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mcrdvcks · 2 months ago

Text

— warm

summary: After Matt tells Angela to not worry about her uncle's notes about missing people and Track 61, she turns to you, a PI.

'cause i'm cool on my own but it's warmer in your arms

word count: 4k+ pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader notes: i had this idea when i first watched the episode 6 - what if it was you instead of angela who got kidnapped and the reason why matt becomes daredevil again? also, i got the title from ariana grande (i love the deluxe of eternal sunshine so muchhh). anyways, enjoy! <3 warnings/tags: angst, mentions of blood, murder, and violence (canon-typical), mention of death, no heather (sorry not sorry), slight pining?, confession(s)

“Angela!” You exclaimed, standing up from your desk to walk over to her. “What a surprise, what’re you doin’ here?”

Angela looked around your office—it was just a small room, but it was good enough for your PI business. She shakily spoke, “I need your help. Mr. Murdock won’t help me, but I thought you would—”

“Matt?” You cut in.

She moved to sit down at a chair, “my uncle was onto something. He was investigating something. All those kidnappings, he started to track them.”

You sat back down, tilting your head as you thought. “What did Matt say?”

Angela sighed, frustrated, and looked away. "He told me to go to the police. He said he’s just a lawyer, and that it wasn’t safe for me to get involved."

You bit your lip, nodding slowly. "Well, he’s not wrong. But then again, this city isn’t exactly known for safety. Can’t really blame you for trying to do something."

"I know." Angela leaned forward, determination shining through her worry. "That's why I came to you. Hector trusted you. He always said you were smart and good at your job—said you had better instincts than most."

You smiled softly. "Your uncle was always too generous." You tapped your fingers gently against the desk. "Do you have anything specific he was looking into?"

Angela handed you a worn notebook, filled with scribbles and notes. "He was tracking the missing people, see?" She flipped open to a marked page, pointing urgently. "All along the old Q line, near Track 61. He thought someone was using the tunnels to hide."

Your gaze flicked over the notes, eyebrows furrowing. "These tunnels have been closed off for years," you muttered thoughtfully. "You sure Hector didn’t mention anyone suspicious? Anything strange before—"

"No," Angela cut you off quietly, shaking her head. "Nothing. But he seemed nervous. He wasn't sleeping. He was different."

You leaned back, sighing deeply. "Alright," you finally said, glancing up to meet her eyes. She seemed nervous, maybe a little hesitant to let it go. You licked your lips before speaking. “How ‘bout this? You tell me and show me everything Hector knew about Track 61 and the missing people, but under no circumstances are you to go there. It could be dangerous.”

Angela relaxed slightly, relief evident in her eyes. "Deal."

You nodded and leaned forward, flipping through Hector's notebook again. "Did he say anything else? Any details at all?"

Angela frowned, thinking carefully. "He mentioned graffiti. Kept saying the murals were important, but he never said why."

You paused. "Graffiti? Like those creepy murals popping up?"

She nodded quickly. "Yeah, those. He thought they were connected."

"Alright," you murmured, your voice quieter now as you concentrated. "I'll see what I can dig up. In the meantime, promise me you'll keep your distance from all this."

"I promise." Angela stood up, gathering her things. She paused at the door, turning back to you. "Thank you, Y/N."

You smiled gently. "Be safe, okay?"

"I will." Angela left quietly, shutting the door behind her.

You took another glance at Hector’s messy notes and let out a long breath. Your instincts hummed in quiet unease. Murals, kidnappings, and Track 61—it all felt like trouble. Hector had good instincts, and yours were starting to kick in as well.

You grabbed your phone, scrolling until Matt’s number showed up. Your finger hovered, hesitating. The silence stretched, heavy with memories you’d both been avoiding.

You shook your head and pressed call anyway.

Matt picked up on the second ring, voice careful. “Y/N?”

“You have a visitor earlier?” you asked lightly, leaning back in your chair.

He sighed. “Angela.”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, twirling your pen between your fingers. “She came here after you told her no.”

“You didn’t agree to help her, did you?”

“I’m a PI, Matt, remember?” you countered. “Helping people’s kind of my whole thing.”

“Y/N—”

“She’s desperate. Hector was onto something important,” you interrupted gently. “And if she’s right about Track 61, people might be in serious danger.”

He was quiet a moment, clearly conflicted. “You shouldn’t go looking into this. It’s too risky.”

You smiled a little. “Almost sounds like you care, Murdock.”

“Of course I care,” he replied, a subtle softness creeping into his voice. “Listen, just... promise me you won’t go down there alone.”

You hesitated, eyes drifting back down to the notebook. “I can’t promise that.”

“Y/N.”

“Matt,” you echoed firmly. “I’m not gonna sit back and ignore this. But, if it makes you feel better, I promise to be careful. How’s that?”

He exhaled softly through the phone. “I guess it’ll have to do.”

A pause lingered, neither of you sure what else to say.

“Be careful,” he finally murmured, voice quiet and sincere.

You nodded softly, though he couldn’t see. “Always am.”

You hung up and stared at your phone for a long moment. Hector's notebook lay open in front of you, his messy handwriting hinting at hidden secrets and unseen dangers. You knew Matt meant well, but sitting idly by wasn't your style—especially when something felt so deeply wrong.

So you'd tread carefully, like you'd promised, but you wouldn't stop. Not until you found answers.

---

Angela was onto something with the murals. You peered at a clean-up crew who had been spraying at the paint for at least an hour.

It hadn’t come off.

The paint was stubbornly stuck to the brick wall, not even budging with a power washer or some kind of solvent. You stepped closer, crossing your arms as you observed the crew’s frustration.

“What’s it made of?” you called over the sound of machinery.

A sanitation worker glanced your way, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Hell if I know. Some sorta epoxy. We tried every solvent we've got, but it ain't goin' anywhere.”

Epoxy. That explained the resistance. You stepped closer still, examining the mural more carefully. It was unsettling—something about the swirling, abstract shapes felt hauntingly deliberate.

“You ever see anything like it?” you asked, turning to him again.

He shook his head grimly. “Never. Word is they're all over town now. The Mayor’s pretty pissed about it, I hear.”

“Mayor Fisk?” you asked skeptically.

“Yeah, apparently he doesn’t like graffiti, especially ones that won’t come off.” He paused, glancing around as if someone could overhear. “Between you and me, heard a rumor these murals might be more than just paint.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Meaning?”

He hesitated. “Blood.”

Your breath caught slightly. You swallowed back a shiver, forcing yourself to nod calmly. “You have proof, or is this just talk?”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “Word spreads fast. But if you ask me, there’s a reason this paint won’t wash off easy.”

You murmured a quick thanks and stepped away, pulling your phone out of your pocket. This was worse than you thought.

You automatically hovered over Matt’s contact, but something stopped you.

He didn’t seem happy that you were investigating, let alone the fact that he hadn’t been Daredevil in a year.

Matt was no help to you.

You sighed, pocketing your phone. If Matt didn’t want to get involved, fine—you’d handle it yourself. That’s what you’d always done, after all. Still, a tiny ache lingered in your chest, quiet but insistent. Once upon a time, you’d have tackled this kind of thing together, without hesitation.

Not anymore.

You pushed the feeling away and turned back to the mural. The unsettling reds and blacks stared back at you mockingly. Blood. You shook your head, grimacing. This city always found new ways to get darker.

A voice startled you from your thoughts. “Admiring the artwork?”

You turned sharply, finding Detective Brett Mahoney watching you with his usual calm intensity. You knew him well enough—paths crossed often enough that you’d gained mutual respect. But he also knew your connection to Matt, which made interactions… interesting.

“Detective Mahoney,” you greeted dryly. “Here to arrest the wall or me?”

A faint smirk crossed his face. “Neither, if you behave yourself.”

“Since when do I cause trouble?”

“You got an hour?” he quipped lightly, stepping closer to examine the mural himself. His expression hardened a bit. “Should I even ask why you're here?”

“Following a lead.”

His gaze shifted to you carefully. “Connected to the missing people?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you know about it?”

“I know someone’s been busy,” he answered cryptically, scanning the paintwork again. “And not in a good way.”

“It’s blood, isn’t it?” you asked softly, following his line of sight.

His jaw tightened. “Officially, that hasn’t been confirmed.”

“Unofficially?”

He sighed. “Yeah. It’s blood.”

You crossed your arms, unsettled. “Whose jurisdiction is this?”

He chuckled without humor. “Mayor’s apparently putting together a task force to deal with it. Fisk handpicked everyone personally.”

You snorted bitterly. “That’s comforting.”

Mahoney eyed you thoughtfully. “This case isn’t a good place to be poking around alone, Y/N. Be careful, alright?”

“You’re the second person today who’s said that.”

“Maybe you should listen,” he pointed out calmly.

You hesitated, meeting his steady gaze. “And if I have information?”

“Share it with me.” His voice was genuine, quietly urgent. “Let me help.”

You nodded slowly, a bit guarded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good.” Mahoney gave the mural one last lingering look, before stepping back. “And if you talk to your friend—” he paused, choosing his words carefully, “—make sure he’s careful too.”

“Matt’s not involved.”

Mahoney looked skeptical. “If you say so.”

He walked away, leaving you alone with the eerie mural and your tangled thoughts.

You took a deep breath, glanced back at the stubborn blood-red paint, and turned sharply on your heel. You had work to do.

---

You had one last thing to do before going into Track 61. You called Angela, and she picked up almost immediately.

“Angela, I need you to do something for me. If I don’t call back in an hour, I need you to call Matt.”

There was a long pause. “Why wouldn’t you call back?”

You sighed softly, glancing toward the darkened tunnel entrance. “Just a precaution, Angela. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“You don’t sound very convinced,” she said nervously. “Maybe you shouldn’t—”

“I’ll be fine,” you cut her off gently. “Just promise me, okay?”

She exhaled, reluctant but compliant. “Okay, I promise. One hour, Y/N.”

“Thank you.” You ended the call and pocketed your phone, adjusting the flashlight in your grip as you stepped into the abandoned tunnel.

The air inside was cold and stale, heavy with dust. You aimed your flashlight forward, the beam cutting through the darkness.

“C’mon,” you muttered quietly, “what were you onto, Hector?”

Every footstep echoed unnervingly against the walls. Graffiti streaked across the old brickwork—colorful, disturbing images illuminated by your passing light.

A sound shifted somewhere ahead. You froze instantly.

Silence.

You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself. “Relax, Y/N, you’re fine,” you whispered, mostly to convince yourself.

You pressed forward cautiously, scanning the shadows. It felt colder the deeper you went, the uneasy quiet pressing against your nerves.

“Hello?” Your voice echoed slightly. “Anyone down here?”

A low, rustling noise answered from somewhere ahead.

You tensed, flashlight trembling just slightly in your hand. “Hello?” you called again, steadier this time. “Who’s there?”

No response—just that subtle shifting sound again, teasing at your ears.

You took another careful step forward.

Then everything happened fast.

A hand clamped roughly around your mouth from behind, muffling your startled scream. You struggled instantly, your flashlight clattering uselessly to the ground.

“Shh,” a voice hissed chillingly close to your ear. “Don’t scream.”

Your heartbeat thundered frantically in your chest as you twisted violently against the person holding you.

“Relax,” he said coldly. “You’re gonna be part of something beautiful.”

Panic flooded your senses, adrenaline surging hot and fierce. You fought desperately, thrashing and kicking.

“Damn it—hold still!” he snarled angrily, tightening his grip painfully.

You managed to elbow him sharply in the ribs, forcing a grunt of pain. The brief moment of distraction was all you needed—you broke free, gasping for breath.

You sprinted blindly forward through the darkness, adrenaline blurring your vision. Footsteps echoed close behind, and before you could think, a harsh impact sent you sprawling to the ground.

You rolled onto your back just as the figure loomed above you—a grotesque mask covering his face, streaked with blood and grime.

“You’re a fighter, aren’t you?” he whispered softly, voice darkly amused. “Good. That’ll make it more interesting.”

You scrambled backward desperately, nails scraping uselessly against stone. “Stay away!”

He stepped closer, unbothered by your warning. “You don’t understand. I need you.”

“Go to hell,” you spat fiercely.

He laughed softly, crouching down beside you. “After tonight, Y/N, we’ll both be there.”

Your stomach dropped at your name. He knew who you were. You opened your mouth to scream again, but something sharp pressed swiftly against your neck.

Darkness claimed you quickly, your last conscious thought a desperate, regretful wish:

Matt.

---

While investigating Track 61, Matt’s phone vibrated. “Call from Angela. Answer or decline? Call from Angela—”

“Hello?” Matt answered.

“Mr. Murdock? It’s Angela.”

"Angela," Matt replied sharply, an immediate sense of dread creeping into his voice. "What's wrong?"

"Y/N—she made me promise to call you if she didn't check back in," Angela explained, anxiety clear in every syllable. "She was going down into Track 61 to look around—it's been more than an hour. She hasn't answered her phone."

Matt’s breath hitched. His grip tightened instinctively around his phone. "Damn it. I told her not to go down there."

"I tried to talk her out of it," Angela said quickly. "She insisted. I don't know what to do—"

"Stay calm," Matt cut her off gently, forcing his own panic down. "Did she say exactly where she was going in the tunnels?"

"No, but she had Hector’s notes, the ones about graffiti," Angela responded quickly. "She mentioned something about the murals—she thought they might lead somewhere."

Matt ran his free hand through his hair, a heavy breath escaping him. "Alright. Listen carefully, Angela: stay at home with your parents. I'll take care of the rest."

Right after he ended the call with Angela he dialed nine-one-one, letting the phone ring while he stared straight ahead, mulling over what to do.

Finally, the call connected. “911, what is your emergency?” Matt brought the phone to his ear but paused before saying anything. “Hello?” His heart pounded as he held the phone at his side. “Hello? 911.”

“Fuck it.” He muttered.

---

Matt ran past the train as it travelled quickly past him on the tracks, spotting Muse at an entryway.

Muse turned sharply, the grotesque mask glinting in the dim tunnel light. Daredevil didn’t hesitate, lunging forward instantly and striking him with full force.

Muse stumbled backward, slamming into the wall. He recovered fast, reaching out to strike back, sharp and precise. Daredevil narrowly dodged, his senses heightened, listening carefully for any sound—your heartbeat, faint but still present in the room beyond.

Muse attacked again, quick and violent. Daredevil parried with his billy clubs, blocking blow after blow, feet shuffling through the tunnel as they traded rapid hits. Each strike echoed sharply against brick and metal.

Muse snarled angrily, grabbing at Daredevil’s throat. Matt twisted expertly, shoving Muse’s weight sideways. Muse lost his balance, but recovered instantly, swinging out wildly in retaliation. The fight moved quickly through the narrow entryway, deeper into the darkness.

They crashed into the room filled with paint cans and grotesque murals, disturbing tools and brushes scattering loudly across the concrete floor. Matt’s focus narrowed immediately onto the quiet rhythm of your pulse, a faint thump echoing weakly from your direction.

Muse seized a blade from his belt, lunging at Daredevil. Matt reacted sharply, ducking and countering, his billy clubs spinning with practiced ease. He connected harshly with Muse’s side, eliciting a pained grunt. Muse swung back, knife slicing sharply through the air.

Daredevil twisted swiftly, Muse’s blade narrowly missing his chest. Matt kicked out, knocking the knife from Muse’s grip. It skittered across the floor. Muse growled, charging aggressively forward.

Matt’s attention was split—Muse’s heavy breathing, violent movements, and your pulse, quiet and uneven in the corner of the room. His jaw clenched tightly, and he struck out again, determination fueling every precise movement.

Muse slammed Daredevil roughly against the wall, hands grappling at his throat, pushing relentlessly. Matt’s breath was short, strained. He twisted fiercely, kicking Muse away. Muse stumbled backward, crashing into paint cans and sending them clattering loudly.

Matt stepped forward again, sweat dripping down his face. Muse snarled fiercely, fists raised, attacking again with renewed fury. Matt matched his aggression blow for blow, movements fluid and powerful.

Muse swung brutally, managing to hit Daredevil squarely in the jaw. Matt staggered briefly, blood tasting sharp on his tongue, but immediately retaliated, sending Muse sprawling backward onto the floor. Matt’s senses picked up your weakening heartbeat, dread filling him with urgency.

Muse struggled to his feet, glaring hatefully. Daredevil moved swiftly, wrapping the cord of his billy clubs tightly around Muse’s neck. Muse gasped, choking as Matt pulled the clubs tightly upward, hoisting Muse from the ground, feet kicking desperately.

Suddenly, Matt's breath caught—your heartbeat stuttered and stopped entirely.

“No—” Matt choked out sharply, horror flooding his veins.

Muse’s body slumped, unconscious. Matt immediately abandoned him, rushing over to you.

He tore the IV harshly from your leg, hands shaking. His fingers felt desperately for a pulse—nothing.

“Damn it, Y/N,” he whispered fiercely, climbing onto the table beside you. He began chest compressions quickly, rhythmically. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t.”

He pressed harder, focused only on the faint hope of your heartbeat returning beneath his fingers. “C’mon, sweetheart, breathe,” he pleaded quietly, voice thick with emotion.

Seconds felt agonizingly slow. Matt’s breaths came in desperate, frantic pants. “Please, Y/N—”

Your chest suddenly rose sharply, and you gasped loudly, eyes snapping open in panic. Matt immediately cradled your face gently between his hands, voice urgent but tender. “It’s okay—I’m here. You're safe now.”

You blinked, confusion slowly fading into relief. “Matt?”

“Yeah,” he whispered softly, relief flooding his voice. “I’ve got you.”

Your breathing slowed, shaky but steady, your eyes filling with tears as reality sank in. Matt stayed close, thumbs stroking your cheeks gently, offering quiet reassurance.

“You came,” you managed weakly, voice breaking slightly.

“Always,” he murmured fiercely, pressing a relieved kiss to your forehead. “Always, Y/N.”

---

When you woke up, there were bright fluorescent lights above you and a needle taped to the inside of your elbow.

You blinked groggily, squinting at the too-bright room around you. Slowly, awareness trickled back—you were in a hospital. You shifted uncomfortably, your body feeling weak and drained.

“Hey.”

Matt's voice drew your attention immediately. He sat beside your bed, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. His expression was tight, unreadable.

“Hey,” you managed, throat dry and scratchy. You cleared it gently. “How long have I been out?”

“Couple of hours,” he said softly, relief evident in his tone. “You lost a lot of blood. They're giving you a transfusion.”

You glanced at the needle taped securely to your skin and grimaced. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Matt's jaw tightened. “You scared me.”

“I scared myself,” you admitted quietly.

For a moment, there was silence, heavy and loaded. Matt finally exhaled sharply, leaning back in the hospital chair.

“You could’ve died, Y/N,” he said sharply, suddenly angry. “What the hell were you thinking?”

You flinched slightly at his tone, surprised by his anger. “Matt—”

“No.” He shook his head fiercely. “You promised me you’d be careful. What part of going down into dark tunnels alone with a serial killer running loose sounded careful to you?”

“I was trying to help,” you shot back weakly, frustration bubbling up inside you. “People were dying, Matt. Hector died. Angela asked for my help, and she was right. I wasn’t going to just sit by.”

“You almost became one of those people,” he snapped harshly, voice rising. “Do you understand that? You almost became another damn mural on a wall.”

You turned your head, biting your lip, eyes stinging slightly. His voice softened just a fraction.

“I know you think you have to handle everything on your own,” Matt said quietly. “But you don’t.”

You stared stubbornly at your hands, still not meeting his gaze.

“You could’ve called me first,” he added, frustration clear again. “You know I would’ve gone with you.”

You scoffed softly. “Would you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You sighed, finally looking back up at him. “You’ve barely spoken to me since Foggy died. We’ve both avoided each other for months, and every time we talk it’s only about work. Would you really have gone with me? Or would you have given me the same speech you gave Angela about safety and not getting involved?”

Matt hesitated, jaw clenched tightly. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s exactly fair,” you argued softly. “Ever since Foggy, you’ve pulled away. Maybe I have too, but it’s not like we’ve been exactly open with each other.”

“I was trying to protect you,” he muttered, frustration and hurt tangled in his voice. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“From what, Matt? From this life?” You gestured weakly around the hospital room. “This life is exactly who we are. Foggy knew that, and so do I. You can’t protect me from it.”

“Maybe I wanted to protect you from me,” he finally said roughly, his voice breaking slightly. “You’ve seen what happens around me. Foggy died, Y/N. You almost did too. And it always comes back to Daredevil. I didn’t want you caught in the middle of that anymore.”

Your heart softened instantly at the guilt in his voice. “Matt—Foggy’s death wasn’t your fault. And tonight, that was my decision. You can’t keep taking responsibility for everyone around you.”

“You’re missing the point,” he murmured tightly, shaking his head. “The point is I can’t lose you too.”

Your heart skipped slightly, and you swallowed. “Matt...”

He let out a shaky breath, leaning forward again. “When your heart stopped—” he paused, voice breaking with emotion, “it was the worst feeling I've ever had. All I could think was that I waited too long. That I never told you...”

“Told me what?” you whispered cautiously, your pulse suddenly quickening.

“That I love you,” he admitted quietly. “God, Y/N, I’ve loved you for years. Long before Foggy died, long before I tried to pull away. But I pushed it aside because I thought it was safer. For both of us.”

You stared at him, breath caught tightly in your throat.

“Matt—” you began again, voice soft and trembling.

He reached for your hand, holding it tightly in his own, desperate and firm. “I almost lost you tonight because I was too damn stubborn and afraid. But I’m done hiding. I don’t care how dangerous it is. I don’t care if you tell me it’s too late. But you have to know—I love you.”

You exhaled shakily, blinking back sudden tears. “It’s not too late.”

His shoulders slumped in visible relief, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. He leaned closer, voice barely audible.

“Say it again,” he breathed softly.

You smiled faintly, tightening your hold on his hand. “It’s not too late, Matt. I love you too.”

He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against your hand for a moment, breathing deeply, letting your words settle inside him. When he opened them again, he smiled—a small, gentle smile filled with quiet hope and gratitude.

“You’re still infuriatingly reckless,” he murmured, voice teasing gently. “But God, I’m glad you’re okay.”

You chuckled weakly, squeezing his fingers. “Sorry about scaring you.”

Matt lifted your hand, pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles. “Just promise me, next time, you won’t go alone.”

“Promise,” you said softly.

He exhaled in quiet relief, resting his head against your joined hands. You smiled faintly, exhaustion pulling at your eyelids again. His quiet presence beside you was comforting, familiar, safe.

“Stay?” you whispered quietly, voice thick with fatigue.

“Always,” he murmured softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil x y/n #matt murdock #matthew murdock #daredevil #daredevil born again #matt murdock fanfic #daredevil fanfiction #angela del toro #muse daredevil

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folkdevilfables · 3 months ago

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✵ Matching Pairs | Solomon x gn!reader

drabble (0.8k words) | sfw | gn!reader | fluff

cw: Solomon deserves his own warning I guess.

"Alright everyone, please get up and form pairs with someone other than the person you're sitting next to to practice the spell we just discussed."

You let out an internal exasperated sigh.

Seductive speechcraft. Probably one of the worst, if not the single worst subject at RAD. Also probably one of the most unfair ones.

