to snap at some point.

He’d like to wrap Hermann’s personal piano wire around his thumb and bang away at the keys until it snaps, too. Ethics, Newt thinks (folding up the list and stuffing it out of sight), his ass.

Newt sacrifices a Friday night with his cat and Unsolved Mysteries in favor of working on a solution to his Hermann Problem. Swamped with work, he tells Hermann over the phone, it fucking sucks, dude, I could really use your help in my office, and Hermann grumbles, and snaps that Newt should learn to be better prepared for his own damn classes, but declares he’ll be on campus in half an hour and that Newt will be ordering him takeaway for dinner as an apology.

The door swings open at half past five. Hermann is bundled in that heavy parka and scarf (which, even for a Boston November, still looks a little too warm), and his hair is damp. “Is it raining?” Newt says, perhaps stupidly, because there’s not a single droplet of water anywhere else on Hermann’s body.

Hermann makes a face at him and pushes the door shut with his cane. “No,” he says, tersely.

“Then why...” Newt touches his own hair.

“I was taking a bloody bath,” Hermann snaps. “I don’t work on Fridays, as you well know, Newton.”

The use of his full first name stings Newt oddly even as the notion of Hermann luxuriating in a bathtub excites him. “That’s Dr. Geiszler,” Newt snaps back, because goddamn it, he’s Hermann’s boss, he deserves respect, and then mentally adds a small, depressing tally to the Cons half of the board. Ethics, ethics. 

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Dr. Geiszler,” Hermann says. He throws his scarf and coat viciously at the small couch in the corner of Newt’s office, then takes his usual seat across from Newt. “Well? Where are those papers it’s so crucial we grade?”

Hermann in a bathtub, Newt thinks. Hermann naked. Papers, Newt thinks. “Papers,” Newt says, and he shoves a stack at Hermann with twice as much force as he means to, causing several to flutter to the ground. “We need...to grade them,” he says. Hermann naked, in a bathtub, maybe some candles lit around him, some nice music on, daydreaming about that wretched professor he works for. Damn it. “I have a pen,” he says. “To grade.”

“What on earth are you saying?” Hermann says. “Be quiet. I can’t concentrate with your abominable prattling on.” Then he mumbles something that sounds like incessant, rips the top paper off the stack, and begins to slash at it in red ink. He doesn’t bother gathering the two from the ground.

Why did Newt invite him here, again?

Oh, right. He pushes his glasses up his nose and feigns casualness, pulling out another paper for himself to grade. “A bath,” he says. “Just to, uh, relax? Or...?”

Hermann narrows his eyes. “Or?”

Newt shrugs. “It’s Friday. Were you getting ready for a date or something?”

This time, Hermann’s mouth twists down into a frown. Almost suspicious. “Why do you care?” he says.

“I don’t,” Newt says quickly. “Just making small talk.” God, he could picture some stud of a computer science PhD candidate winning Hermann over with techno babble--or maybe one of his fellow students, ugh, maybe they made a study group together that meets Friday nights, and Hermann was getting all gussied up, goddamn handsome astrophysics grad students--

“I was relaxing,” Hermann says. “You must be aware at this point you cause me a great deal of stress, Dr. Geiszler, on a daily basis.”

“Oh,” Newt says.

He gives up on the small talk after that. Hermann’s promised takeout arrives--a small carton of pad thai--as does Newt’s--a large carton of the spiciest thing they had on the menu--and they eat in silence. They have about three-quarters of the papers to go when Hermann suddenly sits back in his seat with a groan and rubs at his eyes under his granny glasses. “Bugger,” he says. “I can’t fathom this one for the life of me. I’m too tired.”

“It’s getting kinda late,” Newt agrees. “Maybe we should--”

“It’s not that,” Hermann says. “I had a glass of wine earlier, and--oh, it doesn’t matter. Your students need to learn how to write in a way that’s actually bloody legible--it’s like chicken scratch.”

Newt hops up and leans over his shoulder, squinting down at the page. Hermann’s hair smells nice, like something floral, and his skin has a small hint of what could almost be cologne. Why is Hermann wearing cologne? “Okay, let me see it,” Newt says, struggling to keep from getting lightheaded at the close proximity to Hermann. “I’m used to that kind of shit.”

“No,” Hermann says, drawing the paper close to his chest. “I am perfectly capable of managing it on my own.”

“Dude,” Newt says, “let me look at it, seriously. Hermann--”

He manages to tug it away from him. The handwriting is pretty bad, but the math seems to be worse. “Didn’t they do the readings?” Newt mutters under his breath. “That’s not even the right equation for the diameter. I gave them a cheat sheet, man.” They’re junior year engineering students--they should know this shit.

“I know what the equation is,” Hermann snaps. “I can grade it on my own. Give it back.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t know,” Newt says, “I said this kid--”

“It’s the radius squared--”

“Hermann, dude,” Newt says, “I know you’re--”

And that’s when Hermann grabs him by his skinny tie and kisses him, hard. 

They stare at each other afterwards. Hermann’s eyes are as wide as saucers; his mouth is hanging open. Newt’s tie slips from his fingers, which then fall limp to his lap. “Holy shit,” Newt squeaks.

Hermann is gone with a swish of his parka and a loud clack of his cane. And with a stack of papers Newt still has to somehow get through. Figures.