How in all of Devildom do they expect a human to score even somewhat decent grades when succubi and incubi are in the same classroom? Not everyone literally has a maxed out charisma stat as Levi would say. It’s downright impossible to grade any of this fairly, let’s be honest.

You grab your textbook and are in the process of getting up and awkwardly walk around the classroom to look for a potential partner when you feel someone tugging on the sleeve of your uniform jacket.

You turn around.

"Hm?"

Satan looks at you. "How about we just stay here and I will be your partner for the exercise?"

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the teacher glaring at the two of you. You both still hadn't moved from your desk, unlike everyone else.

"Sorry Satan, the teacher said to pick anyone but the person you're sitting next to. Come on, let's get going before we get scolded."

"Ah, you're right. My mistake. Maybe another time." Satan got up, dragging his feet unenthusiastically over the classroom floor. He was giving you the distinct impression of a sad kitty.

You hastily walk in the other direction to avoid your disgruntled teacher, reluctantly looking around the room. The majority of your classmates had already formed pairs.

Well, I guess I could just quietly stand in a corner and wait to end up with the other person who inevitably won't have a partner by the end…

You know what? That actually sounds like a great pla-

"MC~ What about you and I form a pair? We would make a great couple!"

Without warning Asmo suddenly appears next to you, linking your arms.

"What do you think? <3"

"Oi Asmo, back off! I was just about to ask MC if they want to be my partner!"

"Nobody wants to be your partner, Mammon." Belphie shifts his attention to you, a soft smile on his lips. "How about we pair up, MC? I'm sure I can help you if you're having trouble with the spell."

"So can I, Belphie! And my seductive speechcraft grades are better than yours!" Asmo retorted, indignantly glaring at his younger brother with narrowed tangerine eyes.

"I still don't know how that's even possible, all you're doing during class is looking at your reflection in the windows and painting your nails."

"Well, at least I am not sleeping through the entire class like you!" Asmo was so busy arguing that you managed to unlink your arms and take two steps away from him.

Mammon joins the bickering, apparently unwilling to miss out even though he had no involvement whatsoever. Satan promptly follows shortly after.

You don't even pay attention to what their shouting match was about at this point. You got enough of that everyday at the House of Lamentation already.

Looking around the room, you spot Solomon. The white-haired sorcerer is eyeing the brothers with an amused smirk.

Hastily, you make your way over to him. Anything to get away from the quarreling brothers.

"Hey Solomon, do you have a partner yet?"

"As luck would have it, I actually don't. Would you mind partnering with me for the exercise?"

"I'd love to." Anything to get away from the bickering brothers for once.

"Wonderful." Solomon gives you a dazzling smile, a mischievous spark in his blue-brown eyes.

"What? Why Solomon?" You hear Mammon exclaim from across the classroom.

"Because all that you lot are doing is disrupting class, making it so that no one can concentrate on the task. Also, I don't exactly want to be accused of cheating in class since I could technically use the pacts to influence my performance for the better when working with any of you."

The brothers want to argue, but the at this point exasperated teacher swiftly shuts them down.

Solomon lightly taps you on the shoulder.

"Let's go over there and start the exercise, shall we?" He points at the corner of the classroom farthest away from the brothers.

You nod, exasperated. "Please."

The sorcerer glances at the brothers and notes with an amused smirk that all of them looked distinctly crestfallen about the sudden turn of events. "What's so funny?" You tilt your head and look at him from over the top of your textbook.

"Oh, I'm just happy that I got to partner up with you, that's all."

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ssa-dado · 8 months ago

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9 - Folie à Deux

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: fluff, slow burn, so much tension it hurts. Summary: After being called to Houston to solve a gruesome case involving a dancing, folie à deux couple, you and Hotch are forced to go undercover, posing as a couple at a dance event. The operation brings you closer, revealing unspoken emotions as you navigate dangerous waters both on and off the dance floor. Back at Quantico, a matchmaking mission further blur the lines between partners, friends, and something more, solidifying your unique bond. Warnings: The case in this one is very graphic! Mentions of blood. Word Count: 14.1 k - I know, but trust me on this one Dado's Corner: My job with this one was simply to make your heart flutter, and I hope I’ve succeeded. I’m especially proud of this chapter (I secretly titled it “the ovulation chapter.” in my drafts). Unintentionally, it also works as a stand-alone one-shot. Consider this a small treat for all the suffering you’ve endured so far. Please comment and let me know what you think!

previous chapter ; masterlist

A few months had slipped by since you had finally admitted to yourself that you had a crush on Aaron Hotchner - your stoic, impossibly composed coworker but also your unexpectedly humorous friend. Accepting it didn’t make it any easier, though; it only sharpened your awareness of him, turning every stolen glance and fleeting smile into a secret thrill you could never quite tame.

His voice, deep and steady, lingered in your mind long after meetings ended, and every accidental brush of his hand felt electric, sending your heart racing in ways you couldn’t control. You found yourself memorizing the little things: the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the rare warmth of his smile that made the room feel lighter, and the quiet strength he carried that drew you in without trying. Working alongside him became a careful balancing act, a daily routine of holding back when all you wanted was to lean closer, to let your feelings spill out in ways that terrified and thrilled you all at once.

That day especially felt different, it wasn’t just any morning at the BAU; it was the day Hotch would owe you his 200th coffee - a milestone you had secretly been counting down to with a mix of excitement and fondness. What had started as a friendly wager between two competitive colleagues had evolved into a cherished ritual of ‘ constantly reminding you of your failures’, a small but meaningful connection that gave you an excuse to be near him, to share something uniquely yours in the chaos of your demanding jobs.

You stopped by your usual coffee shop on the way to work, picking up two cups of your favorite blend to mark the occasion. And because you couldn’t resist, you brought along the book you’d bought for him months ago but didn’t have enough courage yet to hand him due to the reminders of the dreaded night at Peter’s welcome back party - Hegel for Dummies. You couldn’t wait to see his reaction. Every detail, every inside joke felt like a small victory in your ongoing, unacknowledged crush on him.

As you walked into the bullpen, the morning light was filtering through the windows, casting a soft, golden glow over the quiet office. The light caught Hotch just right, illuminating him like some kind of ethereal portrait, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. He was sitting at his desk, engrossed in a stack of case files, the crease between his brows deepening with concentration.

His hair, usually so meticulously combed back, was already starting to rebel, a few strands falling loose and grazing his forehead in a way that made your heart skip. You loved how those little imperfections softened his usually sharp, composed appearance, making him look a touch more human, a little less like the untouchable rising star agent and more like the man you admired.

His eyes, a deep, rich brown that turned to liquid gold when the sunlight hit them just right, glanced up from his work as you approached. The way he looked at you, warm and attentive, made your breath catch. Those eyes, so often serious and guarded, held a softness that in your delusional mind he seemed to reserve just for you. It was like he saw you, really saw you, in a way that only a few else did, and that small, silent acknowledgment never failed to make your heart flutter.

“Good morning, partner,” Hotch greeted, his voice low and rich. It was a voice that always wrapped around you, grounding you in a way you couldn’t quite explain. The way he said “partner” felt special, loaded with a meaning you were too afraid to fully unpack.

“Good morning,” you replied, setting the coffees and the book down on his desk with a playful smile. “Today’s a special day, so I thought we’d celebrate.”

Hotch’s eyebrow quirked, his mouth curving into a teasing half-smile that made your stomach flip. God, you lived for that smile. It was so rare, so fleeting, and every time you saw it, it felt like a personal victory. “Special day? What did I forget?”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin as you watched the subtle play of emotions on his face - curiosity, amusement, that faint twinkle of mischief that always caught you off guard. “Come on, Hotch. Today’s the 200th coffee you owe me. Two hundred times you’ve somehow managed to beat me at this ridiculous game, and I’m starting to think you have a secret strategy you’re not sharing.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that was low and quiet, but so genuine that it made your chest tighten. There was something about the way his face softened in those moments that made you want to memorize every line, every subtle shift. “I’ve been wondering when you’d bring that up,” he said, his voice laced with that familiar, dry humor you adored. “At this rate, you’ll owe me another 200 before you even come close to winning.”

The banter between you was effortless, filled with a warmth that made every exchange feel like a private little world the two of you inhabited. You leaned against your desk, studying him like you always did - quietly, reverently, as if each glance was a stolen moment.

There were so many things you loved about Aaron Hotchner, so many small details that made your crush feel like a living, breathing thing. The way his tie was just slightly askew, hinting at the frantic rush of his morning. The way his hands moved as he spoke, precise and deliberate, fingers that always seemed to know exactly what to do, whether they were flipping through case files or adjusting the cuffs of his perfectly pressed shirt.

“You know, by now, you owe me more than $200 worth of coffee,” you teased, unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “I think it’s about time you start paying up.”

Hotch’s eyes gleamed with that playful challenge you loved, the one that said he was always three steps ahead but still enjoyed every second of sparring with you. “Only if you can actually manage to win, which -let’s be honest - could take you an eternity. A philosopher I know once told me the story of Achilles and a turtle”

The lighthearted exchange was cut short when something on your desk caught your eye: a small, neatly wrapped box nestled under your lamp. It was a simple package, wrapped with an almost meticulous care, and you felt a surge of curiosity as you picked it up.

Hotch watched you, his expression softening, as you carefully unwrapped the box, revealing a sleek, elegant gel pen - the same kind he used religiously, except this one had a small “200” engraved near the clip.

Your heart skipped a beat, the significance of the gift hitting you like a tidal wave. It was just a pen, but it was also so much more than that: thoughtful, personal, and unmistakably him. You held it delicately, almost reverently, as if it were a secret you weren’t quite ready to share with the world.

Before you could find the words, Hotch spoke, his voice gentler than usual, tinged with that rare, intimate tone he reserved for moments like this. “I know Gideon never remembers anniversaries,” he began, his eyes flickering with the inside joke you shared, “but I’m not Gideon. And this is my promise that you won’t ever have to storm around like Rossi did on our first case together.”

It was such a simple statement, but the way he said it, so earnest and sincere, made your throat tighten. You couldn’t help but focus on the way his mouth moved, the slight pull of his lips that revealed just the faintest hint of dimples when he smiled. “Hotch, this… it’s perfect. You didn’t have to do this.”

He shrugged, effortlessly brushing off your gratitude in that casual, understated way that always made your heart ache. "I wanted to. It's my favorite kind of pen, and I thought you should have one too. The only difference is the ink color," he added, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "I've noticed you always use blue... a bit of an unusual choice, but hey, if it works for you."

You couldn’t stop staring at him, your chest fluttering at the way he noticed your quirks and habits. His attention to detail, his thoughtfulness, made you feel seen in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying. It was as if he’d quietly gathered the pieces of you - those you tried to keep hidden and the small, silly traits that made you who you were - and somehow found them all worth celebrating.

“Thank you,” you managed, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Hotch. You’re… you’re the best partner I could ever ask for.”

He smiled, that small, almost imperceptible curve of his lips that felt like a reward, and it made your heart soar. He leaned back, crossing his arms in that familiar, confident way that somehow made him look both commanding and completely approachable. “I could say the same about you,” he said, his voice carrying that rare sincerity that made you feel special. “Though I’m still waiting for the day you actually beat me.”

You laughed softly, your gaze locked on his. “This is so thoughtful, it almost makes me want to kiss you on the cheek… if you weren’t so against physical contact, of course.”

Hotch’s smile turned mischievous, a rare twinkle lighting up his eyes that made your heart flutter uncontrollably. “Well, unlike Rossi and Gideon, we’re not married, yet.”

Though it was meant as a joke, it felt layered with something deeper, like a hidden promise disguised as banter. “Yet?! Are you planning on proposing? Because after all this thoughtfulness, you just might get a yes out of me,” you teased, your tone playful, even as your heart raced with the weight of your own words.

Hotch’s gaze lingered, his expression softening into something almost vulnerable. “I’ll make you another ‘lawyer’ deal,” he said, leaning forward, his voice dropping to that low, intimate register that made your skin tingle. “I’ll propose by the time I owe you a thousand cups of coffee. So, you’d better start winning, or you might just be stuck with me forever.”

The words were light, meant to tease, but there was a sincerity in his gaze that made your breath hitch. Your heart pounded, the beat echoing in your ears as you tried to think of a witty retort, but all you could focus on was the way his eyes lingered on you, the faint curve of his lips, the way his presence filled the space between you.

“Be careful what you wish for,” you managed to say, your voice wavering slightly despite your best efforts to sound composed. “You know that if you give me a deal like that, I won’t be able to help but accept.”

Hotch’s smile softened, and for a split second, his expression was almost tender, a quiet vulnerability that he rarely allowed himself to show. “Forever,” he murmured, as if testing the weight of the word, as if it were something fragile and precious.

“You’re a lawyer, Hotch,” you teased, though your voice was softer now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite name. “You should know better than anyone that divorces exist.”

Hotch’s gaze held yours, steady and intense, the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Forever,” he echoed softly, the word hanging in the air like a quiet dare.

You tucked the pen into your pocket, feeling its weight like a promise, a small, tangible reminder of the connection you shared, the quiet care that threaded through every interaction.

As Hotch turned back to his files, the brief flicker of vulnerability and humor slipping into the familiar stoic composure he reserved for work, your thoughts couldn’t help but drift to that thousandth day. A small, impossible hope lingered in the back of your mind, quietly daring to imagine what might happen when that moment finally came.

☐ ⬛

“Well, if it isn’t my two favorite night-owls gracing me with their presence,” Rossi greeted, his voice carrying its usual mischief as he glanced up at you and Hotch. “Hope you’re ready to pack up, we’ve got a situation in Houston. Local police just found a second victim, and it looks like this one’s escalating fast.”

There was no hesitation. Within hours, you, Hotch, Gideon, and Rossi were on a train bound for Houston, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the tracks a relentless echo of the urgency ahead. The details of the case gnawed at your mind, filling the air with a heavy dread that clung to you like a second skin. This wasn’t just another case, it was darker, more depraved than anything you’d encountered in recent memory. Two victims in two weeks, seemingly random but bound by the sheer, almost ritualistic brutality of their deaths.

The first victim, Lauren Fields, a 21-year-old English literature student with bright eyes and a future full of promise, had been found hanging from the ceiling of a derelict warehouse. But it wasn’t just the fact that she was dead, it was how she had been killed.

Her body was marred by deep, deliberate cuts, as though the unsub had taken their time, savoring the act. He had let her bleed out slowly, cruelly drawing out her final moments. The scene was a nightmare of gore: blood sprayed across the walls, congealed in thick pools on the floor, smeared in what almost seemed like purposeful patterns. The blood on the floor told a grim story of its own, scattered in ways that suggested not just violence, but movement.

The second victim, Eric Watts, a 36-year-old plumber, had been found in much the same state. Another warehouse, another scene of calculated carnage. His body hung from the ceiling, suspended like a grotesque puppet, slashed with the same cold precision. His blood had pooled beneath him, the same sickening patterns left behind, as if the killers found joy in the desecration of human life.

There were no obvious connections between Lauren and Eric: no shared history, no common threads, but the horror they endured bound them together. The only connection was the sheer sadism behind their deaths, the terrifying reality of what they had suffered.

When you and Hotch arrived at the latest crime scene, the atmosphere was suffocating, the heavy stench of decay mixing with something far more sinister - a creeping, invisible darkness that seemed to pulse from the walls and seep into your bones. The warehouse was cold and damp, every step echoing in the cavernous space, amplifying the feeling of dread that settled under your skin. The scene before you was like stepping into a nightmare: blood was smeared across every surface, splattered like a grotesque and violent artwork that told the story of terror in a language only the twisted could understand.

The victim’s body still hung from the ceiling, pale and lifeless, suspended like a gruesome puppet left to rot. The stark contrast of crimson against the cold concrete created a macabre impressionist masterpiece, each streak and spatter of blood capturing the chaos and suffering of the final moments.

But it was the floor that truly made the scene unbearable: bloody footprints crisscrossed the entire space, overlapping and swirling in erratic patterns, turning the ground into a nightmarish dance floor painted in red. It wasn’t just the sight of the blood; it was the story those prints told, a sickening ballet of violence and madness performed by the killers who saw their victims as props in a twisted dance of death.

Hotch moved through the scene with his usual composed intensity, every step deliberate, every glance calculated. He had a way of grounding you even in the most horrifying moments, his presence a constant reminder that you weren’t alone in facing this darkness.

You watched him closely as he crouched near the center of the room, his dark eyes scanning the bloody prints with the kind of focused calm that never wavered. There was something impossibly magnetic about his concentration, how he could look at chaos and find the patterns hidden within it. It was reassuring, and you couldn’t help but feel even more attracted by him every time you watched him work.

Hotch leaned in closer, tracing the jagged, uneven edges of the footprints with the tip of his pen, his expression hardening as he took in every detail. “There are two sets of footprints,” he observed, his voice steady and sure, cutting through the suffocating silence. “One left by a man, the other by a woman.” His focus was absolute, as if he were piecing together a puzzle only he could see.

You stepped closer, feeling the coolness of the blood-slicked floor through your shoes, the sticky sensation almost making you shudder. As you looked down at the prints, your mind raced, trying to make sense of the bizarre choreography. The shapes and patterns were hypnotic against the blood-stained concrete, swirling and merging in ways that felt oddly deliberate, almost purposeful.

You could feel Hotch beside you, his presence a steady anchor amid this violent tableau, and you leaned into that unspoken support, drawing strength from his calm.

“They’re not just walking around,” you said softly, your voice almost lost in the vast emptiness of the warehouse. The realization struck you suddenly, sharp and undeniable. “It’s almost like they’re dancing.” The prints weren’t just random; they moved in loops, turns, and steps that followed no logical path but instead mirrored something more fluid, more rhythmic. It was as if the unsubs were performing, dancing in the blood of their victim as they died above them.

Hotch’s head snapped up, his eyes meeting yours in an intense, electrifying moment of shared understanding. You could see the same chilling realization dawning in his expression, the pieces clicking into place with a horrifying clarity. You were both thinking the same thing, and when you spoke, the words tumbled out in perfect, uncanny sync: “It’s a folie à deux.”

Folie à deux - madness shared by two. The way the killers had moved around their victims, the sickening dance in their own blood, it all pointed to a couple lost in their own twisted world, feeding off each other’s delusions.

Hotch’s gaze lingered on yours, his expression a mixture of determination and something deeper, something that mirrored your own emotions, an unspoken acknowledgment of the darkness you were about to face.

The air between you felt charged, every breath heavy with the weight of what you had uncovered. In that brief moment, you felt a rush of warmth that cut through the chill of the crime scene, a reassurance that whatever horrors lay ahead, you would face them together, side by side.

You turned your attention back to the scene, but the connection lingered, a silent promise that neither of you had to say aloud. This wasn’t just about catching killers; it was about understanding the twisted minds that had found solace in each other’s madness.

☐ ⬛

Back at the police station, the atmosphere was tense, the air thick with the urgency of finding a connection that seemed maddeningly out of reach. The four of you were gathered around a large conference table, the crime scene photos spread out like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that refused to fit together.

You watched as Hotch leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes fixed on the images before him. You couldn’t help but steal glances at him, admiring the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way he absentmindedly tapped his pen against the table, little quirks you had memorized in the quiet moments between the chaos.

“They have no connection,” Rossi said, frustration evident as he flipped through the victim profiles. “One’s a student, the other’s a plumber. Different neighborhoods, different circles. There’s nothing that ties them together.”

Gideon nodded, his usually sharp eyes clouded with concern. “Lauren was outgoing, well-liked in her classes, no known enemies. Eric kept to himself, lived alone. They were single, no significant relationships that would tie them together. No overlap, no common link.”

You studied the crime scene photos, trying to piece together the senseless brutality into something that made even a fragment of sense. The killers weren’t just murdering—they were performing, re-enacting something deeply personal.

A thought struck you, a theory that felt like it was teetering on the edge of insanity, but you couldn’t shake it. “Maybe the connection isn’t between the victims,” you said slowly, your voice trembling slightly as you spoke. “Maybe it’s about the killers. They’re choosing substitutes, victims that represent something to them. They’re killing themselves over and over, using these people as stand-ins. It’s the only way they can keep their bond alive.”

Hotch leaned back, his gaze fixed on you, piecing together the fragments of the theory you’d just laid out. There was something about the way he looked at you - sharp, attentive, and with a hint of pride that sent warmth flooding through you. “If that’s the case,” he said thoughtfully, “then the unsubs must have a significant age difference. At least ten years, maybe more. One victim is young, the other is older, they’re acting out their issues, punishing each other through these surrogates.”

Gideon’s expression tightened, urgency pressing down on him. “But now we’re running out of time. The pattern is clear: they’ve killed one victim every Friday. Today is Thursday. If we don’t catch them soon, we’ll be looking at another body tomorrow.”

Silence filled the room, heavy with the weight of the ticking clock. The profile was solidifying, but you were still searching for that key piece that would lead you to the unsubs before they struck again.

Rossi tapped his pen against the table, drawing everyone’s attention. “They’re not picking these people at random. The way they kill, it’s theatrical, ritualistic. It’s personal. It’s like they’re putting on a show for each other.”

You pointed to the photos of the bloody footprints, the twisted dance steps that had been burned into your mind since you’d first seen them. “The dance. The way they move around the bodies - it’s coordinated, like a rehearsed routine. Both victims had connections to dance events in the city. Lauren was part of an improv dance group, and Eric attended open dance nights with his niece. They’re targeting couples who, in some way, remind them of themselves.”

Hotch nodded, the pieces clicking into place. “The unsubs are drawn to these events. They’re either participants or observers, targeting couples who challenge their twisted ideas of love and connection.”

Gideon and Rossi exchanged knowing looks, their expressions shifting from grim determination to something almost playful. There was a hint of amusement in their eyes, a rare break from the tension as they turned their attention back to you and Hotch.

“You know what that means,” Gideon said, his tone laced with a sly undertone that hinted at more than just strategy. “We need someone who can really get under their skin, challenge their so-called ‘love.’”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, a smirk spreading across his face as he glanced between you and Hotch. “And who better than the two of you? You fit the victimology like a glove - twelve years apart, just like their preferred targets. Plus,” he added, his voice dripping with mischief, “you two have pulled enough late-night sessions over case files. Now you get to do something a little more… interactive.”

He gave a wink, clearly enjoying the irony, and you could practically feel the teasing energy radiating off him. It was all too clear that Rossi and Gideon were having far too much fun at your expense. They knew exactly what they were doing, and the thought of you and Hotch going undercover as a couple was like handing them a golden opportunity to poke at both of you.

They didn’t just see partners, they saw the unspoken chemistry, the way you worked together like a well-oiled machine, and they weren’t going to miss the chance to play matchmaker, even if it was in the guise of catching killers.

Rossi’s grin widened as he saw the look on your face, and you could tell he was reveling in every second of this. “It’s fate,” he said with a chuckle, barely able to contain his amusement. “Out of all the things you two have faced, this might be your greatest challenge yet.”

Gideon nodded, barely suppressing his own smile. “So, go on. Pack your dance shoes. Time to see if you can keep up with the unsubs.”

The suggestion hit you like a freight train, sending your thoughts spiraling. The idea of going undercover as a couple with Hotch was equal parts thrilling and terrifying. It wasn’t just about pretending, it was about pretending with him.

Every time you looked at him, you felt the undeniable pull of your own feelings, the crush that you’d tried so hard to keep hidden, now bubbling dangerously close to the surface. Being this close to him, touching him, dancing with him… it was everything you wanted and everything you were afraid to confront.