Their next few classes together are subdued. Hermann doesn’t interject any of his biting commentary or corrections, or even offer critiques of Newt’s lack of professionalism (when in the past his skinny jeans were such an easy target), and when the period is over, he practically sprints from the classroom before he and Newt can be alone together for even a second. It’s fine by Newt. Whatever. Maybe Hermann can get over it over Thanksgiving break, and Newt can try to get over the memory of Hermann’s strong fingers tugging him down, Hermann’s floral shampoo, Hermann’s chapped, wide lips against his, the little grunt of shock Hermann made as he did it, like he couldn’t believe his own audacity...

It’s not likely.

It’s December, the last week before finals, and Newt’s in his office bundled up in a sweatshirt (because the heat never seems to fucking work in here), revising a draft of an exam, and dreading the thought of trudging home in the snow, when there’s suddenly a knock at his door. Anticipating some overeager freshman here outside of office hours, he doesn’t look up as he says “Come in.”

A familiar clearing of a throat.

Newt shoots straight up to his feet. He knocks a mug of coffee to the floor in the process. “Hermann,” he says. “Uh. Hi. What--what are you doing here?”

Hermann shuts the door behind him, then takes a careful step forward. He’s back in his big dumb coat and big long scarf. “I thought I ought to tell you myself first,” he says, primly. “I’ve submitted a request to the dean to be reassigned to another professor next semester. Our research interests are far more in line, and I don’t imagine our personalities shall clash as much.”

“Oh,” Newt says, pretending his heart isn't sinking in his chest like a hunk of lead. Was he that bad of a kisser? He feels like he deserves a second shot at it--he wasn’t ready last time, you know, he bets he’d really wow Hermann if he had a fair heads up. “Are.. are those the only reasons why?”

“No,” Hermann admits. “They’re not.”

He crosses the room, and corners Newt against his desk before Newt even realizes what’s happening. “They’re not,” he says again, then adds in a murmur (lifting one hand to brush his fingers against Newt’s hair), “Dr. Geiszler.”

Neither of them talk much, after that.

[kimberly-spirits13]

Right Hand Man (Loyal to the End) Pt. 7

Pairing: Damian Wayne x reader

Synopsis: You were like Talia’s daughter. The only thing was that you weren’t and instead, you had grown up in the foster care system and at a young age were taken by and personally trained by Talia. Along the way, you meet Damian and the two of you start to work side by side and eventually, after some time become closer and closer. However, when disaster in the league strikes, you face balancing an old, forgotten life as a normal child and the burden of right hand to the demon heir.

Note: I know that this is long and that there are a good number of time skips, but I didn’t want to make this into a series and just wanted it as a long fic because .... well because I can lol

Also, I didn’t want to have Damian so young in this so just go with it. I’m thinking maybe early 15 or almost 16 at the most. Idk I just don’t like writing for young Dami.

Warnings: mentions of murder, blood, brief mentions of torture but not for long

Word Count:1511

Masterlist for Series

From the day that you had collapsed, it had been a week. You could tell that the few weeks you had been at the manor had done some good with trust between all parties. Even Bruce was becoming more and more tolerable. You had met Brown who was exceedingly excited to meet you seeing as there would be another girl to level the boys when Batwoman wasn’t around. You and Damian both had started your mandatory six months of training before you could patrol which was going off very well on your end. And now, you were sitting in the living room scrolling through your phone as Damian sat next to you pretty much doing the same. There was suddenly the looming of another presence in the room which caused the two of you to look up.

“I have to inform you two of a gala that I am holding to raise funds for the Gotham City Orphanage. I’m introducing the two of you then to the public, Y/N, I will not be formally adopting you at your own request but you will be included as a family friend.” Bruce explained, “The gala is Friday, starting at 6:30pm. Clothing arrangements will be made and if you have any questions, you may ask one of the boys, Alfred, the girls, or myself at any time.”

Damian merely nodded and watched you fiddle with a golden chain around your neck. He had seen it before but had never questioned it. You always seemed to avoid showing it off at all. When Bruce left though, he asked you about it.

“Is that a new necklace?” He questioned.

“Uh, it’s from my mother and father.” You answered, “Talia let me keep it. I don’t really know why though. It’s kind of like my good luck charm as strange and naïve as that might seem to you.” You pulled from under your shirt to revel a gold chain with a diamond crescent moon and star pendent, “I don’t remember it well, however, I just remember my parents giving to me. The engraving on the back is a bit corny.”

You flipped the pendent over to show a small message relaying that they loved you to the moon and stars. You rolled your eyes a bit at the message but didn’t deny it made you feel closer to them in some way.

“It is very beautiful.” He commented, “You never wore it out. I hardly remember seeing you with it at all.”

“That’s because I always wore it under my suit. I didn’t want it to be stolen under any costs.”

“I’d be surprised of any fool tried.” Damian said making you chuckle.

“I wouldn’t, however I just wouldn’t want to be the one that stole something from me.”

After some time, you had gotten up to make arrangements for shopping with Brown and Gordon. It was important to have their input on what you decided to wear since they have been to galas before and you have not. This time, you were going to a different mall with higher end stores. This was where they swore you would find an outfit to wear. You didn’t doubt them, however you were dubious of whether or not you’d like anything truly.

_______________________________________________________________________

You were sitting at the vanity that was in your bathroom getting ready for the gala along with Brown and Gordon who were at the sink doing their own makeup. You didn’t want to wear any makeup, instead under their request opting for only some mascara. Even with that, you felt entirely different. Stephanie offered to do your eyeshadow but you declined seeing as you didn’t want to look ten years older than you already were. You told her that maybe next time you’d consider but today you just wanted to get a feel for how things worked as well as be as comfortable as possible. She understood what you meant.

_______________________________________________________________________

        You and Damian didn’t leave each other side the entire night. Bruce introduced the two of you to everyone there and the prospect of talking to all the people was exhausting and by the end of the night, you were getting anxious to leave. Damian noticed you fiddling with your ring and looking for the nearest exit. That’s when Bruce brought you and Damian over to another man covered head to toe in garments that you thoughts to be more than your entire life over two times. The man smiled at the three of you walking over and loudly greeted your party. You smiled some and shook his hand, introducing yourself but not before getting a strong whiff of something that smelled like the drug they used to use on you in the league. Looking panicked, you searched for either an exit or a bathroom.

        “It was lovely to meet you, excuse me.” You said quickly making your escape to the bathroom and into a stall where you immediately started throwing up.

        Damian came in after you quickly knowing that he wasn’t technically supposed to be in there. He locked the bathroom door and went to your stall before knocking.

        “Y/N.. are you in need of assistance?” He asked.

        There wasn’t an answer from your end, instead he just heard faint sniffling which caused him to pick the lock of the stall and come inside. He hugged you from behind and held your hair back if you were sick again, the whole time knowing what caused your reaction. Bruce would have to not invite this person again if you were ever coming to a gala again.

        “I’m sorry... I just can’t-“

        “N/N, you don’t have to apologize, you had no idea or preparation for what happened.” Damian said braiding your hair back, “I’ll get you into the car without anyone seeing and you can go to sleep.”

        You mumbled an agreement and Damian texted Bruce that he was getting Pennyworth to bring the car to the back. Damian picked you up bridal style and carried you outside and into the backseat where you laid your head in his lap the entire ride. When you got showered and asleep, he stayed since he knew that you’d be having terrible nightmares all night.

_______________________________________________________________________

        You woke up the next morning with sunlight streaming in through the curtains in one of your oversized nightshirts that you had gotten with Gordon instead of some dress and heals. Damian was next to you already awake running his fingers through your hair. He immediately stopped when you awoke and sat up.

        “How did you sleep last night?” He asked, “After everything I mean.”

        “Fine... thank you.” You answered huddling under the covers some like you were almost trying to hide, “About last night, I don’t know what came over me. It was a mistake.”

        “You don’t have to take responsibility for this one Y/N. I remember what happened at the league and I know for certain that you do. No one else found out about what happened, I know you take those kinds of things hard.”

        “I appreciate it a lot Damian.” You didn’t really know what to say next but Damian started again.

        “Y/N, I want you to tell me when something like that is happening. We’re meant to protect each other, not just you to me. I c-care about you more than anyone else, we’ve known each other since we were children. I don’t want anything happening to you for the sake of reputation.”

        “I understand that.” You said still thinking about the last part he said, “I care about you too. I-I wouldn’t want to lose you either of anything like that.”

        At that point you kind of wanted to just disappear. While you were typically a lot better at words than Damian ever was, today it just seemed harder. You glanced at him for a second to see him blushing. Thinking you said too much, you started to climb out of the bed to bolt for the bathroom to take a long shower.

        “Wait, Y/N.” Damian grabbed your wrist, “I have to say this, just from what’s been happening between us recently-“

        “Damian you’re killing me with this. I like you a lot, do you like me?”

        He looked almost embarrassed with the suddenness of your question. While he was getting to that point, he wasn’t expecting you to be so forward to it.

        “I do love you, a lot.” He said.

        “Well damn it demon, kiss me finally!”

        He chuckled some and did what you said, 15 years of shared trauma and memories attached to the few long seconds it happened.

        “I’ve actually been waiting on that for years beloved.” Damian informed you.

        ���So, my name is beloved now?” You commented snickering some at his comment

        “It is.” He nodded, “But, do you want to keep this secret for now?”

        “Absolutely. Only if you’re in for it though.”

        “I was actually hoping you’d say that.” Damian answered.

        “Well my love, let the games begin.” You said getting out of bed and walking to get changed and grab coffee.

-

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Tag List-

@we-want-mini-mini​ @a-door-into-my-mind​ @idkmanicantenglish​ @queengeorgiaaa​ @lucy-roo​ @wolfiemichele​ @grey-water-colors​ @random-fandom-girl-24​ @crumpets-are-better-with-jam

[svt13roses]

Put A Little Love On Me

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Words: 4.6k

Summary: He was always looking out for you, even since that night. It just took a particularly bad night at the club to realize it.