Hotch caught your eye, a small, almost teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Out of all the things I signed up for when I joined the Bureau,” he said, his voice edged with humor, “I never thought I’d end up dancing.”

You tried to suppress the nerves fluttering in your chest, forcing a playful smile in return. “Be careful what you wish for, Hotch. Remember the deal you made back in Quantico? That you’d propose when you owed me a thousand cups of coffee? Well, here we are—on our anniversary, rehearsing for what could be our first dance.”

Hotch chuckled, his smile widening, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Guess we’re ahead of schedule, then. I might have to get that ring ready sooner than I thought.”

You both laughed, but beneath the banter, there was a flutter of something real, something that made your heart skip. The weight of your joke hung between you, laced with the kind of unspoken longing that you’d been trying to ignore for far too long. If only he knew how much you wished those playful words were true.

☐ ⬛

Later, back at the hotel, you found yourself in the lobby, staring down at the dance steps outlined in the file Gideon had handed you. It was a romantic routine: timeless, intimate, and designed to draw attention. As you studied the sequence, you felt Hotch approach, his presence warm and grounding.

You looked up to find him leaning casually against the wall, jacket draped over his shoulder, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the strong lines of his forearms. You couldn’t help but notice how his hair was starting to fall loose, framing his face in a way that made him look almost boyish, at how he was effortlessly handsome.

“You ready for this?” Hotch asked, his voice a low, comforting rumble. There was a lightness in his tone, but you could see the hint of nerves in his eyes. It was oddly reassuring to know that he was feeling the same strange mix of anticipation and anxiety that you were.

You shrugged, trying to keep your voice steady. “The Bureau never prepared me for undercover ballroom dancing. I think the last time I slow danced, I tripped over my own feet more times than I care to admit.”

Hotch’s laugh was warm, genuine, and it sent a ripple of something achingly sweet through you. “Well, it’s not exactly standard training. But you’ve got rhythm, you’ll pick it up. And hey, if we can survive a shootout together, we can handle a dance floor.”

You arched an eyebrow, teasing. “I’m starting to think you’ve been hiding some secret dance skills. Were you secretly moonlighting as a dance instructor?”

He shook his head, grinning. “Not quite. But I did take a few lessons back in college. Thought it’d be a good way to meet people. I was terrible at first - tripped over my own feet more times than I’d like to admit.”

You laughed, the image of a younger, awkward Hotch struggling through a dance class making you smile. There was something endearing about the thought, something that made you feel like you were seeing a part of him that few ever got to see.

Hotch extended his hand, his eyes meeting yours with a gentle challenge. “Ready to give it a shot?”

You took his hand, the touch of his skin sending a rush of warmth up your arm. “Not even one bit.”

The song Gideon and Rossi chose for the two of you was ‘It’s All Coming Back To Me Now’ by Celine Dion. The music began, soft and slow, filling the lobby with a melody that felt both timeless and intimate. As you moved together, each step felt like a tentative exploration of something more than just a dance.

Hotch’s hand on your waist, the subtle strength in his hold, the way his eyes never left yours, it was all so much more than you’d expected, and you couldn’t help but feel the weight of every unspoken feeling between you.

“Careful,” Hotch teased as you stumbled slightly, catching you effortlessly. “Can’t have you falling for me on the dance floor.”

You shot him a playful glare, your cheeks burning with the double meaning behind his words. “If I do, it’s entirely your fault.”

Hotch’s smile softened, his thumb brushing against your hand as you continued to move in sync. “I’ll take full responsibility.”

The song played on, each step bringing you closer, each touch making it harder to ignore the truth you’d been hiding. Dancing with Hotch felt like stepping into a dream you didn’t want to wake from, a dangerous, beautiful dance where every move whispered of what could be, if only you were brave enough to reach for it.

As the song ended, Hotch pulled you close, his voice low and teasing. “Guess we really are rehearsing for our first dance.”

You laughed, trying to ignore the way your heart pounded in your chest. “Yeah, and just think, you’ve still got 800 coffees to go before you have to propose.”

He smirked, a twinkle in his eyes. “Better get to work beating me, then. I’m not planning on waiting forever.”

The words hung between you, playful yet laced with an unspoken promise. You knew it was just banter, just another layer of the teasing that had become so natural between you. But standing there, wrapped in the lingering closeness of the dance, it felt like so much more.

You stepped back slightly, breaking the intimate proximity but not the connection that buzzed between you. Hotch’s hand lingered at your waist for a second longer than necessary, and you felt the warmth of his touch sear through the fabric of your blouse, leaving a ghost of a feeling that you knew you’d carry long after this moment was over.

The silence stretched, not awkward but charged, both of you caught in a rare moment of vulnerability. Hotch’s gaze remained fixed on you, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to read the unspoken words that hovered just out of reach. For a moment, you thought he might say something, something real, something that would bring down the walls you’d both so carefully built. But instead, he broke the tension with a soft, knowing smile.

“You did good,” he said, his voice a low, comforting murmur that sent a thrill down your spine. “I think we’ve got this.”

You nodded, trying to muster your usual bravado even as your heart thudded in your chest. “Yeah, well, it’s not every day I get to dance with a lawyer. I’d say that’s worth at least a few points in my favor.”

Hotch chuckled, a sound that was all warmth and affection, and you couldn’t help but bask in it, soaking up every second. “Just remember, you’ve still got a long way to go before you catch up. But I’ll admit,” he said, tilting his head with a playful glint, “you’re getting closer.”

The lightness of his words belied the heaviness in your chest, the way your feelings for him felt like a secret you could no longer keep hidden. You wanted to say more, to let him know just how much these moments with him meant to you, how every joke and every stolen glance was a lifeline amid the chaos.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to risk the delicate balance of your partnership, the friendship that had grown into something far more complex than you’d ever imagined.

Instead, you settled for a smile, one that you hoped conveyed at least a fraction of what you felt. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Hotch. And who knows, by the time we hit a thousand coffees, maybe I’ll have you dancing circles around me.”

Hotch’s smile turned softer, almost wistful, and for a fleeting second, you thought you saw a flicker of something more in his eyes, something that mirrored the quiet longing you carried for him every day. “Maybe,” he said, his voice tinged with a kind of quiet sincerity that made your heart ache. “But if you ask me, you’re already leading the way.”

The moment passed, but the unspoken sentiment lingered between you, a promise wrapped in uncertainty, an almost that hung just out of reach. As Hotch turned back to the files spread out on the table, his focus already shifting back to the task at hand, you couldn’t help but steal one last glance, committing every detail of this moment to memory. It was hard not to get lost in the fantasy of it, to imagine that maybe you and Hotch were dancing for yourselves, not just to catch a pair of killers.

Because even if it was just banter, just a playful dance of words and what-ifs, it was enough.

For now, it was enough to be by his side, to share the weight of the cases and the late nights and the stolen moments of something that felt almost like happiness.

For now, you’d keep dancing around the truth, holding onto the hope that someday, the steps would lead you to something more.

☐ ⬛

The atmosphere in your accommodation felt charged with an energy that was hard to ignore. You and Hotch had just finished a long day of preparation, your bodies still buzzing from the adrenaline of the evening.

This was the first time you had shared a room with him since you realized your feelings for him had deepened into something more, and you were painfully aware of the tension that hung in the air.

You were both drenched in the aftereffects of your undercover mission. The dance had felt so intimate, so dangerously close, and now you found yourself grappling with those emotions in a more personal setting. The idea of showering was both a relief and a distraction, a way to wash away the sweat and tension from the evening.

As you stepped beside the bathroom, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the moment was significant, that it marked a turning point between you and Hotch. You had shared hotel rooms on countless occasions, but this felt different. This time, there was an awareness, a hint of vulnerability that made your heart race.

“Do you want to go first?” Hotch asked, ever the gentleman, as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. You nodded, grateful for the moment to gather your thoughts, to shake off the lingering tension of the evening.

After your shower, you dried your hair and slipped into a comfortable shirt and your usual pajama shorts, taking a deep breath before reentering the main room. As you emerged, you found Hotch sprawled out on the bed, a bemused expression on his face as he flipped through the pages of the book you had given him, Hegel for Dummies.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sight of him attempting to wrestle with philosophical concepts a delightful surprise. “Look at you, and I thought I was the official philosopher of our duo,” you teased, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe. “I never thought I’d see you actually reading a book about philosophy. I was sure you were too serious for ‘Hegel for Dummies’.” you emphasized the word “dummies” with a smirk, savoring the rare chance to poke fun at his usually serious demeanor.

Hotch glanced up, his dark eyes twinkling with a rare spark of amusement. “What can I say? I’m already feeling a bit wiser,” he replied with a dry smile. “But hey, who wouldn’t want their mind expanded by ‘Hegel for Dummies’?” He emphasized the word with a smirk, playing right into your joke. “Though, I’ll admit, this wasn’t exactly how I envisioned unwinding after a long day on the job.”

“Just promise me you won’t start quoting him at me,” you said, dropping into the chair opposite him with a playful grin. “I’m not exactly in the mood to have my brain twisted around philosophical notions of love and duty - especially not whatever version of that ‘Hegel for Dummies’ is peddling. That sounds like a headache waiting to happen, that could get overly-simplified.”

Hotch stood up and stretched, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt as it rode up slightly, revealing a teasing glimpse of the firm, toned skin at his waist. You caught yourself staring, heat flooding your cheeks as you quickly looked away, caught between admiration and a surge of embarrassment.

“I’ll do my best to keep the heavy philosophy to a minimum,” he said, his voice low and slightly teasing as he moved toward the bathroom. “But I can’t promise I won’t slip up.” The way he glanced back at you, a subtle challenge in his eyes, left you feeling a little breathless, as if his words were more than just about Hegel for Dummies.

As he stepped into the bathroom to shower, you couldn’t help but stare at the closed door, the lingering warmth of his presence still in the air. It was a mix of nerves and excitement, and you were acutely aware of how much you wanted to cross that invisible line between partnership and something more.

When Hotch emerged from the bathroom, his hair was still damp and tousled, messy in a way that made him look effortlessly handsome. Droplets of water clung to his skin, trailing slowly down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt, drawing your eyes to the strong lines of his throat and the hint of muscle beneath. For a moment, your breath hitched, and time seemed to stretch as you took him in - disheveled, raw, and undeniably attractive.

He exuded a quiet confidence, his body a blend of strength and subtle elegance that was captivating, even in his exhaustion, you couldn’t tear your gaze away, admiring the man who, even at his most worn-down, was impossibly magnetic.

“Are you okay?” he asked, catching your gaze. His voice held a hint of concern, a gentle nudge back to reality.

You shook your head, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Yeah, just… lost in thought.” Your voice sounded distant even to you, the weight of everything lingering in the air. “Oh, and Peter just called. He’s in Los Angeles on a case, and he wanted to know if we’d be up for grabbing drinks when we get back.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, concern and curiosity mingling in his gaze as he studied you closely. “Are you okay with that?” he asked gently, his voice softening with genuine care and a quiet, almost protective undertone. He hesitated, his eyes lingering on yours, as if trying to unravel the emotions you kept hidden just beneath the surface. “And what about the date you had with him? How did that go?”

You sighed, feeling the weight of the unspoken truth bubbling up before you could stop it. It wasn’t easy to admit, especially to Hotch, but something about his presence made it impossible to hold back. “Honestly, it just reinforced what I already knew,” you confessed, your voice tinged with a mix of frustration and resignation. “We’re compatible as friends, but when it comes to being a couple, there’s… something missing.”

Hotch leaned against the doorframe, his posture relaxed but his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. His expression was open, his concern genuine, and it was clear that he wasn’t just asking to be polite; he wanted to understand. “Missing how?” he pressed, his voice low and full of quiet curiosity that pulled you in.

You hesitated, grappling with the vulnerability of sharing the deeper truth, a truth that you hadn’t even fully admitted to yourself. “I don’t know,” you said slowly, searching for the right words. “It’s like there’s no spark, no real connection that makes me feel… grounded. I keep trying to find this balance within myself, this sense of who I am and what I want, before I dive back into dating. With him, I just felt like I was going through the motions, hoping for something that wasn’t really there.”

You watched as Hotch absorbed your words, his expression shifting with a flicker of understanding. There was a look in his eyes that told you he got it, maybe more than anyone else ever could. “You’re being honest,” he said softly, his tone filled with quiet respect. “That’s important. And it sounds like you’re making the right choice, prioritizing what feels true to you instead of forcing something that doesn’t fit.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, warmth spreading through you at his validation. “Thanks,” you murmured, feeling the comfort of his support like a gentle embrace. But beneath your gratitude, there was a lingering ache, a nagging wish that you could tell him the other real reason you were so hesitant to start something new with anyone else. The truth was, it wasn’t just about finding balance within yourself, it was also about him.

Hotch studied you for a long moment, his gaze never wavering as if he were searching for something deeper, some hidden truth that you hadn’t yet found the courage to voice. “Just remember,” he said, his voice gentle and laced with a sincerity that made your heart flutter, “it’s okay to take your time. There’s no rush to figure it all out, and no rulebook you have to follow.”

His words were simple, but they carried a weight that hit you straight in the chest. Hotch wasn’t just talking about your reluctance to date; he was offering you the space to breathe, to heal, to find your way without pressure or judgment. It was the kind of reassurance you hadn’t realized you needed, and it made you feel seen in a way that was both comforting and terrifying.

You offered him a grateful smile, feeling a surge of affection for him that was impossible to ignore. “Thanks, Hotch. That means a lot,” you said softly, and you meant it more than he would ever know.

“And, by the way,” you added, trying to lighten the mood, “Even if you are the philosopher now, I don’t think you have to worry about being proposed to anytime soon.”

Hotch chuckled, his voice playful “You never know. A thousand coffees and a philosophical debate might just seal the deal.”

You laughed, trying to shake off the weight of your feelings. “Well, I’ll just have to make sure I’m ready for that day, then.”

Hotch turned away, rummaging through his bag for a fresh shirt, and your eyes couldn’t help but follow the movement. As he pulled off his damp shirt, you caught a glimpse of the toned muscles in his back, the way they flexed subtly under his skin. The faint sheen of moisture made his skin glisten, his hair clinging damply to his forehead in a way that was both rugged and impossibly enticing. Your breath hitched, heart pounding as you watched him, captivated by the effortless grace of his movements.

You were drawn to him in ways that you could hardly admit, even to yourself. It wasn’t just his looks - though the sight of his broad shoulders and the curve of his spine definitely didn’t help your situation - it was everything he embodied. He was stability, strength, and an unwavering presence that grounded you even in the darkest moments. He was everything you craved, everything you told yourself you shouldn’t want, and yet here you were, heart racing and pulse quickening at just the sight of him.

You shifted on the bed, trying to focus on anything but him, but it was useless. Every movement he made drew your attention. The way he absentmindedly ran his hand through his wet hair, ruffling it in a way that left it messier than before. The subtle tilt of his head as he absorbed your words, genuinely invested in what you had to say. He made you feel seen, and that was more dangerous than any undercover mission.

“So,” Hotch said as he slipped his arms into his shirt, the fabric hugging his shoulders in a way that made your heart race, “do you ever regret it? Not… dating, but just how all of this can make things so complicated?”

You looked up, surprised by the question. The vulnerability in his tone caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. “Honestly? Sometimes,” you admitted, your voice soft. “But I think it’s normal to feel that way. The job… it demands so much. And sometimes I wonder if it’s worth the trade-offs. But then I remember why I started, why I wanted this, and it keeps me going.”

Hotch nodded, his gaze distant as if he were sifting through his own set of regrets. “I get that,” he said quietly. “It’s easy to lose sight of things, to get caught up in the job and forget what you wanted in the first place.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. It was a rare, intimate glimpse into Aaron—the man beneath the stoic exterior, the version of himself he reserved only for moments like these, moments shared with you outside the rigid confines of work.

It was moments like this that made your feelings for him feel far deeper than a simple crush. It wasn’t just a fleeting infatuation; it was something profound, something that had quietly grown over time through every shared late night, every unspoken understanding, and every instance of mutual respect and unacknowledged care.

“Hotch,” you began, hesitating as you searched for the right words, “I don’t think I’ve ever told you, but… I really look up to you. You’re the reason I push myself every day. Because you set this standard that I want to live up to. Not just as an agent, but as a person.”

Hotch glanced at you, his eyes softening with a hint of something you couldn’t quite place. Gratitude? Affection? Whatever it was, it made your pulse quicken. “You don’t need to live up to anyone but yourself,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re… you’re better than you realize. And I’m glad to have you as my partner.”

The sincerity in his words settled over you like a warm blanket, soothing the frayed edges of your nerves. You wanted to say more, to tell him how much his opinion meant to you, but the lump in your throat made it impossible. So instead, you just nodded, hoping he understood the depth of your appreciation.

Hotch finished to dry his hair with the towel, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to imagine a different scenario. One where this wasn’t just another case, where you weren’t just colleagues sharing a hotel room for the sake of the job. You imagined lazy mornings, quiet dinners, and dances that were just for the two of you, moments untethered from the weight of your work.

“You know,” Hotch said, breaking the silence with a teasing smile, “for someone who’s supposedly my biggest competition, you’re pretty soft.”

You rolled your eyes, grateful for the lighthearted shift. “Don’t let it get to your head, Hotchner. I’m still gunning for that 1,000th coffee win, and when it happens, you’ll be the one stuck making breakfast every morning.”

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and it made your heart swell. “If that’s the price of losing, I think I can live with it.”

He sat down on the edge of his bed, picking up the book again, flipping through the pages as if searching for something to focus on. The sight of him engrossed in philosophy, his brow furrowed in concentration, was both endearing and a little surreal. You hadn’t expected him to take to the book so earnestly, but here he was, deep in thought, as if dissecting the nature of existence itself.

“Never pegged you as the type to dive into Hegel,” you teased lightly, hoping to steer your thoughts away from the yearning you were struggling to hide. “I thought you’d find it too abstract.”

Hotch glanced up, his smile small but genuine. ”Hegel for Dummies” he corrected you “Well, you did say it’d make me the official philosopher of the team. Besides, it’s… interesting. Challenging. A good distraction.”

“A distraction from what?” you asked, curious but careful, not wanting to pry too much.

Hotch hesitated, his eyes briefly clouding with something unspoken. “Just… life, I guess. It’s a lot easier to focus on someone else’s theories than to get lost in my own head sometimes.”

You nodded, understanding the sentiment more than you could say. “Guess we all need a distraction every now and then.”

He smiled at that, and for a moment, the room felt lighter, the heaviness of the day lifting just enough for you to breathe a little easier. Hotch stood up, stretching his arms up again, the hem of his shirt lifting slightly to reveal a glimpse of toned muscle beneath. You quickly averted your eyes, focusing on anything else, the artistry behind the pattern of the carpet, the flowers motives taking inspiration from 1800’s Art Nouveau… anything that wasn’t him.

Hotch caught your flustered expression and chuckled, the sound warm and unexpected. “If there’s something you want to say, you can just say it. I’m not a mind reader, you know.”

You fumbled for words, desperately trying to mask the fact that you’d been caught staring. “No, it’s nothing,” you stammered, your mind scrambling to come up with a quick distraction. “I was just thinking… once this case is over, maybe we should figure out a way to hand this undercover gig back to our two lovebirds. You know, let Rossi and Gideon get a taste of their own medicine. They’ve had way too much fun at our expense.”

Hotch paused, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You mean like turning the tables on them?” he asked, his tone light but carrying a hint of something more devilish beneath it. “Maybe set them up with a little undercover operation of their own. I bet Gideon would look great in a dance ensemble.”

You laughed, enjoying the image of the two seasoned profilers stumbling through a dance routine. “Oh, definitely. Maybe we should get them to ‘rehearse’ with us. A little late-night surprise choreography. We could even record it, strictly for case review purposes, of course.”

Hotch’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned in, clearly enjoying the idea. “We’ll make them pay for every smug look and every teasing comment. Let’s call it payback with a side of public humiliation.”

“Partners on the job, partners on the dancefloor, and partners in crime,” Hotch said, his voice laced with a mix of playful mischief and sincerity.

You grinned, feeling a rush of warmth at the thought of plotting with him. “The unholy trinity. They should have known better than to pair us up in the first place,” you said, savoring the moment.

Hotch’s expression softened slightly, his smile still lingering. “We would’ve found our way, no matter what,” he said, his voice laced with a quiet conviction that sent warmth flooding through you.

☐ ⬛

The next evening, the dance hall was alive with a soft, romantic glow, illuminated by chandeliers that cast a warm, golden light across the polished wooden floors. The air was filled with the soft murmur of conversations and the gentle strains of a live band playing in the corner.

Elegantly dressed couples moved gracefully around the room, their easy smiles and carefree movements masking the dark reality that lingered just beneath the surface. But for you and Hotch, this wasn’t just another night out, it was a hunt, and the dance floor was your stage.

Hotch was dressed in a tailored black suit that hugged his frame perfectly, exuding both authority and elegance. The crisp white shirt beneath his jacket added a touch of classic sophistication, but it was the open collar and the absence of his usual tie that gave him an air of relaxed charm that was rarely seen. His presence was magnetic, drawing eyes even in a room full of polished strangers.

You wore a sleek, simple white dress that softly hugged your curves, the fabric flowing with every step and catching the light as you moved. It was elegant yet daring, a statement piece that matched the confidence you needed to exude tonight. The neckline dipped just enough to be provocative without crossing the line, and the slit at your thigh gave you the freedom to dance with ease, a pair of dance heels completing the look.

Hotch’s hand rested lightly on your lower back as you entered the dance hall, his touch warm and firm, a silent reassurance that anchored you in the moment. You could feel the heat of his hand through the thin fabric of your dress, and every gentle press of his fingers sent a shiver up your spine that was impossible to ignore.

It was part of the cover, you reminded yourself, just an act to make you look the part. But every time he leaned in close, every whisper of his breath against your ear, it felt like so much more than that.

“Remember, stay close,” Hotch murmured, his lips brushing your ear as his voice rumbled low and intimate, almost sending a shiver straight to your core. “We need to blend in, keep it natural. And if you see anything—”

“Signal you,” you finished, your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart. You shot him a teasing smile, trying to mask the way his proximity made your pulse race. “I’ve got it. Just don’t step on my toes, okay?”

Hotch’s smile was quick and genuine, his eyes twinkling with a rare playfulness that made your breath catch. “No promises,” he said, his tone light but laced with the familiar seriousness of the job. “But I’ll try to keep the damage to a minimum.”

The music shifted, and the opening notes of “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” filled the room, the familiar melody wrapping around you like a soft embrace. You took your places on the dance floor, and as Hotch’s hand found yours, a current of electricity passed between you. This was the routine you’d rehearsed endlessly, designed to lure the unsubs into revealing themselves. But as you stepped into the familiar movements, it felt like more than just a strategy.

Hotch’s grip on your waist was firm but gentle, guiding you effortlessly across the floor. His other hand clasped yours, fingers interlacing in a way that felt both intimate and natural, as if you’d done this a hundred times before – and actually you did last night.

Each step was precise, each turn fluid, but it wasn’t just the choreography that made your heart race, it was the way Hotch’s eyes never left yours, dark and intense, as if you were the only two people in the room. His movements were smooth, confident, and you couldn’t help but be drawn to the quiet strength that radiated from him.