Pairing: S.Coups x Reader

T/w: mentions of alcohol, swearing

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A/n: It’s Seungcheol day!!! This was originally supposed to be finished up and posted back in July but life got in the way. I hope Seungcheol has a good birthday and knows how much we really appreciate how great of a leader he really is. He deserves all the love ;u;

     The weekend scenes were starting to blend together into a mirage of too loud music, too many flashing lights, and too many bodies of people. It was a Friday, again. The weeks seem to fly by until Friday night, and in those few precious hours out, time seems to go by too fast while also being too slow. You can remember ordering some fancy drink to start the night, and you remember the stranger next to you saying the next round of drinks were on him. Somewhere in this mess, one round became two, and like a moment of realization you were out on the dance floor, lost in your own world. You didn’t care though, you knew all eyes were on you at this moment. This was your show, and you were the star every weekend.

     You didn’t know who you were performing for, you could put on the air of self-confidence and say you were doing this for yourself because you knew how good you looked and you knew you could probably have anyone you wanted tonight to bring home. However, there was a seed of thought being planted in your mind every time you partied the Friday night away. Could this be a show to prove that you weren’t hurt by him anymore? That you moved on from the shambles of what you could barely call a relationship? In the heat of the moment, none of those thoughts crossed your mind. 

     You broke out of your trance when you felt something cold dribble down your left shoulder. You could feel the sticky-sugary liquid slowly travel down your arm and onto your fingertips, the sensation made your skin crawl in the worst way. You whipped your head around trying to find who could have spilled the drink, but there were too many bodies pressed against each other making it nearly impossible to see who did or did not have a drink. Taking a breath, you maneuvered through the sea of people trying to get to the bathroom. You somehow managed to get to your destination without too much trouble, though walking took more concentration than it really should have. You made your way over to the sinks and grabbed a paper towel. You looked at yourself in the mirror, and you could finally see the stain along your arm. 

     “What the hell kind of drink could this have been?” You mumbled to yourself, seeing how it left a long purple streak down your arm. You managed to wipe off the streak, but you could still feel the stain it left behind, the stickiness making itself known with every movement of your arm. “Maybe this is just a sign that I should go home.. fuck. Whoever that asshole was should have at least apologized. If this happens again I swear this heel is going straight-” Your rant was interrupted by a group of girls who definitely were not aware of where they were at the current moment. The blinding fluorescent lights, the loud bass from the music outside, and the shrill cry of the girls became too much. It felt like all your senses were being attacked yet you couldn’t feel anything. You willed yourself to take a step, with each step feeling like you were chained to bricks. You thought you heard one of the girls cry “oh my god is she ok?” before you were met with the cold tile of the bathroom floor. 

      Pain shot through your right ankle and your head began to spin. Taking in your surroundings, you could see the group of girls beginning to crowd around you. You became overwhelmed by the lights and the scent of overpowering perfume. 

     “Should we like, get the bartender?”

     “Oh my god no! He’s a bartender, what good can a bartender do?”

     “Well, I dunno! I haven’t had some chick drop to the floor before!”

     “You can’t just call her some chick! She’s literally right in front of us!”

     “Well you guys are the ones talking like she’s not in front of us. Maybe I should call a… what’s it called again? The truck! The thing with the lights!! Weeoo weeoo!”

     “Oh my god you’re literally so dumb! It’s called an ambulance!”

     “Yeah!! That!! Should we call for one of those?”

     “Don’t call an ambulance, please. I’ll be ok.” You croaked out, beginning to stand. You knew that you probably should have just waited and asked for help. You knew that what you’re doing in the first place is irrational and probably stupid on your part. Coming out alone on the weekend was never a good idea, yet you did it anyway. Your friends had warned you to just stay home for once, a night in was never a bad idea. Of course, you didn’t listen. You craved the temporary escape from reality, where time was a fleeting illusion. This world, you were the star and he didn’t matter. Your past doesn’t matter; the petty arguments, the words that left incurable wounds in your heart, the actions that can’t be undone. It’s all in the past, and you need to accept the past. But instead of accepting, you only seemed to be running. 

     Little things reminded you of him everywhere you went. Little, insignificant details that really shouldn’t be a reminder but you couldn’t help seek them out. His favorite color on you was yellow, so you stopped wearing yellow. He always stopped by a coffee shop near your workplace in the mornings because he knew he would run into you there, you avoided that route entirely. He drank a certain kind of bottled water, you went out of your way to drink anything except that brand. He had told you, when things were still ok, that you would never be able to escape him. At the time, you had giggled thinking it was an endearing gesture, but now you couldn’t help but think that he had put a curse on you that day. 

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     It was a typical Friday night for Seungcheol: he had come home and relaxed for a while, began watching Netflix, and then the itching started. It wasn’t a physical itch, but an intuition of sorts that something was wrong, or something bad was going to happen eventually. He checked the time on his phone: 10:32. I wonder.. Ugh there really is no escaping you huh? Seungcheol chuckled to himself, making his way off the couch to get dressed up for the night ahead of him. Dressing up on a Friday night to head out and socialize wasn’t an unordinary occasion. However, no matter how nice he looked or how much he indulged in the flirtatious games of strangers, he always left just as he arrived. Not a hair out of place, not a button undone, no trace of alcohol to be found. He was a man of routine, and as such he always found himself at the same place every Friday. Seungcheol was very similar to you in that aspect, he did not like change. If things were fine the way they were, why fix it? You both were stubborn and were blindsighted to the small details around you. Small details, however, can build up. As Seungcheol put on the jacket that he wore that night, he was reminded of what truly happens when the small things get ignored for too long.