With every spin, you felt the brush of his suit against your dress, the closeness of his body sending heat coursing through your veins. You were acutely aware of every touch, every shift in his posture as he pulled you closer, his breath mingling with yours in the space between.

The dance was supposed to be a lure, a means to an end, but in that moment, it was easy to forget the purpose behind it. It felt like an unspoken conversation, every movement a confession of the emotions simmering beneath the surface.

As Hotch twirled you around, your back pressed against his chest, the world seemed to narrow to the rhythm of the music and the warmth of his touch. For a brief, dizzying moment, you weren’t just undercover agents, you were two people lost in each other, sharing something that went beyond words.

He leaned in, his mouth hovering near your ear, his voice barely audible over the music. “You’re doing great,” he murmured, and the sincerity in his tone made your heart flutter. It wasn’t just praise; it was a reminder that he was with you, that you were in this together, not just on the dance floor but in everything.

As the song built to its powerful crescendo, you felt the weight of the room shift. Eyes were on you - some admiring, others envious, and two pairs watching with a chilling intensity. The unsubs had noticed you, just as you’d hoped. But in that moment, it was hard to remember that this was all a performance, that the heat between you and Hotch was supposed to be an act.

“Doing okay?” Hotch asked, his voice low and steady as he pulled you closer, his hand resting at the small of your back.

You nodded, meeting his gaze. “Yeah. I think we’ve got their attention.”

Sure enough, as you continued to dance, you noticed a couple standing off to the side, watching you with an unsettling intensity. The man was tall and rigid, his expression dark and brooding. The woman beside him was younger, with a delicate, almost ethereal appearance, her eyes flickering between you and Hotch with a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled hostility.

Hotch’s grip tightened ever so slightly, a silent signal that he’d seen them too. “They’re watching us,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t make it obvious. Just keep dancing.”

You nodded, trying to maintain your composure as the unsubs edged closer, their movements purposeful and predatory. The woman’s gaze lingered on you with a kind of disdain that made your skin crawl, as if she were sizing you up, looking for weaknesses. You felt Hotch shift slightly, positioning himself between you and the male unsub, a subtle but deliberate move to protect you.

As the music swelled, Hotch spun you in a graceful arc, his hand firm against your back, guiding you effortlessly. The dance felt like an extension of your partnership: fluid, unspoken, each movement a testament to the trust you’d built.

“This is it,” Hotch whispered as he dipped you low, his face inches from yours. You could feel the tension in his hold, the urgency mixed with something else, something that made your breath hitch. “They’re coming in. Just a little longer.”

You nodded, eyes locked with his, feeling the weight of the moment. When he pulled you back up, you spotted the unsubs moving toward you, their expressions dark and taunting. They joined the dance, circling you and Hotch with a menace that was palpable. The woman moved erratically, her steps sharp and aggressive as if mocking your movements, daring you to falter.

The man sneered, his presence looming as he matched Hotch step for step. “You think you’re good enough to keep up with us?” he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. “This isn’t just a dance.”

Hotch’s expression remained calm, but you could see the fire in his eyes. “It’s not about being good enough. It’s about knowing when to stop.”

The tension reached a breaking point as the woman lunged at you, but Hotch was faster, pulling you back and shielding you with his body. The room erupted into chaos as undercover agents moved in, surrounding the unsubs with practiced precision. You were yanked out of the way, Hotch’s hand never leaving yours as he guided you to safety.

The man fought back viciously, but the agents overpowered him quickly, wrestling him to the ground. The woman was dragged away, her screams echoing in the dance hall as she cursed and spat, her eyes wild with fury. It was over in a matter of seconds, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins made it feel like an eternity.

Hotch stood beside you, his breathing ragged but controlled, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before you. “You did great,” he said softly, his voice tinged with a mix of pride and exhaustion. “We did it.”

You turned to him, the weight of everything hitting you all at once “Yeah,” you replied, your voice unsteady. “We did.”

“Guess our partnership does extend to the dance floor after all,” Hotch said with a faint smile, echoing your earlier banter. His eyes held yours, warm and familiar, and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope for whatever might come next.

You laughed softly, squeezing his hand in return. “Yeah, but I’m still holding you to that deal, Hotch. A thousand coffees, remember?”

He chuckled, his expression softening in a way that made your heart skip, he teased. “You just might get it.”

And for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe, someday, you would.

☐ ⬛

Back at the hotel, the adrenaline of the night had finally worn off, leaving you both drained. Hotch was seated at the small table in your shared room, his usually sharp posture softened by fatigue, sleeves rolled up. He had his jacket carelessly tossed over the back of a chair, his face illuminated by the soft glow of a desk lamp as he flipped through the case notes one last time. The quiet rustle of paper filled the room, a familiar sound that normally calmed you, but tonight, it only reminded you of how much had happened in the span of a few hours.

You sat across from him, cradling a cup of coffee that had gone cold a while ago, but you didn’t care. Hotch glanced up, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, the exhaustion in his expression softened, replaced by something gentler, more personal.

“You handled yourself well out there,” he said, his voice low but filled with a sincerity that sent warmth rushing through your chest. “That wasn’t easy, but you kept your head, and… I couldn’t have asked for a better partner.”

You felt your cheeks warm under his praise, the knot of tension in your chest loosening ever so slightly. There was something about the way he said it, the way his gaze lingered on you, that made you feel seen in a way you rarely allowed yourself to feel. “Thanks, Hotch. I couldn’t have done it without you… literally,” you said with a soft smile, trying to keep your voice light despite the emotions stirring within you.

Hotch chuckled, the sound low and warm, a rare softness that made your pulse quicken. “I think we made quite the team tonight. I’d say Rossi and Gideon were right for once.”

You both laughed, the sound easing the lingering tension in the room. You could almost hear Rossi’s smug voice ringing in your ears, the playful teasing he’d surely throw your way once you were all back at the office. But as the laughter faded, the reality of the night settled back in, leaving you with a quiet, contemplative moment that was all too fleeting.

“It was strange,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to the coffee in your hands. “Being that close to… everything. To you.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, vulnerability lacing your voice, and you quickly tried to cover your tracks with a joke. “Especially because you’re not the most physical person I know—and this comes from another relatively not-so-physical person.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned back in his chair. “Well, as I’ve already told you, you’ll have to wait until the 1,000th coffee before you get any kind of physical contact.” His eyes sparkled with amusement, the joke a reminder of your earlier banter, but underneath it, you sensed the deeper acknowledgment of the closeness you’d shared on the dance floor.

“Be careful what you wish for, Hotch,” you teased, your voice light but tinged with genuine affection. “With the way things are going, we’re not just approaching our 1,000th coffee; we’re practically rehearsing for our first dance.”

Hotch shook his head, his smile widening as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Maybe it’s all part of Rossi’s master plan. Get us so tangled up in undercover work that we forget how to do anything else.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes at the thought of Rossi’s meddling. “If this is his idea of fun, then I’d hate to see what he has planned for our next assignment.”

The teasing between you felt like a lifeline, something solid and real to hold onto amid the chaos. But even as you joked, there was a flicker of something deeper in Hotch’s eyes, a quiet recognition that this was more than just another case, more than just another day on the job.

Eventually, Hotch set the case notes aside, his focus shifting entirely to you. He leaned back, studying you with an expression that was equal parts admiration and something softer, something you dared not name. “You should get some rest,” he said gently, his voice carrying a note of concern that tugged at your heart. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow, and I think we’ve both earned a break.”

You nodded, feeling the exhaustion tugging at your limbs as you stood and made your way toward your bed. But before you turned off the light, you glanced back at him, unable to keep the small, grateful smile from spreading across your face. “Goodnight, Hotch. And… thank you. For not having stepped on my toes.”

Hotch returned the smile, his eyes lingering on you in the dim light. “Goodnight,” he replied, his voice soft but resonant. “And thank you, for the dance.”

☐ ⬛

When both of you were back to Quantico, the bar was buzzing with the lively hum of weekend chatter and soft music playing over the speakers. After the intensity of your recent cases, you, Hotch, and Peter had agreed to meet up, seeking some semblance of normalcy amid the chaos of your jobs.

The three of you were seated at a circular table, dimly lit by the glow of a nearby lamp. Peter was talking animatedly about his case in Los Angeles, recounting the details with a mix of exasperation and pride, while you and Hotch listened, nursing your drinks.

You watched Peter with a fond smile, grateful for the easy camaraderie you shared, but also feeling the weight of recent revelations about your own feelings. As he talked, you couldn’t help but notice how animated he became when he was excited, the way his eyes lit up when he was deep in a story. It was moments like these that made you value his friendship so much, but also reminded you of why things between the two of you could never be more than that.

Your gaze drifted absently around the bar, soaking in the low-lit ambiance and the scattered patrons enjoying their evening. The clinking of glasses, murmured conversations, and soft laughter created a comforting buzz in the background.

But something else caught your attention: a woman at the table next to yours, just out of Peter’s line of sight, was eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and barely concealed interest. She was attractive, with an easy smile and bright eyes that flickered over to Peter whenever he wasn’t looking. Her body language screamed intrigue—subtle glances, a quick smoothing of her hair, and the nervous excitement of someone contemplating making the first move.

Instinctively, you glanced over at Hotch, who was already watching you with a knowing smirk, as if he’d been waiting for you to catch on. His dark eyes gleamed with the unspoken mischief you both shared, reading your thoughts without a single word.

It was one of those moments that felt like a silent conversation, a shared understanding you’d perfected over years of working together. You both knew what this was: Peter deserved someone who saw him, who could give him the attention he deserved, something you were too tangled up in your own unresolved feelings to offer.

Hotch leaned in, his voice low and conspiratorial, his breath warm against your ear. “We should give him a chance,” he murmured, his lips twitching into a subtle smile that sent an unexpected flutter through your chest.

You nodded, catching on to his plan immediately, your own smile mirroring his. “We just need to find a way to leave him alone. Got any ideas?” you asked, your voice playful yet filled with anticipation.

Hotch’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous gleam, and you could practically see the wheels turning in his head. He had that look—the one that told you he was already five steps ahead, crafting a plan with the precision of a seasoned strategist. “Follow my lead,” he said, amusement lacing his tone. Hotch stood up, stretching casually, his movements drawing subtle glances from the surrounding tables. He made it look effortless, but you knew it was all part of the act.

“I’m going to grab us another round,” he announced, loud enough for Peter to hear but casual enough to keep up the ruse. He glanced back at you, a hint of challenge in his eyes. “You want anything, Y/N?”

You caught on without missing a beat, slipping into character with practiced ease. “Yeah, I’ll come with you,” you said, shooting Peter a quick, reassuring smile. “Keep our spot warm, okay? We’ll be right back.”

Peter, engrossed in his latest story about a wild case from the past, barely glanced up as he waved you off, too wrapped up in his own world to notice the unfolding setup. As you and Hotch made your way toward the bar, you risked a glance over your shoulder, just in time to see the woman take her chance.

She moved quickly, sliding into the seat next to Peter with a confident smile, striking up a conversation as though she’d been waiting all night for this moment. Peter’s expression shifted from surprise to a genuine, pleased smile, his posture straightening as he turned his attention fully to her.

Hotch watched the scene unfold, his smile turning smug with satisfaction. “Another mission accomplished, partner” he said softly, his voice carrying a quiet pride that mirrored your own. It wasn’t often you got to play matchmaker, but seeing Peter’s face light up made it all worthwhile.

You stifled a laugh, feeling the thrill of a plan executed perfectly. “I think he’ll thank us later,” you quipped, sharing a quick look with Hotch that was filled with conspiratorial delight. It was a simple moment, but one that cemented the bond between you.

Hotch returned with two glasses of whiskey in hand, the amber liquid catching the dim light as he handed one to you. He raised his glass, a playful glint in his eyes. “For love at first sight,” he toasted with a grin, the humor in his voice unmistakable.

You couldn’t resist adding your own cheeky touch. “And maybe to something a little more… physical happening tonight.” You clinked your glass against his, the sound crisp and satisfying, and took a sip, savoring both the taste and the success of your little scheme.

Just as you settled back, the familiar, haunting opening notes of “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” began to play over the speakers, the dramatic chords filling the room with a nostalgic charge. The coincidence was surreal, almost eerie, and you both froze, exchanging a look of incredulous surprise, as if the universe was nudging you with a playful elbow.

“What are the odds?” you laughed, barely able to contain the mix of surprise and amusement bubbling up inside you. Hotch shook his head, smirking as he read your thoughts with ease.

“No,” he said firmly, though the smile playing at his lips betrayed his resolve. “I don’t think we’re going to do another show tonight.”

You leaned in closer, teasing him with a sparkle in your eyes. “Oh, come on, Hotch. Can you imagine the looks we’d get? It would be priceless. Plus, I bet drinks would be on me for the rest of the night.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, his expression a blend of challenge and barely restrained laughter. “You don’t even have to ask me twice, then” he said, his voice low, filled with that familiar warmth and a hint of mischief that made your heart skip a beat.

Without another word, he set down his drink and extended his hand to you, his eyes gleaming with a mix of playfulness and something deeper, something that had been simmering between you for longer than either of you cared to admit. You hesitated for just a second, your gaze locked with his, before taking his hand, the contact sending a rush of exhilaration through you.

Hotch led you onto the dance floor, his grip firm but gentle, guiding you into position with a confidence that made it easy to fall into step. The music swelled, and suddenly it was just the two of you, surrounded by the soft glow of the lights and the muted conversations of the crowd. There was no case to focus on, no killers to catch, just you and Hotch, moving in sync to a song that seemed to echo every unspoken feeling between you.

His hand settled on your waist, his touch warm and steady, and you couldn’t help but lean into it, your body responding instinctively to his. Every spin, every step felt like a conversation without words, a silent dance of emotions that had been building between you for longer than you cared to admit. When he pulled you closer, his breath mingling with yours, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

As the final note of the song hung in the air and the applause continued, you found yourself still standing impossibly close to Hotch, your breaths mingling, his hand still warm against yours. There was something thrilling about the moment, something unspoken passing between the two of you as the crowd around you slowly came back into focus.

Hotch smirked, his gaze flicking briefly to the bar. “Well, I believe someone owes me at least two rounds of whiskey,” he said, his voice teasing yet still carrying that low, rough edge that made your heart skip a beat.

You chuckled, your chest still heaving slightly from the dance. “A deal’s a deal,” you replied, your own grin widening. “And I’m nothing if not a woman of my word.”

He let go of your hand reluctantly, the absence of his touch leaving a small void that you couldn’t quite ignore. But there was warmth in his eyes, that familiar sense of playfulness that had surprised you earlier in the night, and it softened the space between you. As the two of you made your way back to the bar, you glanced around, catching sight of Peter and the woman still deep in conversation. A small part of you felt a sense of satisfaction, your matchmaking mission had been a success.

Rossi, ever observant, caught your eye from across the room and raised his glass in a mock toast. You couldn't help but laugh under your breath, giving him a subtle nod in return. He’d undoubtedly have something to say about the impromptu performance on the dance floor.

As you approached the bar, Hotch leaned casually against it, his presence commanding even in the relaxed setting. He waved the bartender over and ordered two whiskeys, his expression calm but his eyes still gleaming with the aftereffects of your shared moment. You had seen him in so many different roles - coworker, partner, friend - but this side of him, lighter and more playful, felt like a rare gift you hadn’t quite expected.

“So,” Hotch began, turning toward you as the bartender placed the glasses in front of you both, “think the unsubs would’ve been impressed with that performance?”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you lifted your glass. “They would’ve been running for their lives,” you quipped, taking a sip of the smooth whiskey. The warmth of it spread through you, mixing with the buzz of the evening. “You should see the way you move out there. If profiling doesn’t work out, I’m sure Broadway could use you.”

Hotch let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he lifted his own glass. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, his voice still low, but there was an unmistakable amusement in his eyes. “But I think we should leave the dancing to the professionals.”

You clinked your glass against his, grinning. “Agreed.”

Before you could say anything more, Rossi sauntered over, his trademark smirk firmly in place. “Well, well, well,” he drawled, swirling his drink in his hand as he looked between you and Hotch. “I never thought I’d see the day. You two make quite the pair on the dance floor. I’m starting to think we missed our chance to send you undercover at a ballroom competition.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re just jealous you didn’t get an invite.”

“Jealous?” Rossi feigned offense, his hand over his chest. “I’m just glad I got a front-row seat to the show.” He winked, clearly enjoying himself far too much.

“Don’t worry, Rossi,” Hotch chimed in smoothly, his voice dry but full of that subtle humor you’d been seeing all night. “I’m sure there’ll be another opportunity. We’ll make sure you’re prepared next time.”

Rossi chuckled, clearly entertained. “I’ll hold you to that, Hotch. But next time, I expect a full routine, choreography and all.”

As Rossi took a swig of his drink, Peter wandered over, his face flushed with a combination of excitement and, likely, a couple of drinks. “Hey,” he said, slightly breathless, his eyes darting between you and Hotch. “That was… something. I didn’t know you two could move like that.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Hotch, both of you trying to suppress smiles. “Just trying to keep things interesting,” you said lightly, noticing how Peter kept glancing back toward the woman he’d been talking to earlier.

Hotch, always perceptive, raised an eyebrow. “Seems like you’ve had a good night yourself.”

Peter’s grin widened, and he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly pleased with how things were going. “Yeah, actually. I’m kind of surprised, but… she’s great. I think we’re going to grab dinner next week.”

You felt a surge of satisfaction at that, knowing that your little matchmaking effort had paid off. “That’s great, Peter,” you said genuinely. “She seems like a good match for you.”

Peter beamed, clearly grateful, before excusing himself to rejoin her. As he left, you turned back to Hotch, the playful energy between you simmering just below the surface.

“Well, look at us,” you mused, swirling the remaining whiskey in your glass. “We’ve played matchmaker, stolen the show, and now I owe you drinks. I’d say tonight’s been a success.”

Hotch tilted his head, that familiar smirk making an appearance again. “Not to mention you’ve proven I can dance without stepping on your toes,” he teased.

You laughed, the sound genuine and light. “I’ll admit, you exceeded expectations. Though, if I remember correctly, you said something about ‘no promises.’”

He raised his glass in mock defeat. “Guilty.”

As the night began to wind down, the bar’s atmosphere softened around you, the conversations fading into a gentle hum beneath the dim glow of the hanging lights. You found yourself more at ease than you had been in a long time, just sitting here with Hotch, sharing drinks and easy laughter, without the shadow of a case looming overhead. And in those quiet minutes, you felt the undeniable bond that went beyond your roles as agents, reaching into something more personal, more real.

Hotch seemed to sense your thoughts, and he turned toward you, his expression softening in a way that was so rare for him—vulnerable, unguarded. “Thanks for tonight,” he said quietly, his voice low and filled with sincerity. “For playing along… and for everything else.” The weight of his words lingered, filled with unspoken appreciation for the comfort of your presence, both on and off the field.

The simple, heartfelt acknowledgment made your chest tighten with warmth, a feeling of closeness that was hard to describe. “Anytime, Hotch,” you replied softly, meeting his gaze and feeling that familiar rush of something deeper between you. “A philosopher I know once said, ‘partners on the job, partners on the dancefloor, and partners in crime.’”

Hotch laughed, the sound rich and genuine, his dimples making a rare appearance that you couldn’t help but adore. “I wonder who that wise man might be,” he mused, his tone playful and self-deprecating.

You grinned, leaning back in your chair, savoring the moment. “Oh, just the real advocate of the ‘Hegel for Dummies’ philosophical current,” you teased, your voice dripping with mock seriousness. “The man who’s mastered the art of the unholy trinity.”

Hotch chuckled, rolling his eyes but playing along effortlessly. “Ah, yes. The esteemed ‘Hegel for Dummies’ dialectics—a groundbreaking philosophy,” he said, putting on an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression that made you laugh. “It’s all about the triad, right? The unholy trinity: partners on the job, partners on the dancefloor, and partners in crime. A revolutionary approach to teamwork.”

You couldn’t contain your laughter, enjoying the easy back-and-forth. It was moments like these that made you feel like you and Hotch were more than just friends, you were partners in every sense of the word, sharing in the lighter side of life that was often overshadowed by the darkness of your work.

As you sipped the last of your whiskey, a mischievous thought struck you, and you leaned closer to Hotch, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “What do you say we sign Rossi up for the karaoke list? A little payback for all his teasing.”

Hotch’s eyes gleamed with delight, his smile widening at the suggestion. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, his voice filled with that familiar blend of amusement and quiet mischief that you loved. “I’m sure he’s got a rendition of ‘My Way’ just waiting to be unleashed.”

The two of you moved with quiet stealth, slipping over to the karaoke sign-up sheet while Rossi was engrossed in conversation with a couple of admirers at the bar. You exchanged a quick, mischievous glance as Hotch scribbled Rossi’s name onto the list with a flourish, choosing the most dramatic ballad you could think of, something that would make Rossi’s grand, showman personality shine, but also give you and Hotch a much-needed laugh.

Rossi’s name was called moments later, and the surprised look on his face as he stepped up to the microphone was priceless. Hotch leaned in close, his arm brushing yours as you both watched Rossi take the stage. “This might be the best decision we’ve made all night,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.

You nodded, unable to keep the grin off your face as Rossi launched into a hilariously over-the-top performance, complete with exaggerated hand gestures and dramatic pauses that had the entire bar captivated, and you and Hotch doubled over in laughter.

It was the perfect end to an unexpected evening, a night that reminded you of the simple joy of being around people who knew you deeply and cared without question. And as you stood there beside Hotch, sharing in the moment, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the twists of fate that had brought you here, partners on the job, partners in crime, even if you always hoped for something even more.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #hotch x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds x reader

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amorchai · 5 months ago

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𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐓’𝐒 𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒.

original post was 140 notes.

pairing(s): platonic!schmidt x platonic!reader

words: 669

warnings/tags: platonic only, no romantic involvement.

“why do you need to paint my nails, y/n?” asks schmidt, feet carrying him out the bathroom and through the expanse of the loft, you following swiftly behind him with eagerness present. “because, no one else is in and i’m so bored,” you reply.

“where’s jess when you need her?” schmidt sighs as he sits on the corner side of the couch, you sitting far too close beside him for his own comfort as he swindles his body as if you just tried to attack him.

“you’re a crazy person! no! no you can’t paint my nails, i’m a male, i’m a man. plus, the moment nick sees he will make me regret it for the rest of his life,”. “that’s traditional views, boring. plus, it’s nick, we know that’s not for much longer, he’s an old man,” you try to joke, moving yourself to follow him teasingly, “don’t say that.”

you whine as schmidt stands from his position, back towards the television as he turns to you who sits on the edge of the couch, staring at him with a hopeful gaze. “why is this so important?”, “i’m so bored, you know that. i’ve been dealing with so much workload recently, you also know that. let me have a half hour break to paint your nails, please.”

schmidt rolls his eyes in despair, meanwhile walking back to the couch to reply with a very low and quiet, “okay, fine.” you squeal in joy as you stand to run to jess room to grab her endless number of nail polishes, pretending the laptop with your deadlines sprawling the screen isn’t placed upon the desk awaiting your return.

once you walk back, you notice he’s not by the couch anymore and for a moment you think he’s made a run for it until you hear him from the kitchen and following his voice, he is perked upon one of the bar stools, kitchen roll placed on the table where one hand holds it down. “i don’t want any nail polish on my suit or furniture, i would simply scream”.