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A few months ago

     Seungcheol knew he messed up, but he knew that you were in the wrong too. However, you were both too stubborn to admit it. Tonight was supposed to be a date night, a rare event as of late. Seungcheol had gotten the notification on his calendar, but absentmindedly disregarded it while helping Jihoon in his studio. You also had a reminder go off, but your boss had you stay late at work. You could have gotten home in a timely manner for dinner, but one of your friends at work had also stayed late. You both had gotten caught up in a conversation and before you knew it, you both made your way to a fast food place for dinner to catch up. 

     Seuncheol had tried to rush home as soon as he could, not caring if some work was left to be completed tomorrow. When he arrived, you were at the kitchen table eating the remnants of whatever food you hadn’t finished at the restaurant. 

     “What the hell is this y/n?” He tossed his jacket onto the chair across from you. “Tonight was supposed to be a night for us two, why are you eating now? If you got hungry and couldn’t have waited, you could’ve at least texted me.”

     “Oh shit.. I completely forgot. I’m sorry Cheol, maybe next week?” You finished off your fries and put everything in the bag, making your way to the trash. Seungcheol grabbed your arm as you passed. 

     “No, we can’t do next week. Remember how busy I’m gonna be? And you even told me that you’re going on a business trip with your boss and a few coworkers to a conference next weekend. Did that suddenly change?” His voice began to rise. “Look I feel terrible for not being able to make it tonight but you’re acting like it’s no big deal. Don’t you care at all? Cause right now it seems like it’s some small thing that can be made up!” His grip on your arm began to tighten. The fast food bag dropped to the ground, long forgotten. 

     “Cheol your grip- please let go.”

     “We have to talk now or we’re never going to talk! I haven’t heard from you in days and we fucking live together y/n!” You could feel tears brimming, but you couldn’t tell if it was his tone, his grip, or both. 

     “Ok well communication’s a two-way street, isn’t it?” You slapped his hand with your free hand, effectively freeing you from his hold. “And don’t grab onto me like I’m some inanimate object, that fucking hurt! You act like I’m the problem when it’s you! I tried to reach out but I was always met with silence or some stupid two-word answer. This date night that we both forgot about? It was my idea because I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks. And guess what? I expected this to happen! Sure I got dinner but can I be the one to blame? You’re the one leaving me behind and coming back when you feel like it! I’m done being… whatever this is!” You screamed, tears falling freely. 

     “Oh don’t act like I’m the bad guy here. You’re not so saintly either when it comes to talking. I try to talk to you when I’m free but you’re always out with your friends-”

     “Because you’re not there for me!”

     “Let me finish. You got to talk without interruptions so now it’s my turn.” You huffed, crossing your arms. “Don’t act like that’s so hard to do. Or is it? Cause it seems like I can never get a word in these days! You knew I’ve been busy, and you knew I would be with Jihoon today so obviously things were going to go late. But honestly, at this point it seems like you would rather have me at work so you have an excuse to go out with your friends. Which, by the way, you never even update me on where you are so for all I know you could be hurt and I wouldn’t know-”

     “Of course you would know!”

     “How do you know that?” he shouted. “Do your friends even know my number? Hell, I don’t even know your friends! For all I know, you could be seeing someone behind my back and I wouldn’t even know! Maybe this ‘business conference’ is just a cover-up for some fancy trip between you and your boss, huh?”  You have never seen him so angry before, and the silence was the heaviest force you have ever felt.  Wiping your tears, you bit the inside of your cheek and let out a long sigh. 

     “I don’t even know what to say Cheol…” You whispered. “I thought you knew me better but I guess time apart can be a bitch. I won’t even question where those thoughts came from.” You chuckled bitterly and began to walk away.

     “Wait y/n no, that’s not what I meant-”

     “Clearly, Seungcheol, it is or else you wouldn’t have said it. When people are angry they say how they really feel. Guess I know now that my boyfriend thinks I’m some cheating whore or something.” You could feel yourself beginning to cry again. It didn’t help when he began to follow you, calling your name. You both ended up in your shared bedroom, you sitting down on the bed. He laid down and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. He secured you firmly into his hold, and you buried your face into his chest, letting out all the sobs that had been building up for months. Every insult you had wanted to call him came out in whimpers as your body shook from how hard you cried. You could feel Seungcheol begin to run his fingers through your hair, trying to calm you down in some way.  The two of you laid in bed for what seemed like hours, the tension still thick. Finally, he croaked out something you couldn’t hear. 

      “What was that?” you mumbled into his chest.

     “This isn’t us. This isn’t our relationship”

     “I don’t think I understand, Cheol.” You looked up at him. He let out a deep breath and sat up, you following suit. He gently cupped your cheeks and began wiping away the stray tears with his thumbs. 

     “Y/n, we’re not who we used to be. We’re not some love-struck couple stuck in our honeymoon phase. We’re not happy.” He gently kissed your forehead. “I think we need to end this here y/n. I hate seeing you hurt, and knowing I’m the one who caused you that pain.”

     “No, I understand. I feel the same way actually.” You moved his hands from your cheeks and held them. “I think we were both too scared to admit it. I mean, we were each other’s first loves, right? We didn’t want to lose something that precious. Besides, neither of us like change all that much.” Seungcheol smiled sadly. “But, I think you’re right. Let’s end this here before we hurt each other even more. I’m sorry for not being as open as I should have. I’ve felt unhappy for so long that I’ve tried to fill that void with my friends. Obviously you saw through that, but I should have known better. You can read me like an open book.” You hugged him tightly as if holding him close would make him stay any longer. 