“so what colour is the suit you are wearing tomorrow? i’ll pick the same colour so you don’t look like an idiot going into work,” schmidt eyebrows furrow at your words, in complete shock, “like the colour of my nails are the issue here — what even makes you think i know what i’m wearing tomorrow?” you raise your eyebrows towards him, expression one which indicates you know him far too well.

“fine, it’s navy.” his words cause you to litter through the large bag filled with coloured nail polishes, most of them bright and colourful like jess’ personality, left are the duller colours at the bottom, clearly discarded and unused at the bottom of the bag.

you pull a shade of navy from it, showing him which only causes him to continue rolling his eyes dramatically all the while he extends his hands, dress shirt riding up his wrist and blazer already hung neatly away in fear of a singlet droplet of varnish tarnishing his outfit.

his face remains stoic and mildly confused as you begin to start from his left thumb and work your way across the hand, delicately and carefully shaping the colour over the area of his nails. schmidt’s expression softens slightly while he watches the way you hardly blink, tongue poking from your mouth as your concentration sticks to his hand in order to perfect your work.

“kim is totally going to make fun of me in front of all the woman at work tomorrow,” schmidt complains while you move to the other hand, even though his words show discomfort, he raises his finished hand to admire, causing you to laugh.

“well they’ll be jealous, you’ll be the prettiest one there,” you tease coolly as you continue, his free elbow nudging your side jokingly as he goes back to look over the navy blue fitting his nails perfectly, and he thought that maybe it wasn’t so bad.

amorchai masterlist . taglist form

#જ⁀➴ 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 #𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 ⁑ schmidt #new girl #schmidt #new girl x reader #new girl imagine #new girl show #schmidt x reader #schmidt imagine #schmidt fanfic #schmidt oneshot

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hongjoongtime117 · 11 months ago

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Legos or My Dick?

This is my first fic, so any feedback or suggestions are welcomed! Special thanks to my beta reader for helping this come together!

Pairing Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa

Genre SMUT (MDNI)

Word count 3.9k

Dom!Hongjoong Sub!Seonghwa, pet names, choking, orgasm control, probably other shit I forgot, lemme know lol

If there’s one thing Hongjoong knows, it’s his boyfriend’s love for Legos and he decides to test just how deep that love is.

Hongjoong has just arrived home after a long night in the studio to Seonghwa building an Animal Crossing lego set at his desk. He missed Hwa dearly and came up behind him in his comfy chair, gently wrapping his arms around his neck, kissing the top of his head.

“Hi, my Star. How was your day?”

Seonghwa looks up at Joong so his forehead is resting under his chin, Hongjoong lightly kissing his lips.

“It would have been better if I hadn’t spent most of it alone.” The slight bitterness in his tone makes Hongjoong’s heart sink a little.

“I’m sorry, my love. I was working on guides and lost track of time” Joong pouts into his boyfriend’s mouth. He places feather light kisses to the tip of his nose, each cheek, and then on his forehead.

“You always lose track of time in the studio. I feel like I spend more time with my Legos than with you.”

Hongjoong pulls up an extra chair to sit with Hwa at the desk, and says simply, “Well now you can spend time with both.” He picks up the discarded instructions and begins reading them, a confused look quickly spreads across his face.

“Joongie” Hwa sighs, “It’s really not that difficult.”

He softly giggles as he scoots some of the pieces over to his boyfriend.

“Let me show you what to do!”

They spent what seems like hours building that damn Animal Crossing set. Joong getting frustrated at times by the sheer amount of Legos involved in the build. Seonghwa would giggle as his boyfriend would bite his lip and knit his brows in pure concentration. He reveled in the fact that he was getting to share one of his favorite hobbies with one of his favorite people.

The closeness and the joy radiating off of Seonghwa made Hongjoong crave him in a different way. Fuck, he was so attractive when he was focused on these damn Legos. He grabs the arms of the rolling chair and pulls Seonghwa to him, until they’re knee to knee. Seonghwa startled a bit, pulled out of his focus on the almost completed set. Looking up, he focuses on his boyfriend’s face and sees the look in his eyes that he can immediately decipher. Hongjoong seats himself on his lap and begins trailing soft, open mouth kisses down his boyfriend’s long, gorgeous neck.

“Joongie, we’re not even finished with this yet” he pouts, as he tries to stop the current attack on his neck.

Hongjoong pulls back, looking at Hwa with a contemplative look. He tilts his head to the side and bites his lip.

“My Star, I have a question for you. And give me an honest answer.” Hwa raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Ok, shoot.”

“If you had to choose, Legos, or my dick, what would your choice be?”

He puts his hand on his chin, looking like he’s giving it some serious thought.

“You truly want to know that answer?” he snickers. “If I HAD to choose, definitely Legos.” Seonghwa knew that would absolutely not be his choice, but he had to tease him somehow for leaving him alone all day.

Hongjoong’s mouth drops open slightly at the pure shock of what his boyfriend had just said. After his brain comes back online, he looks at Hwa with a hunger in his eyes that say he’s intending to change that answer.

Hongjoong grabs a fist full of Seonghwa’s long raven hair, and pulls hard, causing his eyes to roll back. “Wrong answer, love. After I’m finished with you, my dick is going to be the only thing on your mind” he whispers into his ear before he gently bites down. Seonghwa shivers in anticipation for what’s about to happen. He knew what buttons he was pushing when he “chose” Legos over dick.

“This pretty little neck of yours is so bare, my precious star” Hongjoong growls lowly into his ear. He sinks his teeth into the unmarked skin of the pretty boy beneath him and begins to suck, causing Seonghwa to let out a gasp he was trying so desperately to hold back.

He takes a break from the very visible purpling bruises already forming on Seonghwa’s neck. Nuzzling him, speaking into his soft skin “You want to rethink your answer?” The older shakes his head, wanting to continue this game and see just how far he can push him. Hongjoong was enjoying the stubbornness, because the more stubborn he was, the more satisfying it would be when he finally broke his beautiful boyfriend and had him crying on his dick.

“Such a shame” Joong smiled condescendingly as he straddles him. “I REALLY wanted to give you a treat since you’ve been such a patient, good boy all day” he says with a mocking pout. Seonghwa squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lower lip so hard, he thought he might draw blood. “Good boy” always goes straight to his head. Both of them.

Hongjoong begins sliding his good boy’s t-shirt from his slender, toned body, ridding him of it. He tosses it to the floor of their pristine room, which he knows will drive the other insane. “Now be my good boy, and keep your hands on the arms of this chair, and DON’T MOVE. Do you understand me?” Seonghwa stares at him with wide boba eyes, audibly gulps, and nods his head while doing as he’s told. Seonghwa is now fully hard under Hongjoong, the latter runs his hands slowly from Seonghwa’s slutty little waist, upwards, until his thumbs reach the perfect little nubs just waiting to be teased. He begins rubbing feather light circles around them, and they perk up at the touch. He takes one into his wet, warm, and waiting mouth, going between flicking it expertly with his tongue, and pinching it lightly between his teeth. He never stops the assault moving to the other nipple, making sure that each receives equal attention. Seonghwa’s breathing is starting to become labored as he’s making the smallest of noises. Hongjoong, unsatisfied with this, knows that Seonghwa is holding back, trying to drive him insane, Hongjoong re-doubles his efforts. He kisses a trail, hot and sloppy, right down the middle of his body, while dropping to his knees in front of him. He stops when he reaches the waistband of Hwa’s sweatpants and notices the twitch it causes. The younger looks up at him with that damn demon smile.

“Still sticking with that answer, precious?”

Seonghwa’s lips lightly parted, looking down at the man before him, again nods his head. Hongjoong clicks his tongue is disapproval.

“Lift your hips.” He commands, as he quickly pulls off Seonghwa’s sweatpants and boxers in one go.

Now with Seonghwa fully naked Hongjoong can’t help but admire the absolute god he’s kneeled in front of. As bad as he wants to impale this beautiful man on his hard cock, he wants to drag this out until his boyfriend is crying with need.

He grips Seonghwa’s hips, licking and kissing on either side of Seonghwa’s steadily leaking dick, making him buck his hips and remove one of his hands from the arm of the chair.

“Joong, please” he whispers breathlessly.

Hongjoong stops his ministrations and harshly grabs the wrist of the hand currently in his hair holding on for dear life.

“Someone’s not being a very good boy, are they? I thought I told you to keep your hands to yourself, star.”

Hongjoong stands up from his kneeled position quietly and walks away as a low whine leaves Seonghwa’s throat.

“No, Joongie, I’ll be good, I’m promise” fear in his voice that his boyfriend was going to leave him there, embarrassingly hard and dripping.

Hongjoong finally reaches the dresser and pulls out a couple of ties and a cock ring. He returns to his desperate boyfriend, once again dropping to his knees in front of him, and begins expertly tying the ties he had brought around Seonghwa’s wrists, effectively removing the use of his hands.

“This is what happens when you decide to be naughty and not listen to what I told you” he smirks up at him.

Hongjoong dangles the cock ring in between his thumb and forefinger, showing what else is in store for his precious little star. He places it in his mouth, and Seonghwa’s eyes go wide, clenching and unclenching his hands, nervous, but excited for what he feels is about to happen.

With the cock ring in his mouth, Hongjoong places his hands on the toned, tan thighs of his pretty man and in one go, deep throats his dick while also using his perfect teeth to fit the cock ring in its rightful place. Seonghwa lets out the most guttural moan Hongjoong thinks he’s ever heard come from that stubborn mouth. His shining eyes glazed over and panting heavily, Seonghwa still manages to be a little brat.

“Still choosing the Legos, Captain” he manages in between pants, mouth quirking up just a little bit at the edges.

Hongjoong pulls his mouth off his beautiful dick and begins undressing himself. Slowly and very teasingly.

As soon as his upper body is full uncovered, Seonghwa runs his tongue over his plump lips, thinking of all the things he’d love to do to the man in front of him, if only he was allowed to touch.

“Fuck Joong, you’re so gorgeous. Please, can I touch”

Hongjoong chuckles. “You think you’ve earned that, dear Hwa?”

Seonghwa pathetically whines, knowing from this point on, he’s about to lose this battle. He’s hardly hanging on as it is and Hongjoong has BARELY touched him. In the midst of their conversation, Hongjoong has rid himself of his pants and boxers, giving Seonghwa full view of his stunning body, and his red, swollen, delicious looking dick.

Hongjoong perches himself back onto Seonghwa’s lap, and the latter has his head down, trying to avoid looking at Hongjoong because he’s losing all sense of self control. He feels a grip on his chin, and his head being lifted to meet the dark, hungry eyes of his boyfriend.

“I want you to look at me as I break you and make you cry for my dick.”

Grip still steady on his chin, eyes locked, Hongjoong begins grinding into Seonghwa, the friction causing his eyes to roll back and his useless hands to clench so hard his knuckles turn white. Hongjoong finally releases his grip from Seonghwa’s chin, only to move it between the two of them, gripping their dicks slick with pre cum and jerking them off together. Seonghwa’s eyes are closed as he’s letting out a string of breathy moans and whines.

“I still want your eyes on me, Hwa.”

Seonghwa opens his eyes to look at the man currently stroking their dicks and tears are beginning to form. Hongjoong admires the way it makes it look like the stars shine in his eyes.

“Good boy” Hongjoong purrs, and the praise goes straight to his head.

As Hongjoong has set a low, torturous pace, Seonghwa is growing frustrated due to the feeling rising in his gut, and remembering that he indeed has the cock ring still placed at the base of his dick.

“Joongie, please. I need… I need to cum” he whimpers.

“Awww, you think you can beg your way out now, pretty?”

He strokes them once more and completely halts. Hot tears have now escaped Seonghwa’s eyes and are rolling down his flushed cheeks.

“What’s your answer now, my love? Still the same, huh?” Hongjoong questions as he licks the salty tears from Seonghwa’s face.

“Yes, still my Legos” his voice coming out raspy from the dryness that has settled in his throat.

Hongjoong trails another series of wet, open mouthed kisses down Seonghwa’s body, shiny with sweat, until he once more reaches this throbbing dick.

He kitten licks every inch of skin on Seonghwa’s very angry dick before engulfing it in his warm, slick mouth. He inches down until his forehead was flush with Seonghwa’s rock hard abdomen. He swallows hard around him, as Seonghwa throws his head back and lets out a scream of Hongjoong’s name.

Hongjoong pulls off and looks up at the mess that is his boyfriend.

“That’s it, let me hear your pretty voice screaming my name.”

Hongjoong’s eyes search for a bottle of lube, and he finds one within reach on the shelves under Seonghwa’s desk. The click of the cap had Seonghwa’s heart racing a million miles a minute. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this. His need to cum overwhelming any other thoughts in his brain. Yes, even Legos. But he’s not about to outright let Hongjoong know that. He also wasn’t going to let him know that the lube wasn’t necessary, as he had prepped himself thoroughly earlier, putting in Hongjoong’s favorite plug, in hopes of having Hongjoong’s dick stuffed deep inside of him. He’d let him figure that out on his own.

Generously coating his fingers, he instructs the older to place his feet on the chair to give him better access. His mouth drops open as he wasn’t prepared for the sight he saw in front of him. The chrome silver plug with the star gem, sitting snugly in Seonghwa’s tight hole.

“Fuck, Hwa. You drive me fucking insane, do you know that?”

Seonghwa gives him a knowing smile.

“That was the plan, Joongie”

Hongjoong stands up and immediately unties Seonghwa’s wrist restraints, pulling him to his feet and bends him over the desk. Seonghwa gasps loudly as Hongjoong places his hand on the dip of his back and not so gently pulls the plug out just enough to stretch before shoving it back in. His voice dripping with lust.

“You knew you were going to be stuffed full with my dick tonight, didn’t you my precious star?” Hongjoong taunts, still toying with the plug.

Seonghwa chokes on a moan trying to come forward as Hongjoong is roughly fucking him with the plug.

“Yes, Captain, yes!” The tears have returned to the corners of his eyes as the pleasure is taking over.

“You enjoy being a little stubborn brat, so I can fuck you stupid on my dick, don’t you, baby?”

Hongjoong finally pulls the plug out completely, tossing it aside where it falls with a gentle clang. He pulls Seonghwa up so his back is against his chest and he strokes his dick with one hand, as the other comes around to play with his perked nipples. All that comes from Seonghwa’s mouth is a string of unintelligible syllables.

“Already can’t form a thought and my dick isn’t even inside you yet” Hongjoong scoffs, grabbing Seonghwa’s long, shiny hair and pushes him forward until his cheek rest on the desk. Seonghwa throws his arms wide searching for a handhold, trying to ground himself and in turn, destroys the Animal Crossing Lego set they had been working on beforehand.

“Joong, look what you did” he pouts and whines.

“No baby, look what YOU did. You had to push my buttons. You being a naughty boy did this. Don’t worry, we can rebuild it later after I’ve fucked you senseless.”

Hongjoong shoves his long, curved dick into Seonghwa’s hot hole dripping with the lube he prepped himself with earlier.

“Fuck, you made it nice and wet for me, huh pretty?” Hongjoong snakes a hand around Seonghwa’s front to put a pleasant pressure on his throat that had his head swimming.

“Oh god, Joong. Harder, please.” He wasn’t sure if he meant his hand, or his already toe curling thrusts, so he gave him both. One particular thrust hit Seonghwa’s prostate dead on and had him drooling and babbling underneath Hongjoong. Hongjoong lifts up one of Seonghwa’s legs, bending it and placing it on the desk, giving him an even better position to abuse his lover’s sweet spot.

Hand still gripping his throat tightly, but making sure he’s still able to breathe, he kisses down Seonghwa’s back, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He continues to piston his hips full force into the man below him, the sound of slapping skin, whines, growls, and moans filling the room. Seonghwa doesn’t know up from down at this point and is sobbing from the relentless abuse on his prostate.

“Joongie, holy shit… please… let me cum. I’ll be such a good boy. I… I promise” he manages between his sobs.

Hongjoong pinches a nipple with his free hand, while pulling him back by his throat until Seonghwa’s back meets his chest.

“You’ll take what I give you, my slutty little star” he whispers sweetly into his ear.

Although Hongjoong can feel he’s close to the edge, dragging this out also being pure torture to himself as well.

“You feel so good, so tight around my dick.” Those words make Seonghwa clench hard around him. “Jesus Christ, are you trying to take my dick off?”

Seonghwa lets out a low, long whine and he can feel Hongjoong throbbing inside of him as he keeps clenching, trying to milk everything he can from the man fucking him stupid. The friction and the deep, methodically placed thrusts are driving Seonghwa mad.

Hongjoong isn’t quite ready for this to end, so he immediately pulls out and drops to the floor. He grabs Seonghwa’s plump ass cheeks, so hard that he knows it’ll leave bruises, and spreads them apart, admiring the leaking, gaping hole in between them. He then lets go to watch them jiggle back into place, and sinks his teeth into each one. Seonghwa squeaks at the mix of pain and pleasure, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his head back. Once he’s left very visible, red, swollen, perfect teeth marks in each of his boyfriend’s cheeks, he spreads them apart again, and with absolutely no warning to Seonghwa, sticks his tongue right inside that beautiful hole and begins fucking him with it.

“God fucking damn, Captain. Your tongue feels amazing” he purrs at the man on his knees, knowing the title strokes his ego.

Feeding off of Seonghwa’s words, he re-doubles his efforts, and Seonghwa harshly pulls on Hongjoong’s dark hair, trying to push him closer, almost suffocating him. This doesn’t stop Hongjoong at all. If he dies, this will be one hell of a way to do so, and you would hear no complaints from him.

Seonghwa’s legs are like jello and he’s sure they will give out at any moment from the sheer amount of pleasure that has been coursing through his body. Hongjoong can sense that he is incredibly overwhelmed at this point so he decides to end his worship of the tight hole of his pretty boyfriend, and instead sits in the chair and pulls Seonghwa to him.

“You want to prove you’re a good boy and you deserve to cum for me?” Hongjoong’s half lidded, dark eyes looking up at the fucked out man above.

“Yes, Captain. I can prove I’m your good boy. Your perfect star.”

“Then come here, pretty, and ride me. Show me how much you want it.”

Seonghwa’s hovered over his boyfriend’s beautiful dick in an instant. So quickly that the desperation in him makes Hongjoong chuckle. Seonghwa decided to be just a little bit of a brat, trying to gain back a hint of control, and painfully slow, slides down Hongjoong’s dick. He glares at Seonghwa, fire in his eyes and he lands a loud, sharp smack to his ass. He lets out a scream, tears stinging his eyes yet again, and drops his head onto Hongjoong’s shoulder.

“I was just being a good boy, and doing what you asked, Captain” he says innocently into his neck.

“Mmm, malicious compliance, my dear Hwa. I want you to ride me like this is the last time you’ll get a taste of my dick.”

“As you wish, Captain” a bit of mocking undertone in his voice.

Seonghwa sets a steady pace, grinding his hips and making sure to drive Hongjoong mad by clenching as hard as he can. In an effort to keep focus off the overstimulation he’s feeling from the teasing he’s earned himself tonight, he licks into Hongjoong’s mouth, entangling his long, wet tongue with his. The kisses are hungry and desperate as Seonghwa is well past his limit and Hongjoong very closely reaching his own.

Hongjoong breaks their kiss, a string of saliva still attaching them. “You ride me so well. You were fucking made for me. See, THIS is you being a good boy. And good boys earn treats.”

“Oh god, please, please, please. I can’t take it anymore.”

Hongjoong FINALLY pulls the cock ring off of Seonghwa’s hot, angry, profusely leaking dick. Seonghwa is absolutely sobbing now at the thought of release being SO CLOSE. Hongjoong picks up the pace in his thrusts, slamming into Seonghwa with fervor. Seonghwa can feel Hongjoong throbbing inside of him, his hips stuttering.

Hongjoong kisses the tears of his shaking, sobbing little star before whispering in his ear “Cum for me, Hwa.” Seonghwa chants of Hongjoong’s name as they cum at the same time. Seonghwa sees stars and swears he momentarily passed out. Hongjoong biting into Seonghwa’s shoulder to ground himself from the pure electricity of his own orgasm. Seonghwa slumps, absolutely exhausted, against the man he loves more than anything. Yes, even more then Legos.

Hongjoong carries Seonghwa to their bed, donned with comfy silk sheets, while he goes to gather some things. Seonghwa sniffles as he tries pulling Hongjoong back onto the bed with him.

“Where are you going?” He looks at Hongjoong with pleading eyes. He really hopes he’s not even THINKING about leaving him to go work on something.

“Baby, we need to get cleaned up, and I’m grabbing you some water and a snack.”

“Oh.”

Seonghwa felt silly for thinking that Hongjoong would just leave him all alone.

Hongjoong returns with a warm damp cloth, a water bottle, and a bowl of strawberries. He wipes down his lover as gently as he can. Seonghwa winces, still feeling the aftershocks of his intense orgasm.

“I’m so sorry, my love.”

“It’s ok, Joongie. It was so worth it” he smiles contentedly at him.

Hongjoong kisses his nose and smiles back at him, his perfect smile melting Seonghwa’s heart, yet again.

“You need to eat your snack, and please drink your water. You definitely need it after that” concern lacing his voice.

Hongjoong climbs behind Seonghwa on the bed and wraps his arms around him, placing gentle kisses on the marks and bruises he had left earlier, as Seonghwa enjoys his delicious strawberries.

“Thank you for always taking care of me, my love.”

“Seonghwa, there is nothing more I’d rather do in this life. Or my next one.”

Seonghwa finishes both his strawberries and his water and Hongjoong lays them down together. Ah, how he loves being the big spoon.

“My star, I do have a question for you though” He is giggling before he can even ask it.

“What is it, my love?”

“Legos, or my dick?”

“If me choosing Legos gets me fucked like THAT, then I’m sticking with the Legos.”

They both fall into a fit of laughter before snuggling in closer together and finally letting their exhaustion take over.

#ateez smut #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez matz

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xuchiya · 9 months ago

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"CHAPTER FIVE: Receiving Gifts" || kim hongjoong || [a mini-series]

| genre: non!idol hongjoong. ceo! reader. angst. fluff. slice of life | mentions: different language. Korean (Hangul). Tagalog. unfair treatment. love language list

Hongjoong bit the end of the pencil as his eyes skimmed over the sentence in the book. The lamp on his desk cast a soft glow across half of his dark bedroom, illuminating the worksheet beside it as he carefully answered the questions.

“Titanic is about… a story where or were… the ship sank in the North Atlantic Ocean?” Hongjoong tilted his head, trying to remember the difference between the words. He was working on an assignment from the language program at the company, which he had requested to take home for the weekend. Balancing his studies with the paperwork he brought back from work was proving to be a challenge.

Bumjoong had been standing by the door for a few minutes, about to head back to his room, when he noticed Hongjoong's light still on. Arms folded, he watched his younger brother focused on the worksheet. “Are you back in grade school?”

Hongjoong spun in his chair, scoffing. “It’s part of the company.” Bumjoong pushed himself off the doorframe and sat on the bed. “It’s a program? About what?”