     You both spent your final night together wrapped up in each other’s arms, pretending everything was okay for just those moments. And in those moments where everything was peaceful, with you and the rest of the world asleep, he felt a spark of love he hadn’t felt since he first fell in love with you. 

     “I guess this is goodbye isn’t it, sweetheart?”

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

     Seungcheol could feel the vibrations from the bass from outside the club. He probably shouldn’t be as familiar with this place as he is, but he justified his reasons for coming to himself. The breakup was just as hard for him as it was for you. However, he hadn’t expected you to be coping the same way as him: with copious amounts of alcohol. It was a complete coincidence that he saw you at this particular club a few weeks after he had moved out of the apartment. He had made sure to stay out of your way, not wanting to cause a possible scene. He couldn’t help but be curious as to who you were here with. When he had said he barely knew your friends, he wasn’t lying. As far as he could tell you were alone, lost in your own world on the dance floor. That first night, he stuck around a little longer than he planned, his eyes never leaving you. 

     He found himself in front of the same club the next week. He told himself that he had a really good time the previous week and wanted to come back, this time actually planning on getting drunk. However, his plans were ruined once he saw you at the bar. From where he was standing, he could see how uncomfortable you were. Seated next to you was a man who, in his opinion, was way too old to be in a club like this. He was sitting a little too close to his liking next to you, and you couldn’t seem to shake him off no matter how long you talked to him. Seungcheol took it upon himself to try and at least try and drive the man’s attention elsewhere. When the bartender came to take Seungcheol’s order, he asked the bartender to strike up a conversation with the older man. He may have also slid the bartender some extra tip money to make sure he actually got the man away from you. Ten minutes later, the bartender was still talking to the man and you had managed to slip away to the dance floor. 

     It became a habit for Seungcheol now, coming to the same club every Friday. Every time he would tell himself that it would be different, but each time he found himself looking out for you. If you seemed to have a little too much to drink that night, he would tip the bartender a little extra to make sure you got some water before going home for the night. If he noticed someone was making you uncomfortable at the bar, the bartender already knew to go and try to distract whoever was talking to you. Seuncheol was also there to see you walking out with whichever stranger you deemed fit to spend the night with. Is this really how they’re choosing to move on? He had asked himself on more than one occasion. He knew that you both had further discussed the end of the relationship, and had ended it on mutual terms. However, he couldn’t help but feel a little mad at himself every time he saw you leave with someone new. What did these people have that he didn’t? What weren’t you telling him while you two were still together?

     As time moved on and the weeks passed by, he slowly felt himself becoming comfortable with this routine. If he knew you were safe, he was happy. Jihoon had called him a creep multiple times for his behavior, and Seungcheol would retort right away “just because we’re not in love doesn’t mean I don’t still love them.” With this new routine, Seuncheol could feel himself slowly moving on from the past. Sure, it still stung, but now he finds comfort in the fact that for at least one night he knows you’ll be okay. Tonight, however, felt different. When he felt like something bad was going to happen, nine times out of ten something bad almost did happen. There have been multiple times where he’s had to save you from going home with someone who definitely had malicious intentions. He was hoping that tonight would not be one of those nights as he kept his eyes on you on the dance floor. Before he could stop it, he watched as someone accidentally spilled their drink on your arm. 

     “What the hell is wrong with people?” He muttered, making his way down the bar closer to the bathrooms, making sure you arrived safely. As time passed, he grew more and more worried. No one had left the bathroom you entered since he saw a group of girls go inside. Had he had some liquid courage coursing through his veins, he would have just barged into the bathroom by himself. Before he was about to ask the bartender if there was something he could possibly do, god knows the bartender knows him by now,  he saw the bathroom door swing open from the corner of his eye. He turned towards your direction, and he saw you shuffle across to the bar with a hand on your head and the gaggle of girls stumble behind you. He didn’t care at this point if you saw him, he couldn’t leave knowing something was wrong. Before you could catch the bartender’s attention, Cheol had called them over. 

      “Hey I know you’re probably tired of seeing my ass hanging around here every Friday night without even ordering anything, totally understandable. I need you to do a favor… again. That girl I’m always here for? I think something’s wrong. Give her a bag of ice for her head will you? And maybe call an ambulance if it seems bad enough?” He slid the bartender a few bills and made his way to the club’s entrance, texting Jihoon to come pick him up. Before exiting he took one last look towards the bar, and he saw you sitting on a stool with a paper towel and a bag of ice sitting gingerly on your head. With a sigh of relief, he made his way outside, the crisp air hitting his face. 

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

     After a long and tiring battle of insisting that you did not, in fact, need an ambulance and that your head is fine, with a little help standing up and getting steady, you made your way out of the bathroom. Your head was pounding from the music, and you knew right away that you needed to sit down as your vision began to slightly blur. Somehow you ended up at a barstool safely, and waiting in front of you was a bag of ice and a paper towel. 

     “Excuse me, sir!” you called out, not knowing whether your hoarse voice would reach the bartender’s ears. Luckily enough, the bartender turned your direction and walked over. 