“Language.” Bumjoong leaned over Hongjoong’s shoulder to see the assignment. He noticed the multiple thin layers of eraser shavings scattered across the book and the sharpened pencils discarded to the side. The book was in both English and Tagalog. Being a secretary wasn’t just about assisting; it involved handling the CEO’s side tasks, updating reports, and being constantly available for phone calls and sudden visits to other companies.

As Bumjoong observed his brother, he noticed the deep concentration etched into Hongjoong’s furrowed brow as he fiddled with the pencil before finally writing down an answer. It dawned on Bumjoong why his brother had seemed so down over the past month.

The language barrier—it must have been causing him so much stress. Bumjoong’s heart ached at the thought of his brother struggling in silence, carrying the burden until it became too much to bear. That had always been Hongjoong’s way. Even when they were younger, he would avoid speaking up, letting things pass in silence or finding ways to sidestep difficult conversations.

“Whose idea was it?” Bumjoong asked.

“My boss.”

“Ms. Ae-Chan?”

Hongjoong looked up, shocked. “You know Ma’am Ae-Chan?”

Bumjoong chuckled, nodding. “Mr. Jackson Wang is my boss, and they’ve been collaborating since the start of her career.”

“Ms. Ae-Chan made this program.”

“Really?!”

Nodding toward the textbooks, Bumjoong explained, “Mr. Wang initiated this program to address the same issue—his staff faced criticism due to the language barrier. So, he offered this program to the entire company. Ms. Ae-Chan faced similar challenges throughout her career. Did you know she spoke Korean before she learned Tagalog?”

Hongjoong shook his head, curiosity piqued. He recalled how hearing her speak Korean during his interview had nearly brought him to tears. It had been a struggle to navigate the company’s language policies, and he hadn’t been sure if speaking Korean was even acceptable there.

“She faced criticism for not using her country’s language, too,” Bumjoong continued, “so she implemented this program to help her staff. But it wasn’t well received, and she faced backlash for it. We never fully understood why, but it took a toll on her mentally.”

There was a long pause. Hongjoong looked up and saw the contemplation on Bumjoong’s face. He raised an eyebrow. “You know more, don’t you?”

Bumjoong sighed, leaning back. “Being Mr. Wang’s second secretary has its perks.”

Sitting up straight, he added, “Your boss received backlash because of her mother.” Hongjoong knew bits and pieces about your family issues. He had heard rumors from his colleagues—about your father being a businessman and your mother, a housewife, who had cast you out. While he wasn’t one to indulge in gossip, the intrigue had always been there, wondering why you had been left alone.

“She did?” Hongjoong asked.

Bumjoong nodded. “Her mother criticized her for speaking a different language, calling it unprofessional. She also resented her for hiring foreigners instead of her own people. One day, she even showed up at the office, causing a scene, accusing her of abandoning the family for work. Afterward, she started spreading negative reviews about how your boss abused her power, forcing her staff to work overtime. Her mother never supported her decision to pursue business, especially after her father left them and never tried to rebuild the family.”

“Her own mother?” Hongjoong repeated in disbelief.

“Yes,” Bumjoong confirmed. Learning these details about you, without hearing it directly from you, made Hongjoong feel guilty. He knew Bumjoong didn’t mean any harm by sharing, especially since he had been helped in his early days as Jackson’s secretary. But still, discussing you behind your back felt wrong.

“I’m quite fascinated by your boss,” Bumjoong admitted, still amazed at your mental resilience despite everything. “She probably started to heal and learn to love again because of her former secretary. But considering her past and complicated family situation, she’s incredibly strong. She puts the company and her staff first, always trying to patch the wrongs and fill the emptiness.”

Hongjoong tilted his head in curiosity. “What do you mean?”

“She does all of this because she knows no one can truly fill the emptiness in her heart,” Bumjoong said softly, poking Hongjoong’s chest near his heart. “She’s hard to love, yet so soft on the outside.”

Hongjoong stared at him in amazement. “She went through all of that alone?”

Bumjoong nodded. Without saying much more, he ruffled Hongjoong’s hair. “Don’t stay up too late,” he said before leaving the room, a swell of pride warming his chest as he glanced back at his brother before heading to his own room.

On Saturday afternoon, Hongjoong decided to visit the mall to buy himself a new suit, coat, and shoes. After putting the last piece of his warm clothes on, his mother hurriedly tied a scarf around him.

Patting his shoulders gently, “Stay warm baby.” He chuckles, kissing his mother on her temple before bidding goodbye.

Despite having enough money in his bank account, the prices made him reconsider, so he settled on buying just a new pair of socks, underwear, and sneakers.As he looked at the newly purchased shoes in his hand, his mind drifted back to four days ago when he had given you sneakers. It didn’t matter now—seeing you working comfortably made him less anxious and brought a silly little smile to his face as he worked.

Hongjoong strolled through the mall, a smile still on his lips. The festive decorations of the season cast a warm glow on the bustling crowd, and for a moment, he allowed himself to be carried by the flow of people. The soft jingle of holiday music echoed in the background, mingling with the chatter of shoppers. Despite the cheerful atmosphere, his mind kept circling back to the conversation he had with Bumjoong. The weight of it all settled in his chest, making him feel distant, even amidst the holiday cheer. It falters but with a puff of his strong breath, he pushes the thought away.

As he walked past a jewelry store, something caught his eye. He slowed down, drawn to the window display where a variety of delicate pieces sparkled under the soft lights. Amidst the necklaces, rings, and bracelets, one pendant stood out to him. It was simple, yet captivating—a small, crystal-clear pendant that seemed almost ordinary at first glance.

But then, as Hongjoong watched, it shifted. The color of the crystal changed subtly, from a cool blue to a soft, warm pink. He leaned closer, intrigued by the transformation. A small card beside the pendant read: "Temperature-sensitive crystal—changes color with your body heat."

Hongjoong’s eyes lingered on the pendant as it continued to shift colors. The idea that this little piece of jewelry could reflect something so personal—one's own warmth—felt oddly comforting. He imagined the pendant resting against someone’s skin, its color shifting with every rise and fall of their emotions, like a hidden connection between them and the crystal.

He thought of you—your strength despite the weight of your past, the burdens you carried alone. The pendant seemed to embody that hidden resilience, the way you adapted to your surroundings while still holding onto your core self.

But he couldn’t help blushing uncontrollably when he remembered feeding you. His hands flew to his face with a small yelp, drawing odd glances from passersby. His face was indeed red from the thought of you—blushing. You looked so pretty when you got flustered, sometimes stuttering when Seonghwa teased you or when your staff noticed your new hair color or style.

Nevertheless, his heart seemed to be freely expressing its love for you. His eyes softened whenever he saw you being considerate and courteous to others, outside of work. He admired how you let others speak first, translated words for those who struggled to understand—just like you did for him. Hongjoong would never forget the time when, in the rain, you had given your umbrella to a lady whose own hand had broken. You had waited under the rain for Yunho, your clothes half-soaked, yet you still had a smile on your face.

To Hongjoong, you were a humble woman.

“Ah– I’m sorry, sir... I do not understand... Yes, yes.” Hongjoong’s head shot up when he heard a familiar voice nearby. When he looked, he saw you talking to an aged man who seemed to be growing impatient. You were fiddling with your phone, but the man shook his head and spoke in another language—Japanese.

He saw you struggling to understand the man, and he knew he had to step in. Hongjoong quickly approached, placing a reassuring hand on your lower back as he stepped between you and the man, offering the man a polite smile.

(“何かお手伝いしましょうか？”)(“Is there anything I can help with, sir?”) Hongjoong asked in fluent Japanese. The man sighed in relief, glancing at you with a hint of disappointment before responding, (“ああ、この女性とずっと話していたのに、何も分かっていなかった！”) (“Ah, you don’t know how long I’ve been talking to this woman! She doesn’t understand anything!”)

Anger flared within Hongjoong, it is not your fault nor anybody’s fault that no one can speak the same language. Speaking in another language had its disadvantages—people wouldn’t know they were being insulted. He glances at you, “Are you okay?” You shake your head, placing a meek hand on his arm, to which you retreat your hand immediately, awkwardly placing them on your side whilst you feel uncomfortable under the stare of the aged man in front of you.

Hongjoong took notice and moved gently so that you were totally out of the prying eyes of the man, “Yeah … I am.”

The man continued, [“英語でラーメン屋の場所を尋ねたのに、彼女は理解せず、他の場所を勧めてきたんだ。私はただそこに行きたいだけなんだ。”] (“I asked her in English where the nearest ramen place was, but she didn’t understand and insisted on going somewhere else. I just want to go there.”)

Hongjoong took a breath, calming himself. [“ 彼女は混乱していただけで、助けようとしたんだと思います。ラーメン屋の場所ですが、ここからは…”] (“I believe she was confused and only wanted to help. To answer your question, the ramen place is just…”) Hongjoong gave the man directions to the ramen shop. The man thanked Hongjoong, even shaking his hand before giving you one last look and parting ways. You bowed to the man, unable to meet Hongjoong’s gaze.

When Hongjoong looked at you, his heart sank. Despite your usual fierce and confident demeanor that you show inside the office, this was the first time he had seen you look so small and timid. You were fiddling with your oversized sweater, clearing your throat, you raised your head, eyes shaking, “Uhm .. thank you Hongjoong.”

He smiles at you gently, “No problem ma’am.” You shake your head, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, “Please we are outside of work, you can call me by my name.” He moves, facing you as his eyes soften, holding a short gaze at your sweaty forehead and anxious hands, Hongjoong looks around and sighs in relief when he sees a lady ringing a bell.

Nodding his head to the side, a smile on his lips, “Come with me then, Ae-chan-ah.” You stare at his back, confused yet intrigued at his sudden invite. He spuns, thumbing at the ice-cream car, a boyish-smirk on his lips, “Ice-cream is the best medicine.” Realization dawns at you, your shoulders relaxing before shaking your head yet a smile is on your face. You could feel your heart leap from the inside of your ribs.

You and Hongjoong sat on an empty bench just beside the ice-cream car. You spoon enough of the ice-cream yet it makes your head experience an intense brain freeze. You squeal, holding your head in your hand, Hongjoong glancing at you worriedly, thinking you got hurt, realizing that you were just cursing yourself for having brain-freeze.

He laughed, making you pout playfully before you lightly smacked his bicep out of habit, quickly apologizing afterward. Hongjoong watched as you kept the spoon in your mouth, your legs stretched out and relaxed. To others, it might seem odd that he was hanging out with his boss, but to him, that title was just a formality—a name you earned, but one that didn’t define the way you connected with those around you.

“Hongjoong-ah,” you said, startling him out of his thoughts. He realized he had been staring, caught gazing at you as if you were the universe itself, just within reach. Your eyes widened, trying to ignore the pounding in your chest, but it was nearly impossible to tear your gaze away from him as you took in his features.

You could feel the heat rising in your neck, and your cheeks burned even hotter. It all felt so real, too overwhelming for your heart to handle, leaving you breathless every time your eyes settled on Hongjoong.

Hongjoong wished the seat beneath him would open up and swallow him whole out of sheer embarrassment. His insides twisted with panic; he had been caught. His breath hitched as he looked at you, the soft glow of the mall lights above creating a faint halo around your head. You were ethereal, so delicate.

It was not your fault that you forgot to say the words in your head whenever you look at Hongjoong. You hummed, looking down on your melting ice-cream. You wanted to thank him for saving you. Not for a while ago but for how things are turning out for you in the greater good.

You hummed, looking down at your melting ice cream, the sweetness a comfort against the day’s awkward moments. You wanted to thank him, not just for stepping in a while ago but for how things were turning out in your life, all for the better. How you have started to open your heart to the possibilities, reality and most especially, in love.

As the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, your mind drifted back to a few weeks ago when you visited your former secretary. She had dropped by your office to pay you a quick visit but you were out of the office that time and left a note on your desk.

“I’m proud of you, anak.” You chuckle, feeling your heart flutter from the nickname. Being called ‘anak’ or ‘my child’ by someone so dear to you is the same thing as winning a stuffed toy in a claw machine. You hum, playing with the teaspoon, twirling it around the cup before taking a sip. Everything about the visit had been wonderful—meeting her family, her kind husband, and their two beautiful daughters. You both had spent the afternoon catching up over tea, the warmth of her home a stark contrast to the cold, sterile environment of the office.

“How are you doing, really?” Mrs. Han had asked, her voice gentle but probing, as if she could see the weight you were carrying beneath your composed exterior. You waved her off as she pouted at your long silence, chuckling at her, “I’m managing,” you replied, smiling softly. “But things have been… different since you left.”

Mrs. Han nodded knowingly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Have they found someone to fill my spot yet? I hope they’re treating you well.”

The question had caught you off guard. You’d paused, your mind immediately conjuring up an image of Hongjoong, his determined gaze as he worked late into the night, the way he always seemed to anticipate your needs before you even voiced them.

Or those times where you caught both yourselves tangled in a intense or intimate moment inside your office, holding such soft gazes across the meeting room or even when he covers your bottom when he notice a spot and uses his coat and lead you to the bathroom; ignoring the stares and gave you a spare pants (called Yunho for emergency purposes).

And then, without warning, you had felt a warmth creeping up your cheeks, your heart fluttering at the mere thought of him. Mrs. Han had noticed, of course. She had always been perceptive, and her teasing laugh had filled the room as she leaned in closer. “Oh, I see… someone’s got your attention, huh?”

You had quickly brushed off her comment with a laugh, but the blush remained on your face, and even now, as you sat next to Hongjoong, you could feel it returning. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, the way his lips curled into a soft smile as he savored his ice cream, the way his eyes sparkled with kindness whenever he looked at you.

“Thank you, Hongjoong-ah,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but he heard you. He turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a questioning look. “For what?” he asked, his tone gentle, as if he was ready to comfort you if needed.

“For being here,” you replied, offering him a small smile. “And for… everything.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as if to dismiss your words. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just doing my job.”

But you knew it was more than that. There was a sincerity in his actions, a quiet dedication that went beyond the boundaries of a mere professional relationship. And as you both sat there, enjoying the last bits of your ice cream, you couldn’t help but feel a warmth spreading through your chest, realizing that maybe, just maybe, you were beginning to see Hongjoong as more than just your secretary.

After finishing your ice cream, you both decided to take a walk around the mall's outdoor garden. The air was crisp, and the glow of Christmas lights bathed the area in a warm, festive hue. Candy cane lights lined the pathway, and children ran around, laughing and playing, their cheeks flushed from the cold. The garden was decorated with oversized ornaments, sparkling tinsel, and wreaths that filled the air with the scent of pine.

As you and Hongjoong strolled through the festive scene, the soft hum of Christmas carols filled the air, blending with the sound of joyful chatter from families and couples enjoying the holiday atmosphere. The twinkling lights overhead mirrored the stars in the sky, casting a magical glow over everything. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of a young couple taking pictures near a large Christmas tree, their happiness infectious.

You and Hongjoong walked in comfortable silence, taking in the beauty of the moment, until something soft brushed the top of your head. You blinked, looking up to see tiny white flakes falling from the sky—the first snow of the season. The cold breeze carried the snowflakes around you, and you instinctively pulled your arms tighter around yourself, shivering as the chill seeped through your clothes.

Hongjoong noticed immediately. Without a word, he slipped off his scarf and gently draped it over your shoulders, making sure to wrap it securely around you. The thick fabric covered not just your shoulders but also your ears, the ends hanging down to your chest. The scarf almost covers half of your face, nuzzling on the soft cotton of the material, your body relaxes. The scent of mint and strong perfume made your heart skip a beat. You blushed, the warmth of the scarf mingling with the fluttering in your heart.

"There," he said softly, his voice filled with warmth. "That should help." Patting your shoulders gently, giving it a soft squeeze before his eyes gazes on yours. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting him in a quiet exchange of gratitude and something more. The snow continued to fall around you, dusting your hair and the ground beneath your feet. For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world faded away, leaving just the two of you standing there in the gentle snowfall. The way the snow falls gently on top of your heads made the whole scenery out of the dramas.

In that stillness, you realized that the greatest gift you were receiving wasn't wrapped in paper or placed under a tree. It was love—unspoken, but felt in every gesture, every glance, every moment you shared with Hongjoong.

That night, you drove Hongjoong home after a quiet meal at a familiar restaurant. The familiar comfort of the place had become a tradition, one that both soothed and reminded you of the constancy in your busy life. As you pulled into the driveway of his house, your gaze was drawn to the Christmas decorations that adorned the place—a few garlands hung neatly along the porch, soft lights twinkling, and a gentle dusting of snow already covering the rooftops. The sight brought a smile to your face, though a bittersweet tug gnawed at your heart. The realization settled in that, once again, you would likely be spending the holiday season in the solitude of your office.

Yunho had extended his open invitation for you to join his family’s Christmas celebration again this year. For the past two years, you had shared warm, joyful moments with his grandparents, feeling like a welcomed guest in their home. But despite the sincerity of Yunho's offer, you hesitated. Christmas, for you, held a deeper significance—one rooted in the ideal of family. You wanted those you cared about to celebrate with their loved ones, their families whole and complete, without feeling like an outsider intruding on their cherished traditions.

Then there was Seonghwa—your half-brother. The discovery of your shared bloodline had come unexpectedly, revealed by a family doctor, and Seonghwa, determined to be a part of your life, had sought you out. He had been a steady presence during the peak of your career, offering guidance and care. But despite the bond you had formed, you couldn't shake the feeling of being on the fringes. His mother, though polite, still kept you at arm’s length, loved and accepted you like her own daughter, and your heart ached, for the closure you had longed for with your father.

The desire to celebrate with a family of your own never faded, even if it seemed like a distant dream. A quiet wish you whispered to yourself each night—a hope that, someday, the holidays wouldn’t just be spent at a desk, or as a guest, but as someone who truly belonged.

A family you would never have, a family you wish you had.

As you watch Hongjoong step out of the car and walk toward his front door, you can’t help but feel the weight of the season pressing down on you. The twinkling lights, the festive garlands, and the snow-covered rooftops should bring joy, but all they do is remind you of the solitude that awaits you back at your office.

Hongjoong pauses at the door, glancing back at you with a soft smile. “Are you sure you don’t want to come inside? Mom always makes hot chocolate after dinner this time of year.”

You return his smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your family’s time together. But thank you, Hongjoong. Maybe another time.”

He nods, though there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—concern, maybe. “I won’t push you but alright. Drive safely, and… take care of yourself, okay?”

You offer a reassuring wave as he disappears inside. With a sigh, you turn your car back toward the road. You drive back towards your place, halting on the red light. Your ears picking up the faint music of carols blasting on your speaker. You sigh, leaning back as you glance around the city. It is now fully covered with Christmas lights. Decorating the entire place with vibrant colors and cheers while it makes you bitter and lonely. Like resembling the Grinch himself.

Just the thought of the green bitter guy made you chuckle. With a shake of your head, you release your foot from the brake only to step down gently. You catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye. Across the street, nestled among the shops in the town square, a small jewelry store catches your attention.

Curiosity piqued, you park your car and make your way toward the shop. The soft glow from its display window illuminates the delicate pieces inside, but one, in particular, stands out—a simple pendant with a crystal-clear stone. Its beauty lies in its subtlety, but what makes it even more unique is the way the stone changes color, reflecting the warmth of its wearer’s body temperature.

The bell above the door chimes softly as you enter, and the warmth of the store contrasts with the chilly night air. Your eyes are drawn back to the pendant, and as you step closer to the display, you can see the delicate craftsmanship. The stone, though clear, seems to shimmer faintly with potential—a small, almost magical detail that makes it stand out from the other pieces.

The store-keeper, a kind-looking woman with a warm smile, notices your interest. “Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s one of our most unique pieces. The stone changes color depending on the warmth of the person wearing it. Some say it reflects the emotions of the heart.”

You glance at her, then back at the pendant, feeling an inexplicable pull toward it. “Does it… have any significance?”

The store-keeper nods thoughtfully. “It’s said that the pendant symbolizes connection—a bond between people that changes and grows, just like the colors in the stone. Some buy it as a gift for someone they care about, others as a reminder of something special they’ve shared.”

Her words linger in your mind as you continue to stare at the pendant. You think of Hongjoong—his gentle smile, his quiet determination, and the warmth he’s brought into your life, even when you’ve tried to keep your distance. The bond you share is growing, shifting in ways you hadn’t expected. Perhaps this pendant could be a way to acknowledge that, to give something tangible to represent the connection that’s blossoming between you.

It was the season of giving and taking. Christmas. Winter. The first snow had already fallen a week ago, the night Hongjoong wrapped his scarf around your neck. You still hadn’t returned it and made a mental note to do so once you finished the paperwork scattered across your desk. A soft jingle echoed through your office from the ceiling, where a built-in speaker played the familiar tune of EXO’s "첫 눈 (The First Snow)."

You chuckled, shaking your head knowingly. Jongho had likely set up the playlist—he always left a selection of Christmas songs on repeat until you paused it, almost as if forcing you to take a break and go home. Christmas had always been your favorite season: snow, cheerful songs, choirs singing carols, gifts exchanged between loved ones, the warmth of family. But now, that joy seemed distant, overshadowed by your responsibilities as CEO.

Sighing, you returned your focus to the paperwork. Despite giving your staff the week off to enjoy the holidays with their families, you couldn’t afford to rest. For someone in your position, work never truly stopped. The dim glow of your desk lamp was the only light in the room as you pushed forward, the stack of reports on your desk reminding you of the unending responsibilities you bore.

A knock at your door broke the silence. You glanced at the clock—10:35 PM. To your surprise, Hongjoong entered your office, looking both hesitant and determined, his usual cheerfulness tinged with concern.

“Hongjoong? I thought you had already gone home,” you said, setting a folder aside as your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

“I was finishing some paperwork before heading off for the holiday,” he replied softly. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he asked, “Why are you still here? You gave us all a break… but you’re still working.”

You were taken aback by his question. “Hongjoong, I have to finish these reports. If I don’t, we won’t have work lined up for the new year. This is important for all of us. The work doesn’t stop just because it’s Christmas. There are responsibilities—”

“But we all have responsibilities too, and you still gave us time to rest,” he gently interrupted. “Don’t you deserve that too?”

His words hung in the air, and you couldn’t deny the truth in them. You had told yourself countless times that this was part of the job, that being at the helm required constant vigilance. But seeing Hongjoong standing there, with the soft glow of your desk lamp reflecting in his eyes, made you realize how much you had sacrificed. And for what?

After a long pause, you sighed. “Maybe you’re right.”

Hongjoong’s face brightened with a sense of accomplishment, a charming smile spreading across his lips. He glanced at his watch, then at his phone. “Yunho is still here. Let’s go, Ae-Chan.”

You chuckled, pushing your chair back as you turned off your computer screen. “Are you that eager to bring me home?”

“N-No!” he stammered, though his enthusiasm was clear.

Later that evening, you found yourself at home. You placed your bag by the coffee table and lit the fireplace. The flames cast a warm glow across the room, illuminating the side of your face. When you turned around, you noticed Hongjoong standing by the front door, staring at you.

“Hongjoong, for heaven’s sake, sit down,” you said with a chuckle. “I’m not the witch from ‘Hansel and Gretel.”

Hongjoong hesitated, clearly lost in thought. He looked around your living room, taking in the simplicity of the decor—a white Christmas tree near the fireplace, twinkling lights dancing around it, but nothing else. His heart ached as he realized that you must be spending Christmas alone. It reminded him of the favor Seonghwa had asked of him earlier that day when he visited the office.