     “What can I do for you tonight, miss?”

     “Uhh this bag of ice was sitting here and I’m not sure if this was from someone previously sitting here or not.” You explained, carefully fiddling with the bad. The ice hadn’t melted yet so it couldn’t have been here long. Before you could question it any further, you heard the bartender let out a chuckle.

     “Ma’am that bag is definitely for you. Someone must be real worried about you, I’ll say that much.” You carefully put the bag of ice on top of where you hit your head. You flinched slightly at the sudden temperature difference between the cold ice cubes versus the hot and humid club. 

     “Someone knew what happened in the bathroom?”

     “What the hell happened in the bathroom? You know what, I don’t wanna know. You seem to be talking fine so you don’t need an ambulance.”

     “Ok wait how can you say I don’t need an ambulance but then not know what happened-”

     “Look”, the bartender looked you in the eyes, “I don’t know what happened. All I know is the same dude has been coming by my bar for a few weeks now every Friday night. He doesn’t buy anything though. He does, however, always seem to have his eye out for you. Not in the creepy way like I’ve seen in the past though.” You blinked a few times before fully comprehending what the bartender just told you. Someone was looking out for you? You didn’t know anyone who would do such a thing, since your friends didn’t always join you on weekends. Maybe you caught someone’s eye the first night you came here? You sighed, resting your open hand against your cheek. The bartender looked at your confused face and smiled to himself. “He just left when you were stumbling out here. You might be able to catch him, I know I would. He’s a handsome fella; captivating eyes, nice cheeks, pretty lips. He’s not my type, but maybe he’s yours?” The bartender began wiping out a few glasses, walking away. 

     “He definitely does…” you trailed off, a burst of realization hitting you. If it’s who I think it is I’m going to shit myself. No, it’s just some pretty guy looking out for you, stop this wishful thinking. You set down the bag of ice and wrapped the paper towel around it. “Thank you so much for the ice, and for looking out for me!” You called you, practically running towards the entrance of the club. 

     The outside air hit you harder than you expected, helping you sober up even more after having the ice on your head. You desperately looked left and right, looking for any sign of who could have been the person helping you. Your eyes caught sight of a familiar car slowing down, as if it was coming to pick someone up. That looks like Jihoon’s car if I’m remembering correctly. Granted, I only rode in it a handful of times. You looked at where the car was headed, and that’s when you caught sight of a very familiar person. 

     “No.. it can’t be..” you whispered to yourself. “Aw fuck it, what have I got to lose?” You walked a few steps towards him. With a deep breath, you called out as best as your voice would allow. “Seungcheol!” You felt something warm against your cheeks, and after quickly wiping whatever it was away, you realized you were crying. You sniffled and called out one last time. “Seungcheol!”

     He turned to look at you. You didn’t know what to expect, nothing had really changed about him since you last saw him except for his hair color. Your eyes met his, and you became just as mesmerized as you did in the past. You didn’t realize you were staring until you noticed him moving. Seungcheol slowly made his way over to you, shouting at you presumed whoever was driving the car that he would only take a minute. He stopped in front of you, and you looked up at him. Up close you could see the small details in his facial features that weren’t there previously. His eyes were still beautiful, but they weren’t as bright as you remembered. The lines under his eyes looked a little darker, and his lips were slightly chapped. You felt something warm being put around your shoulders. You looked down and it was his jacket that he was wearing previously. 

     “Cheol I-” You stuttered out as he gently grabbed your shoulders.

     “Hey, stay safe will you? Don’t worry me too much and get home alright.” He gently patted your head and began walking back to the car. You were well aware at this point of the tears freely falling down your cheeks. You couldn’t help but let out a sob as you saw him give you one last smile and a small wave as he got into the car. As the car began to drive off, you began wondering how long he had been looking out for you and why he never chose to approach you. You felt your phone vibrate from your pocket, and you pulled it out. You chuckled as you saw who the message was from. 

     “I’ll open it some day, Cheol. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but I will when I think we’re both ready” you mumbled to yourself, opening up your contacts to call your friend to come pick you up. Your friend picked up after two rings. “Hey, I know you told me not to but I went out again. Can you come get me? I.. I saw someone and I need to tell you about it.”

[lady-wallace]

Whumptober Day 14: “Is Something Burning?” (Good Omens)

Day Fourteen: Is Something Burning

Prompts used: Branding, fire

Fandom: Good Omens

Read on Ao3

Read on FF.net

~~~~~~~~

It was a common misconception that fire didn't hurt demons.

Crowley wished that it was not, in fact, a misconception, especially now that he was facing down Hastur with a burning brand, held between two thick chains somewhere deep down in Hell.

It was even worse, this punishment, because Crowley still contested the fact that it had at all been his fault, what they were blaming him for. After all, how was he supposed to know the target he was supposed to be leading down the path to destruction would choose to do the right thing? Humans were just like that sometimes. You never could tell what they were going to do.

Demons, for the most part, didn't really seem to understand this.

Obviously.

"Come on, Hastur," Crowley pleaded, trying to keep his voice from showing just how nervous he really was. "You know I've learned my lesson. Is this really necessary?"

The demon smirked and it was not a pleasant sight. Crowley's heart sank.

"That's what you say, but I know that if I don't do something you'll be back at your little tricks again within a fortnight."

"No tricks!" Crowley protested, feeling the heat of the brand that was hovering ever closer to his face. "It was a one-time thing! I'll work harder at the tempting next time. I promise!"

"You've already had too many strikes for us to show leniency," Hastur told him firmly, but not without a certain amount of glee in his voice. "And really, I need to get my enjoyment somewhere."

"Of course you do," Crowley sighed wearily, resigning himself.

Sometimes, he really hated his job.

Another demon came over and grabbed Crowley by the hair, wrenching his head to one side to expose his neck.

Hastur grinned wickedly as he brought the brand of holy fire up to Crowley's face first, making sure he could see the red iron and feel the heat, then he slowly pressed it against the skin of his neck.

Crowley howled despite himself, and barely realized when Hastur had pulled it away. He slumped in his chains before he was released. Hastur patted his neck over the spot, causing Crowley to yelp again.

"Good boy. That will be a reminder for the next week, to do a better job next time."

Crowley pulled himself to his feet, biting his tongue against the pain and shuffled out.

He really, really hated Hell sometimes.

XXX

Aziraphale glanced over at Crowley while they stood in St. James, feeding the ducks. The demon looked a lot more miserable than usual. And the angel found it odd that he was wearing a turtleneck sweater and a scarf despite it being a rather mild day. Of course, Crowley was wont to get cold, but it was still unusual.

He was also rather dour, slinking along and not adding much to the conversation.

"Perhaps we should go back to my shop for something to drink," Aziraphale finally said, after realizing Crowley wasn't even listening to what he was saying for the last several minutes.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure."

"My dear, is something wrong?" Aziraphale asked as they started back to the Bentley.

"No," Crowley said a little too quickly.

Aziraphale pursed his lips together, but decided to drop it for now. He would find out eventually though, because this was not like Crowley at all and he was beginning to become worried.

By the time they got back to the shop, Aziraphale went to make tea, and when he came back to the back room with it, he found Crowley still in his coat and scarf.

"Crowley, you can relax, dear boy. If it's that cold in here, I'll turn the heater on."

Crowley looked a little sheepish, but at least unwound his scarf, though he left it draped around his shoulders.

Aziraphale set his cup down on the coffee table and sighed. He reached out to whisk Crowley's scarf off, as the demon made a noise of protest.

"Oi!"

But he cringed, flinching away, a hand fluttering to his neck, looking to be more in pain than annoyed.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale inquired, frowning now. "Whatever is the matter?"

"S'nothing," Crowley mumbled, reaching for the tea, but Aziraphale saw something peeking from under his collar as he leaned forward.

"Then what is this?" the angel demanded, reaching out to tug the collar down.

Crowley tried to shy away, but Aziraphale had already seen it.

It was obviously a burn, bright red against Crowley's pale skin, but what was more horrifying was that it seemed to be a brand, bearing the resemblance of a pitchfork—rather cliché, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

"Oh, Crowley!" Aziraphale gasped. "Whatever happened?"

"It's not your problem, angel," Crowley said wearily, leaning away and wincing as his collar scraped against the burn again.

"But it's obviously bothering you, and it looks like it hurts quite a bit. At least let me put something on it."

Crowley opened his mouth to protest but Aziraphale was already up, running to fetch a first-aid kit.

Ignoring Crowley's protests, he rolled his collar down and started to carefully clean the burn.

Crowley was silent through the whole thing, seeming almost embarrassed, or even mortified. Aziraphale took a deep breath before he spoke. "I know that this is some form of punishment," he said. "You don't have to tell me, but I am sorry."

"Ngk," Crowley muttered noncommittally.

"Truth be told, I didn't really know that fire could hurt demons," Aziraphale commented.

Crowley sighed. "It doesn't unless we want it to," he said. "We're immune to Hellfire unless it's part of a punishment. Then there's a special kind that can be used particularly to…teach a lesson."

Aziraphale pressed his lips together, angry despite himself. He knew a good bit about punishments himself. After all, Gabriel wasn't entirely the most forgiving angel to work under, but this seemed cruel.

"It will heal, right?" he asked, worried Crowley would bear the mark forever.

"Yes, it will be gone within a week," Crowley said. "But it won't heal at all before then."

"How horrid," Aziraphale said, even more angry.

"It is a punishment angel," he said, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. "It's not supposed to be nice."

"I know, but…still," Aziraphale said and huffed, pulling out a tube of burn cream and applying some to a swatch of gauze. "It's cruel."

"It's Hell."

And that was fair, he supposed.

Finally, Crowley bit his lip. "It wasn't even my fault. The guy, my target, he just decided to do the right thing. I had no control over it but my mission failed anyway."

"Oh, Crowley, I'm sorry."

"Honestly? I'm not. Not really. The guy wasn't cut out for it. And he did a good thing. I can't really hate him for it."

Aziraphale finished with the gauze and rolled Crowley's collar back over the spot carefully. "Well, perhaps some good came out of this then, despite everything."

"Yes, perhaps you're right." Crowley sighed and shifted. "Thanks, angel."

"Of course, dear," Aziraphale said. "Any time."

Though he really wished neither of them had to worry about punishment, he supposed that as long as they both continued to look after each other, they would be okay.