‘Please make sure she celebrates Christmas,’ Seonghwa had said.

It was a simple request, yet it felt complicated. But Hongjoong wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. As you prepared tea, you suddenly felt his presence behind you. When you turned around, your hands were suddenly clasped in his.

“Hongjoong?” you asked, startled. “Are you okay—”

“Celebrate Christmas with me!” he blurted out, his declaration catching you completely off guard. You stared at him, searching his eyes for any sign of hesitation, but all you saw was hope and excitement, like a child eagerly waiting to open gifts on Christmas morning.

You had already mentioned your thoughts on the true essence of Christmas, but Hongjoong only shook his head, a smile playing on his lips as he leaned in closer. Your faces were so near that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. Your breath hitched in your throat.

“I’ll show you the true essence of Christmas,” he whispered.

And that’s how you found yourself packing for a week away. With a suitcase in one hand and a satchel bag filled with your laptop and gadgets in the other, you arrived at Hongjoong’s family home. After a night of contemplation, you were finally convinced—partly by Hongjoong’s persistence and partly by Seonghwa’s encouraging messages. You parked your car in their driveway, letting out a puff of air as you rolled down your window.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” you said nervously.

Hongjoong shook his head with a smile, opening your car door as you finished turning off the engine. “Not at all. Come on, they’re excited to meet you.”

As you entered the house, you were immediately enveloped by warmth and the comforting smell of home-cooked food. Hongjoong helped you remove your coat as he introduced you to his family. “Mom’s cooking right now. Let me introduce you to Dad and Bumjoong.”

Your eyes widened in recognition. “Bumjoong? As in Kim Bumjoong, Jackson Wang’s secretary?”

As soon as you stepped into the living room, Bumjoong greeted you with a wave and a slight bow. “No need for introductions—I see you at the office now and then,” he said with a chuckle. “But it’s good to finally meet you properly. I’m Bumjoong, Hongjoong’s older brother.”

You extended your hand to shake his, but he pulled you into a warm hug instead. “No need to be formal! We’re family here.”

You blushed deeply, taken aback by the affectionate gesture. It was rare for you to be this close to anyone outside of Yunho or Seonghwa. Hongjoong was still in the process of becoming someone you were comfortable with in more intimate moments, but this hug left you a flustered mess. Hongjoong had to intervene, gently pulling you away from his brother’s hold.

“Yah! She’s not used to being hugged like that,” Hongjoong scolded playfully.

Bumjoong laughed, teasing both of you. “Oh? And you’re allowed to hug her?”

You and Hongjoong both squeaked in surprise, faces flushed with embarrassment, as Bumjoong’s playful remark echoed through the room. As soon as you were released from the teasing embrace, you noticed a tall figure approaching from the kitchen. Hongjoong’s father stepped forward with a wide smile, his eyes crinkling with warmth. His presence was commanding yet kind, and you immediately felt a sense of comfort around him.

“Ae-Chan-ah, welcome!” His voice boomed with joy as he held out his hand, shaking yours firmly before pulling you into a gentle hug. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you. Hongjoong’s been telling us so much about you.”

You smiled shyly, “Thank you for inviting me. Don’t worry, I brought something for all of you … for letting me celebrate Christmas with you and your family.”

Won-Chul chuckles, giving your hand a squeeze, “You shouldn’t have trouble for the gifts, darling. Your presence and your kindness is already enough for me and for all the opportunities you gave to my son.” You feel your cheeks redden, not used to such open displays of affection, but you felt the sincerity in his greeting. His warmth and kindness enveloped you like a soft blanket, easing the tension in your shoulders.

As soon as he stepped back, you heard hurried footsteps coming from the hallway. Hongjoong’s mother— Hyerin, entered the room, her face lighting up with delight when she saw you. She didn’t hesitate for a second before rushing over, cupping your cheeks in her hands with a soft, almost maternal touch. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she took in every detail of your face.

“Oh, you’re even more beautiful than I imagined!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine affection. She placed a quick kiss on each of your cheeks, causing you to blush. Then, without warning, she pulled you into a tight embrace, her arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that made your heart swell.

“I’ve been waiting to meet you, Ae-Chan-ah,” she said softly, her voice muffled by the hug. “I knew from the moment Hongjoong mentioned you that you were special.” You were taken aback by the overwhelming love and warmth she radiated. It wasn’t just a polite greeting—it was a deep, genuine affection, the kind that only a mother could give. You found yourself melting into her embrace, your heart softening with each passing moment.

When she finally released you, her eyes were shining with tears of joy. “Wait right here!” she said excitedly before hurrying off towards her room. Hongjoong chuckled beside you, clearly used to his mother’s exuberance.

“She’s been looking forward to this for weeks,” he whispered with a smile.You place a warm hand on his shoulder, “She is so sweet.”

“That’s her love language.”

Moments later, she returned, holding a soft sweater in her hands. The fabric was thick and cozy, a light pastel color that seemed to glow in the warmth of the room. She placed it gently into your hands, her expression filled with pride. “This belonged to me, but I’ve never had the chance to wear it,” she explained, her voice filled with emotion. “I’ve always wanted a daughter to share these things with, and now that you’re here… I hope you’ll accept this as a gift, from mother to daughter.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked at the sweater. It was more than just an article of clothing—it was a symbol of the love she was offering you, a piece of herself that she was giving with open arms. You could feel the warmth of her love radiating from the fabric, and it touched something deep inside of you. Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at her. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

She smiled, wiping away a stray tear from your cheek. “You don’t have to say anything, dear. Just know that you’re always welcome here. You’re part of our family now.”

Hongjoong watched the exchange with a soft smile, his heart swelling with pride and affection. He had hoped for this—for you to feel the love and warmth of his family, to experience the kind of care and attention that only a mother could give.

You eyed the sweater in your hand. Evening had already rolled in and you were already settled in your room, just beside Hong joong’s room. You got up and had a quick shower before dinner started. As you slipped on the soft sweater, it felt like a warm embrace wrapping around you, comforting and reassuring. You stared at the full body length mirror, twirling as you examined the cotton and how it fits you nicely. It reaches over your fingertips and around your mid thigh, it feels warm and comforting.

You smile, a genuine smile. It wasn’t just a gift—it was a piece of love, a mother’s love, and it reminded you that gifts weren’t always about material things. Sometimes, the most precious gifts were the ones that came from the heart.

Hyerin continued to pamper you throughout the evening, offering you more food than you could ever eat, making sure you were comfortable, and constantly checking in to see if you needed anything. She even fussed over your hair, smoothing it down, “You took care of yourself. So pretty my baby.”

At first, you were overwhelmed by the attention, but slowly, you began to relax into it. You realized that this was her way of expressing love—through acts of care and kindness, through the little things that made you feel seen and cherished. It was a kind of love you hadn’t felt in a long time, and it made your heart ache with gratitude.

By the end of the evening, you were filled with a warmth that had nothing to do with the fireplace or the cozy sweater you were wearing. It was the warmth of family, of love freely given and gratefully received. As you sat around the dinner table, listening to Won-Chul tell stories, and watching Hyerin smile at you with such fondness, you realized that this—this was the true essence of Christmas. And materials are not just a gift you receive but love and family.

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cupcakefactory · 5 days ago

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Under the Adjutants Thumb - Chapter 8

Welcome to chapter 8!

Summary: An apology, a walk in a park and a confession?

(This is my apology for no update last week!)

WC: 1k

MASTERLIST FOR UTAT

Warnings: Calebs a little possessive, but thats just caleb i fear

AN// Under the adjutants thumb is a passion project dedicated to my grandfather, a man who kept my silly ideas and passions alive. Thank you for the many hours of ramblings you listened too. I love and miss you 07/01/25

Something could be said about the tension in the air, how it made everyone who had to enter its atmosphere tense up, like they were waiting for something to happen that they didn’t really understand. That’s what being around Athena and Caleb was like – other officers would rush out of the room instead of hanging around after handing over paperwork, gasping for air like the tension was actually suffocating them. It was unpleasant, it was almost torturous – the pair wouldn’t even look at each other anymore, avoiding the other like they had the plague, passing messages to the other via officers that didn’t want to be involved.

It was, in part, rather childish, but neither cared enough to sit back and self-reflect. Caleb missed her badly, even if she rarely had anything nice to say to him – he enjoyed her voice, enjoyed the subtle digs, enjoyed the way she tilted her head and bit her lip when she was concentrating on things. It was his own personal hell having her so close and not talking to him, and it wasn’t much better for her. She found herself missing him buzzing around, missing the coffees that would be on her desk every morning, missing the playful winks and comments when he handed her work. She didn’t realise how much she started to enjoy Caleb's company again until it was stripped from her by her own hands.

It was a month after the slap when she plucked up the courage to apologise, not able to do it face to face, she was a coward in that regard, unable to face her own demons head on. Instead, she did what she would have done as a child: she baked him a cupcake and left it on his desk with a note that simply said “I’m sorry”. When he saw it, he couldn’t help but smile, accepting the offering, and finally, the tension in the room started to subside, albeit not all the way. It still simmered under the surface, able to reappear at any time and make itself known again.

However, something had changed; she wasn’t as hostile to his advances anymore – at times, she managed a small smile when he made a joke or handed her something. He noticed it, noticed how she was more accepting of him as a person, and he was bathing in it, overjoyed by the change and determined to keep it going. That was why, when they got a message about a mission in the Deepspace tunnel, one they were both expected to go on, he asked her to join him on a walk in the forest to try and put the past behind them.

And to his surprise? She agreed.

The sun was beating down on them as they walked through the forest in Linkon, it was rare they got to enjoy nature like this – both growing use to the mechanics that littered Skyhaven. They didn’t get the sound of birds chirping, or the scent of flowers – they were subject to the noise of warships and the scent of oil and gas. It was refreshing to be away from it all – refreshing to walk side by side as people instead of colonel and adjutant.

Caleb wasn’t sure what he would define their relationship as, he knew realistically they weren’t even friends – sure she was less hostile now, less likely to kill him for making a mistake and didn’t ignore his being like he had some illness, but there was still things undiscussed that made things awkward. Sure, they probably weren’t even friends, but Caleb knew he had fallen for her as a child and that those feelings were still at large. He adored her, maybe he was even a little obsessed with her – he needed to be around her all the time, that’s why he made her his adjutant after all.

They sat on a blanket as he pondered this, both of them quiet but strangely content. She chewed on a grape, head tilted as she watched him. He looked strangely peaceful outside of work, more like the little boy she once cared for and less like the colonel that everyone feared.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He chuckled, shaking his head and making the already brown locs shake – he picked up a grape himself, pushing it past his lips as he met his eyes.

“Are we friends?”

The question caught her off guard. She looked up, meeting those familiar sunrise eyes, and shrugged. She didn’t know – it was difficult. Part of her wanted to scream yes, to renew the friendship from her childhood she so desperately missed, and another part –a much deeper part she wouldn’t admit to herself, felt more. It screamed for more.

She knew she wanted to hate him, wanted to despise him, but she just couldn’t. She realised that after she slapped him, the guilt that kept her up night after night, the way she didn’t want to face him because she regretted her actions. The annoying way blood rushed to her cheeks and her heart hammered when she watched him eat the cupcake she had prepared for him, the joy that radiated every time he cared for her.

She hated to admit it to herself, but she was in love with him – maybe she had been since they were children, she wouldn’t know. But even as she admitted it to herself, she didn’t need to tell him – or well, did she? Caleb deserved to know.. Didn’t he?

So instead of answering, her hand met his cheek, he didn’t flinch this time – instead those mesmerising eyes watched as she leant in, her lips meeting his in a way he had dreamt of as a teenager, the way he craved as an adult. He convinced himself he must be dreaming, this had to be fake – but when his hand met her hip and he felt the heat of her skin through the shorts she wore, he knew this was real, and that their lives just got more complicated.

“Yeah, we are friends. See you tomorrow.”

Likes, Comments and Reblogs are always appreciated <3

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3d-wifey · 2 years ago

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And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 5

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 3.1k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! A/N: Don't be scared to click the embedded links, you might get an auditory surprise (Ai voice cloning works wonders)

Past (v) - Finnick

[17 & 18] - DISTRICT FOUR

Finnick sits at his desk, the end of his pencil tapping a song into the wood as he thinks. The two of you have been exchanging letters for almost a year now, but he still gets excited whenever you send a new one. Excited and nervous. Getting them mailed between districts is a slow progression involving lying to a few mayors and he's sure Snow reads each one. Still, Finnick thinks, it's worth it. In your latest letter, you explained to him how a bear snuck in from the woods, and the peacekeepers were forced to gun it down. Luckily, no one was hurt, but the mayor was "generous" enough to divide the meat among the citizens who were working. You finish with a closing of 'With love', your signature, and a shitty little drawing of a bear at the bottom with X's over its eyes. He traces it with his finger and pictures you hunched over your desk, nose scrunching in concentration as you draw it. "With love, huh?" He whispers to himself and smiles. Along with your letter, you sent a parcel full of bundled brown sticks tied together with yarn. Licorice root, you had said. Only available in the Capitol and District Eleven, best used in tea with berries. He brings it to his nose and it smells sweet, like caramelized sugar. It smells like you, but it's missing that undercurrent of earthly petrichor. He looks up when he sees Mags approaching with a knowing look in her eyes. She looks at the letter in his hands and he folds it before she can read the contents. Not that it matters. All she needed to see was the signature. It's not like she doesn't know who you are. She was so ecstatic to hear your stories, insisting he got more from you. And you gave them freely, even after Finnick ran out of ones to trade. It’s odd. You wanted nothing in return. Sometimes, he gets a little ahead of himself and wonders if it’s because you like him.

It isn’t too far-fetched to assume that, right?

Right. "What's that face for?" He laughs. She takes a loose piece of paper and a pencil to write: "When's the wedding?" He opens and closes his mouth, words escaping him. "It's not like that. We're just—” Just what? You are friends, right? Finnick has friends, but none that he likes as much as you. And the way he feels with you? He doesn't feel like that around them, not by a long shot. To just call you a friend feels like calling an ocean a pond. It's almost disrespectful to condense it into something so lacking. He can’t force you, and everything you make him feel—into such a small box, it would only overflow and drown him. You are much, much more than a pond.

Best friend, then? While true, it feels too juvenile. He considers it and he doesn't particularly like the idea of just being your friend anyway. He imagines you introducing him as such.

“Oh, and this is Finnick. My friend. Only my friend.”

No. No, he doesn’t like that at all.

If he can't be honest with you, he can at least be honest with Mags. "—I guess it is something like that." She hums excitedly and pinches his warm cheeks. "She says she hopes you're doing well." Mags perks up at that, gesturing between herself and the blank paper. He grins at her enthusiasm, "I'll tell her you said hi. Promise." She nods and pats his hand with a smile. As she walks to sit on the couch behind him, he thinks about what to send you. He can't just send a letter. Especially after you went out of your way to send licorice roots after he offhandedly mentioned he'd like to try some. He wracks his brain but comes up empty. Other than rope, hooks, and seashells, there's nothing else he can give you. His eyes drift around the room, landing on his bare wrist.

There is something he can make you.

Mags sits amused as he jumps up and rushes around the house to collect supplies. Technically, he doesn’t live here—she does. But this place has been more of a home to him than any other, past and present.

He grabs a spool of thin purple and blue rope, along with a few cowrie shells and little charms Mags has lying around. He sets up shop on the desk, cutting the blue rope to the length he wants it and folding it in half. He puts a shell in the middle, tying a knot on either side of it. He slides two little, silver charms on the left and right of the shell, a starfish and a turtle. He makes three basic Macrame knots with separate pieces of string. The two longest ones are slid on beside the charms and the smallest one is used as a closure.

Mags comes to stand beside him as he leans back to admire his work.

"Do you think she'll like it?" He asks her. He wants to bite at his nails as she looks over what he made, but refrains.

'She'll love it. :)". She writes and he hopes she’s right.

He repeats the process with the purple rope but uses a fish charm instead of a turtle and writes his letter.

Dear Star, Earlier today, I sat in the sand watching the sun rise over the ocean, and I imagined you were beside me. If I were a painter, I would capture the image for you. For now, I hope my words will suffice. The clouds shift from a dark blue to a ghostly white, parting and making way for the rising sun. The sky is a canvas of assorted colors. Navy blue, baby blue, and burnt orange chase each other in a swirl reflected across the water. As the sun climbs higher in the sky, a clear blue takes over the backdrop. Words can only take us so far. I really want to show you. Snow will only let us do so much, but maybe one day he'll let you come to Four and we can watch it together. Side by side, me and you in the sand. There's something else. I'm sure you noticed I sent you more than just the letter. There should be an intricate rope bracelet with a shell in the middle. I made us matching pairs, yours blue and mine purple—I remember you saying it's your favorite color. In hindsight, it would've made more sense to give you the bracelet with your favorite color instead of mine, but, it's kind of like having a piece of each other, you know? The jewelry has a bit of significance, too. The starfish is obvious, but the turtle is from Mags’s story. I even found a little fish charm to put on mine. You don't have to wear it, of course. It's kind of childish in retrospect. I just hope you don't laugh at me too much. Regardless, I'll be wearing mine. I know you didn't make it, but, somehow, it makes me feel closer to you. When I glance down at it, I'm reminded that I'm not alone. That there's someone out there whose life was made at least a little bit better by my being in it. I hope it'll give you that same comfort. -Fondly yours, Finnick O. P.S. Mags says hi. She's quite taken with you. You've somehow managed to charm her without ever meeting. Not that I'm surprised. :) P.P.S. I can't wait to see you again.

Present (V) - Finnick

[23 & 24] - TRAINING CENTER; FOURTH FLOOR

Finnick rewinds the video and pauses. His eyes absorb your features greedily, taking you in like a man starved. And, honestly, he is. It's the first time he's seen you, outside of your picture, in two years, but it's felt like a lifetime. Initially, he watched your reaping in hopes of you proving him wrong.

You didn't.

He can't help but find joy in the fact that he still knows you well enough to predict what you'll do. And he'll get to see you again. Really see you. He shouldn't be happy about that under these circumstances, but Finnick is under no illusion of being a good person. The camera focuses on you right as you're about to raise your hand to volunteer. He can see the conviction in your eyes and wonders why. Why did he ever think he could survive being away from you? "God, it feels like I've been watching you rewind for hours." Finnick freezes. There are five other people here, all women, and only four of them can talk. This voice is distinctly male. He looks over his shoulder and sighs. He should've guessed. "Haymitch. How did you—” He cuts himself off when he spots Mags standing a little behind him. That solves how he got in. He didn't hear him knock or notice him approaching, too focused on you to use his other senses. "Kid, I don't wanna say this is sad, but it's not, not sad." Finnick rolls his eyes at Haymitch's unwelcome opinion. Should he be embarrassed to be caught in this position? Maybe. Probably. Yeah, he definitely should be. But he gave up his shame a long time ago. He's honestly just annoyed at being interrupted.

"What do you want?" He turns back around to face you. "Why do I have to want something, huh?" Haymitch walks around the couch, Mags close behind him. "Can't I just show up to check in on you guys?" Finnick levels him with a deadpan stare. Haymitch purses his lips. "Alright, I'll cut to the chase," he starts before pausing, "is your prep team still here?" "No. They're off doing," he gestures vaguely towards the door, "whatever the hell it is they do." Something he considers a blessing. He already sees them more than he sees his own reflection. The less he's around them, the better. "Why?" "Because they're the last people we need to hear this conversation," he sits on the chair to the left of the couch. "Allies. Have you thought of any besides Mags?" "Can't say I have." He lies. Of course, he has. He's going into the arena with people he's known for a decade. Johanna comes to mind, but it's unlikely she'd team up with anyone. And you. He doubts you'd want him as an ally, but he'll help you regardless. And if it came down to him and you, well.

He’ll make sure you make it home. "You sure?" He leans his head on the hand that's propped up on the arm of the chair. "Not even a certain someone from Eleven? What was that nickname you gave her—Star, right?" He asks with that same tone he always used to take on when teasing Finnick about you. He bites down on the defensive response bubbling up, the snide comment on the tip of his tongue. He thumbs at the shell in the middle of his bracelet. He doesn't know, Finnick reminds himself, he doesn't know what I had to do to you. He isn't making fun of me. It's not like he told anyone other than Mags and Annie what happened between you and him—what Snow made him do. It's not like he ever could. Though he’s sure he, correctly, assumes that it’s Finnick’s fault. He takes a breath. "What is this about, Haymitch?" The older man sits for a moment, deliberating, before speaking. "When you get in the arena, I need you to protect Katniss and Peeta."

"...Are you drunk?" Finnick looks him over top to bottom. Maybe he’s gotten better at acting like he’s sober. "Not yet, sadly. I'm serious, Finnick." "And why the hell would I do that?" Haymitch goes on to explain the impending revolution. How District Thirteen didn't become a nuclear wasteland, and, instead, was forced into hiding. And how, with the help of Plutarch Heavensbee, the rebels started planning a coup as soon as the Quarter Quell was announced. "You don't seem surprised." "I'm not. People talk. Especially when they feel guilty." When he started turning away his clients' money, they were desperate to pay him atonement so their consciences wouldn't be weighed down by their sins. You came up with the idea. Money wasn't worth its salt to a victor. But secrets? Secrets were cashed in gold. With everything he was told, it wasn't hard to connect the dots. What he is surprised by is Heavensbee's hand in all of this. He's in a position of power, one directly under the president. What did he stand to gain from throwing all that away? He's wary and he tells Haymitch as much. "I know this is hard to believe, for you in particular, but there are good Capitols." He tries to cross his ankle over his knee but fails—clearly not sober. "Or, at least people who wanna do the right thing who just so happen to be Capitol." He tacks on at Finnick's unconvinced scoff.

"Alright, say I believe he's genuine, which I don’t. If this has been brewing for so long, why hasn't anyone acted until now?" "Every good revolution needs a spark and a flame." "And that's…Katniss?" "It's the romance! What it represents to Snow, but, more importantly, to the districts. The first act of public rebellion in over seventy-five years. But, the face of it is, more or less, Katniss." The Girl on Fire igniting a wildfire in the districts. He chuckles. "And where does Peeta fall in this metaphor?" "You can't have fire without air, right?" He asks rhetorically. "Well, we won't have Katniss without Peeta. She won't help us without him." Finnick rolls his eyes and sets the remote down beside him. The farce the two of them are pushing forward with this whole 'tragic romance' act will definitely keep them in the public's favor, but to let that get in the way of something this important is the kind of selfishness that can only be associated with a child. "She can't possibly care about him that much." "Yeah, well, you'd be surprised. Regardless, I need you—both of you to be a part of this. The Movement needs you. You're clever and a capable fighter. And you're one of the few who's experienced Snow's special brand of torture." He shouldn't flinch, but he does. It's an open secret among the victors, but to talk about it with anyone other than you is disquieting. He knows his face closes off and he's thankful for the fact that Haymitch knows when to stop while he’s ahead. Finnick looks to Mags. Her brows are furrowed resolutely, nowhere near as stricken as he is. She was alive during the first rebellion, but only a child. She must've been dreaming about this for years.

Haymitch goes to talk, but Finnick raises his hand to stop him before he can speak. “No need.”

Nothing Haymitch can say now will sway him to the cause, he’s almost certain of it. Better to save his breath while Finnick thinks. Because, rest assured, there is plenty for him to think about.

"God, you too are so alike it's eerie—down to the mannerisms. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but it still throws me." Haymitch shakes his head in disbelief. "Who?" "Your better half. It took me a minute to convince her to join the Movement too, but only because she's so stubborn. You both are." And just like that, whatever illusion of choice Finnick thought he had is stripped away with the mention of you. Every path he takes leads back to you. What a heartening thought. "Alright. I'll be their ally. I'll," he takes a steadying breath. "I'll join the rebellion." "That's all it took? I would have brought her up earlier if I knew that, save myself some time." He sighs. "As a plus, the guys in charge agreed to rescue any rebels from the arena as long as you get Katniss and Peeta to the pickup point." Rescue? They'll make it out? Mags. Johanna. You. Abruptly, he gets a faint whiff of your scent caught in his head like a flashback. Hovering in his nostrils as faint as a memory. It is a memory. But if he goes through with this, maybe it doesn't have to stay one. "The pickup point?" "Is something you don't have to worry about right now. Everyone will be getting different parts of the plan that’ll need their full attention." If there really are as many people a part of this rebellion as Haymitch says there are, then, realistically, there's no way they'll all be making it out. Finnick's sure a decent amount of them will be trapped there in the arena after all hell breaks loose. And that's if they don't die beforehand. "Finnick, if we do this, and we do it right, that's it." "That's it?" "That's it. We're free. What does freedom look like to you, Finnick? I mean, I know what it looks like to me," Haymitch leans forward, elbows on his knees. He speaks about this with so much confidence, that Finnick is finding it hard to be pessimistic. "It looks like the citizens living without the weight of oppression and Snow losing any power he has over Panem. It looks like the Hunger Games ending permanently." Freedom. Now, that's an idea he's never even flirted with before. Something so completely out of his reach, he never dared to dream of it because it would hurt too much to wake up. He contemplates it. What does freedom look like to him? It looks like the generations following them never feeling the hopelessness they do now. It looks like the Hunger Games only being experienced through textbooks and the name Coriolanus Snow becoming a ghost story. Freedom looks like being by your side, loving you fearlessly. Finnick's never felt true freedom before—the closest he's ever gotten to it was when you touched him. He doubts it can feel much better than that.

Even without knowing the full plan, Finnick can tell there are a lot of moving pieces involved. All it'll take is one misstep, one fuck up, and it all collapses. The cards are stacked against them higher than he'd like to think about. Finnick's not a gambling man, but this? This is something he's willing to bet on.

Either they succeed or die trying.

Finnick runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots for a second. "Alright. What do I have to do?"

Haymitch smiles, more genuine than it usually is. "Just get them there. We'll handle the rest."

#hunger games catching fire #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #in a week #and they'd find us in a week #hunger games fic #hunger games finnick #hunger games fanfiction #hunger games mockingjay #finnick #finnick fanfic

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yellowkitkieran · 1 year ago

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Home (Kieran Tierney)

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Kieran surprises you by coming home early from his loan spell in Spain.

“When do you come home?”

Kieran smiles because you're both aware you've had the answer to that question memorized for months. But he indulges you anyway, “Friday. So only a few more days my love, and then I'll be home with you again.”

You sigh and begin typing your next email. You've become adept at multitasking while on the phone with Kieran; he'd be in the gym, airpods in while you chatted, and you would be settled in at the desk in Kieran's guest room working away on your laptop. Stolen moments like these have become the norm since Kieran went on loan in Spain. To make the most of a bad situation, you both came to the silent agreement that you would spend as much time on the phone together as possible. As a result, you now often find it hard to concentrate without Kieran on the other line.

“Right, Friday. In the afternoon right? I'm gonna try and get the house cleaned up before then, I don't need you seeing how messy I keep it when you're away!”

Kieran’s quiet laugh sends a slight shiver down your spine. “We both know it's not that bad. I'm sure you keep it plenty tidy. Don't worry about keeping it spotless, cause I'm just gonna mess it up as soon as I'm home.”

“Still. When you get here, I just want to focus on you. You kept Saturday open for sure yeah?”

“Mmhhm. Everyone else thinks I'm coming home on Sunday, so I'm all yours.”

You smile to yourself, sitting back in your chair. You have a full day planned for the two of you that mostly involves making up for lost time. Assuming your Friday night will be spent wrapped up in each other completely, you've mentally blocked off a few hours on Saturday morning to recover and wind down. After that, you'll help Kieran unpack his suitcases, do whatever washing needs done, and finally end off the day with dinner at his favorite place in Central London.

“Good! It'll be… fun… oh fucks sake…” you trail off as you read the email that's just arrived in your inbox. “Seriously- why! Can people not read?!”

“What's wrong babe? Someone mess up the catering order again?” You can almost hear Kieran's smile through the phone. “You'll fix it in time, you always do.”

“Yeah of course I will,” you grumble, now zeroed in on pulling up receipts and time stamps to triple check the order you placed versus the order that you were quoted for. “Just means more work for me is all. And just when I thought I was done for the day!”

“Shame that, I was hoping to get some time with you today.” You swear Kieran's voice is echoing. “You sure you can't put that off until the morning?”

“No, I can't, I have to do it now. Ugh, this wouldn't happen if people paid more attention!”

“I think you should close your laptop.”

Frustrated, you rub your temples and close your eyes. “Babe I can't. This is for tomorrow's lunch so-”

“So that means that you'll have time if you wake up early to get it fixed up. I think you should come downstairs.”

Okay, either you're hearing things or there really is an echo. You frown, setting your phone aside and listening closely for any sounds in the house, but you only hear Shadow, Kieran's dog, pacing downstairs on the wood floors.

“Did you send another delivery or something babe? Because Shadow always gets anxious when people come up to the door, I wish you'd give me a heads up.” Unfurling to your feet with a heavy sigh, you pad downstairs with your phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder. “One of these days you're gonna give that poor dog a heart attack-”

“Hi baby,” Kieran says, tucking his phone in his pocket. Shadow sits at your boyfriend's side, his tail thumping merrily whilst you stand perfectly still. Your brain goes into overdrive, mentally counting days and confirming that today was not Friday, and therefore Kieran should not be home yet… but here he stands before you, flesh and blood and just as handsome as the last time you saw him.

A delighted, high pitch squeal bubbles out of your chest. Kieran laughs and opens his arms, which you promptly take as an invitation to leap into them and latch onto him like a koala. “Oh my god, oh my god! You're home already?!”

“I am,” Kieran murmurs into your hair after kissing the top of your head. “I packed up early and decided I couldn't wait another second before I saw you.” The urge to squeeze Kieran until he wheezes is nearly overwhelming. Instead of acting on impulse and earning yourself a lecture, you pry your face out of Kieran's neck- his aftershave tickles your nose- and pepper kisses across his face.

“I- missed- you- so- much- you- pretty- boy-” Kieran's cheeks become hotter with each peck you press to his skin. Shadow barks to indicate he's keen to join in on the action. Soon Kieran is supporting your weight with a hand under your bum and scratching behind Shadow's ears when the big pup jumps on his hip to demand his attention, too. Kieran is happy to balance you both, eventually crouching down to sit on the floor with you still wrapped around him.

Once Shadow calms down and rests his big head on Kieran’s knee, the room quiets. Kieran draws shapes on the small of your back, letting you gaze upon him for as long as you desire. He is content with your fingertips brushing over his cheekbones, along his stubbled jaw and down the side of his neck. You smile at his contented sigh, the breathy sound distracting you from your reverence.

“You're actually tan. Took you long enough to stop burning like a tomato.” Your eyes flick to Kieran's smile and you do not stop yourself from stealing a kiss. You'll never take those lips for granted, not after being forced to cope without them for so long.

Kieran rolls up the sleeve of his white tshirt to show you his tan line. Halfway up his bicep, his golden, tanned skin gives way to his natural pale shade. You trace the line with a finger as Kieran defends himself, “Spanish sun cannae fully fix Scottish skin, my love. But I know you like when I'm not so pale, so I figured I'd soak up as much as I could before I came home.”

Muscles flex under your finger when Kieran wraps his arms around your middle once more. You lay your palm flat to soak up his warmth and smile to yourself.

“I love you just as much when you're ghostly white. Doesn't matter to me. But the sun makes your little bitty freckles come out, so I do enjoy those.”

Kieran's nose scrunches up when you lean forward to kiss it. You could sit like this until the end of days and be perfectly happy. With Kieran sat beneath you, soft, idle touches and whispered words would be more than enough to pass the time.

At some point Kieran coaxes both you and Shadow to your feet and leads you to the sofa. A happy sigh falls from his lips when you tumble into him and hook one leg over his hips. Shadow curls up in his normal spot at Kieran's feet like not a day has passed without his dad there.

“What should we do tonight?” Kieran's words are a rumble beneath the hand you have laid on his chest. When you don't immediately answer, Kieran’s hand lands on the back of your thigh and coaxes you to find your words with a soft squeeze.

“Dunno. Nothing? I don't plan on moving.” You assume Shadow's moody huff is a sound of agreement and grin. “See? Even the dog doesn't want to move. We want to stay right here and spend some quality time with you.”

The hand that drifts to the hem of your shorts is at odds with Kieran's words. “I guess I can't object to that. Just cuddle? I can at least have a couple kisses, right?”

Lifting your head just enough to meet his tawny brown eyes, you ponder his request. You drag out the suspense and drum your fingers on his chest despite both of you knowing you would never refuse a kiss. “I'm sure something can be arranged. Put something on the telly to entertain Shadow then, he doesn't need to be scarred for life, mister ‘I can't keep my hands to myself’.”

Kieran lifts a shoulder in a what are ya gonna do kind of gesture before putting on a random nature show that immediately captures Shadow's attention. One of Kieran's hands remains on your thigh whilst the other comes up to cup your cheek and pull your lips to his.

Stubble scratches your chin, but you don't mind. Right then, all that matters is giving Kieran the kiss he deserves. He expertly pulls soft, breathless sounds from you as his tongue glides against yours. The kiss feels familiar and brand new at the same time, like dejavu in the best possible way.

Breaking away for a chance to breathe allows Kieran to drop kisses like dewdrops across your jaw. You smile when he nibbles softly at the skin of your neck, already unable to contain himself.

“I said cuddles only tonight my darling,” you remind him. “You're pushing your luck. Behave or I'll make you stay in the spare room tonight.”

Kieran's laugh is full and throaty. You've missed the true sound of his laughter, without it being distorted by a speaker. “That's an empty threat if I ever heard one. If I was a betting man, my money would be on us falling asleep right here on this sofa.”

In the end, Kieran turns out to be correct. Neither of you moves an inch as the sun sets, your urgent emails suspended in time while you're safely wrapped up in your boyfriend's loving, tanned arms.

#kieran tierney #kieran tierney fantasy #kieran tierney fanfic #kieran tierney imagine #kieran tierney x reader #kieran tierney fanfiction #kieran tierney oneshot #arsenal fc #jac writes #forbidden fruit

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leotorulus · 6 months ago

Text

I was feeling a bit off with the constant study sessions and I thought of writing a fanfiction to ease some tension, I hope you enjoy.

I will be introducing my OC (Anastasia) soon through the fanfiction novel that I am currently working on, and I am planning to release it along with Leonardo’s sequel. For reference she is working as an assistant to one of the famous designers in 19th century Paris who is kind of a rigorous person. Her days are mostly busy and by the time she gets home she is done with everything except for her comfort zone that is Leonardo.

SANCTUARY

pairing: Leonardo X Anastasia

word count: 826

NB: English isn't my first language so forgive me for any mistakes and also, I don't have any writing experience hope you all understand

“Ahh……. I am done, I am done, I am quitting this job and I will open my own shop instead or else I will soon become a murder” I thought to myself as I make my way back to the mansion after another strenuous day of my life, “I will need a jar of coffee to cut off this troublesome headache or maybe… someone would help”, I smile briefly as someone’s face came to my mind “He has been busy lately I shouldn’t disturb him, but I do need my energy filling because today was a bit overboard” I sigh again as I got myself inside the mansion. “The mansion is oddly quiet for some reason… or am I just imagining things? Get a hold of yourself Anastasia you are overworking yourself” I patted my shoulder getting inside my room.

After that I took a cold shower, washing off all the tension that had been deposited around my shoulders throughout the day. Feeling quite refreshed I slowly made my way to find my source of warmth which was only a few feet away from my room. As I got in front of his room, I took a deep breath contemplating myself to open the door. After what it felt like eternity, I finally opened the door to my home, the place I really felt as my true home. “The place is messy as ever” I smiled to myself while looking around his messy room. “The books do take most of his room apart from the unfinished sketches, a bunch of inventions and few mini sculptures, and these empty wine bottles?? Ahh... this man” I chuckled to myself gazing around his room, “I don’t know why but I feel comfortable and safe in his messy sanctuary”. My eyes scanned around the room before it fell onto someone who was sitting by the desk, with brows furrowed in concentration while his attention was entirely focused on some architectural design which he was working on for the past few days. “If I remember correctly, he told me that it was actually a renovation work. He tried to teach me and ended up cooking my brain” A small smile was creeping up my lips as I stared at his peaceful expression, “He hasn’t noticed me yet, guess he is too involved in that… Hmm...” I slowly made my way through the floor surrounded by books and got behind him; without further warning I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and rested my forehead against the crook of his neck. I can feel him tensing up before relaxing “Hmm… back already? What time is it?” his voice was rough indicating he had been in his sanctuary for hours now, “Been working for a long time I suppose?” I softly bit on his earlobe, the gesture I always do when I get back home or whenever I feel affectionate. He chuckles softly, “yeah, I finally came up with the right proportions that match the design at hand and tomorrow I have to get back-” “Leonardo...” I cut him short by purring against his ear, “I am way too tired for his lecture”. Well he understood the assignment and got up from his seat taking my arms that wrapped around his shoulders before pulling me against his chest as I buried my face against his chest feeling his heartbeat while he rubbed small circles against my back. “Better?” he asked, kissing my temple “far more than better” I purred again inhaling his scent “I am home” I closed my eyes feeling his warmth as he tightened his hold around my waist “Home huh?” says while running his hands through my hair as I glance up at him. That warm smile of his that just pulled out all my worries and tension with ease, those golden orbs telling me “I am always here”. I feel safe, peaceful, refreshed and above all happy. He leans and presses his lips against mine giving me a quick kiss which deepens further into a more passionate one. “We are not-” I tried to pull myself from the kiss but he laces his fingers through my hair holding me in place, “yes, we are” he whispers against my lips as he pulls away only to seal my lips again with a searing kiss…

#ikevamp leonardo #ikemen leonardo #ikemen vampire leonardo #ikemen vampire leonardo da vinci #ikevamp #ikemen vampire

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luchicm04 · 10 months ago

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lost in the forest - part 38

Masterlist

Summary: Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Original Female Character

Tag: #lost in the forest fic

posted on ao3

Word Count: +5k

Overall warnings: canon-typical violence, adult content, time skips, angst

The office will never feel the same. Discomfort was weighting on her back at the direct gaze of the Senju clan leader; becoming aware of that extra sparkle in his eyes that she previously misinterpreted as friendly is unsettling now noticing the small details that would easily go over her head without her realizing it.

Karen was not the most observant. When it came to romantic matters or suitors, she was the most ignorant of all faced with the possibility of diverting from her profession, family and other plans to spend time on things she thought were unnecessary.

Besides, no one had had the courage to make her see her own luck. Now, she can only sigh... The girl listens and puts any annoying thought in the back of her conscience to concentrate on the real problem, which took her out of that hasty vacation and threw her back to face what she was so agilely ignoring.

Hashirama looks at her... Tobirama stands by her side, while Izuna and Madara calmly state their point of view.

The tension of the political situation favors disregarding the discreet attention of the newlywed man, while Mito prefers to focus on the speaker.

“So, you’re telling me... that you fought over an issue regarding... eyes?” the woman can’t help but mention casually with a frustrated tone of what she thinks is stupid. Judging by the tight expressions on the faces of the two Uchihas, she realizes she has touched a delicate nerve.

Shinobi pride is hard to deal with when she's still oblivious to additional stuff such as clans, techniques, and the like.

It has never been of her business.

“It’s not just eyes,” Madara repeats with a firm frown, crossing his arms indignantly at her summary. “It’s a Doujutsu.”

“It is a Kekkei Genkai; a family technique that both Uchihas and Hyūgas possess,” Tobirama explains, doesn’t whisper, the point where the oldest Uchiha is going with his offended gesture. Karen resists the urge to roll her eyes... No one has bothered to tell her about things so natural to them, like chakra or their magic.

Which makes her give her future husband a different look, one that indicates that she needs a better explanation if she is going to expose herself to more of those atypical qualities of their world. She sighs and faces those involved with the problem. “There weren’t any issues when the contract was put on the table,” Karen comments without being intimidated by the heavy feeling that is beginning to flood the room.

She has already become accustomed to it and must make her point clear about all this.

It was her job! ...This whole thing was almost confirmed and thrown overboard because of... eyes?! It’s absurd, at least from her point of view.

“I know,” Hashirama calmly adds with a professional tone, sitting behind the desk right in the middle of the office that is set up as a neutral place. Things are going to change... there are plans for the future, but the premise is to fix the conflict. “Kekkei Genkai and private techniques of each clan are a matter apart from the alliance. The initial conflict took place when Izuna commented on the Byakugan.”

“My question was valid,” Izuna states with his hard tone.

“You told them to refrain from spying through the walls,” the eldest Senju snorts, tired of going around in circles.

“It’s natural that he would do it. You know what that technique is based on, you have faced them,” Madara defends his brother, making clear a point that they have been discussing for a while based on the tone and look of both clan leaders.

Karen wonders if perhaps talking about this conflict, the use of those Kekkei... whatever-they’re-called will be limited only to helping with missions and internal training in each compound.

She had considered this before and mentioned it in their first negotiations, but pride is a delicate thing and knowing the Hyūgas and their pompous attitude, perhaps they didn’t take it as well as the Uchiha did, which might be a problem that may have exploded before their forced coexistence.

“What do you think?” Tobirama questions, watching her in silence. Hashirama and Madara are discussing in their own way what happened in front of Izuna, outraged by being called a stupid brat by a Hyūga who apparently took his comment personally.

“It’s just... it will be difficult to talk to the Hyūgas,” she sighs thoughtfully. “Unless, of course, I ask for a favor from the Daimyo... he himself recommended them.”

“Must you talk to him?” The second Senju can be heard flat, but there are tints that make him turn with a soft arch. “Really?”

“Yes...” the girl sighs, tapping her chin a little with a different perspective.

“The Hyūga aren’t needed if we’re already here,” Izuna snaps from his spot, apparently paying attention to what she was thinking of doing.

Karen is not intimidated by those red eyes that surround her. The younger Senju is like a statue at her side, not wanting to turn this into something complicated. “They are if it is possible to have the favor of the Daimyo, the lands and more missions from nobles. It is what we had agreed on, not only with the Hyūgas, but with each clan...” Her eyes look at Izuna to end on Madara. “I know that both sides are proud of your techniques, and it was rude to say that.”

“It wasn’t rude... it’s just reality,” Izuna defends himself.

“That’s how you see it, Izuna-san, but the issue here is politics, pride and the fact that this pact is wavering due to a few doubts and words,” the woman accepts, clearly tired of such a long trip and being rushed into this meeting. “I will have to speak again with Shinji-sama, then contact the Hyūga leader to see the details.”

“You don’t have to contact them. Izuna is right; they could spy on us anytime,” Madara clarifies harshly.

“I know it’s a valid doubt. Even now, there are still Senjus and Uchihas who find it difficult to leave aside the path of blood.” Karen remembers what she has experienced since they moved. “But the point here is that it is the future that is at stake. And you have worked together in spite of looking over your shoulder every time.”

“It’s not the same,” Izuna complains.

“Of course it is... What if, instead of a Hyūga being questioned about his spying ability, it had been the other way around?” Karen follows the conversation naturally. “What if they had mentioned something about your techniques or capabilities? ...Wouldn’t you feel upset?”

“They are the ones who came to make a pact, not us,” Madara adds.

The woman is firm. “Thay came because the Daimyo suggested it and because he sees the future in making peace.”

“It’s true, Madara,” Hashirama interrupts what would be a debate between both people. Madara growls but remains silent. “We can’t let this overwhelm us and leave unresolved what would mark our dream forever.”

“I won’t apologize,” Izuna lashes out. “I didn’t tell any lies.”

“I know you didn’t,” Karen rolls her eyes. “But that’s not something you say directly, Izuna-san. If they join, they will have to work with us, side by side. It’s foolish to think otherwise. If I try hard and they join us in the end, I expect more from you as proud Uchihas.”

“It’s not the same,” he repeats.

“Not for you... but you will work together.”

“Preferably not,” Madara complains. “We have a Doujutsu, and although ours is better, I prefer to keep myself and my people out of working with them.”

“Madara... That will be impossible if the dream is fully completed. You will have to work, adapt to the needs and use them in favor of the village.” Karen sees the point in her own argument. It is stupid to think that due to stubbornness and magic powers, she will stay away from this contact without knowing how volatile the future is.

Because she knows it will grow... they will have to adapt and work together.

“I’d rather work with a Nara... or one of the other two... but not a Hyūga,” Madara frowns.

“Then I will cross that bridge,” the woman cuts off any long discussions to look at Hashirama. “I will speak with Hyūga-san myself and then I will speak with Shinji-sama.”

“Will you go?” The elder Senju sounds worried.

“This is delicate, and it must be arranged personally,” the girl accepts firmly. “And if you can’t go, the best option is me, who has been taking care of these matters since Hashirama sent the proposal.”

“I can go. I have time.” He looks a bit uncomfortable sending her. She wonders why. “I can still contact Shinji-sama.”

“No, I have to see him myself since you have things to do, don’t you?” she arches her eyebrow. “I know that the Nara leader will come with the other two in the next few days to see the land.”

“Did Tobi tell you?” Hashirama frowns, ignoring the gaze of those present.

“I told her,” the second Senju admits.

“I see.” The older one remains thoughtful. Madara gives him a petulant gesture that makes him save any comments for afterwards. “Alright. Just... don’t go alone.”

“I shall go with her,” Tobirama adds casually. Karen doesn’t see anything wrong with it, turning to look at Izuna.

“No... I won’t go,” Izuna frowns.

“You caused the problem,” the girl accepts firmly.

“No, he won’t go. He won’t apologize for something that is obvious.”

“Madara-san, it’s an issue that he must solve. You know why; I explained the point before and postponing it doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten it. He threw my work away... so many days of negotiations and dealings,” the woman frowns as well with no lies in her mouth. “So, it’s his payment for wasting our work.”

Izuna opens his mouth and closes it several times.

“He has to take responsibility for his ineptitude and learn more about what it means to be a diplomat.” Karen will not let go so easily of the proper payment for this support that she did not ask for. Madara stays thoughtful for a little longer, analyzing each point.

“Fine... but he won’t apologize.”

“Ni-san!” Izuna complains about the crazy idea that has been declared.

“You made your point, but it’s true. Karen gave a lot for this job. It’s the least you should do besides learning from this,” the eldest Uchiha states, perhaps understanding in a very shinobi way what she said. She doesn’t care. Karen is firm in her position and accepts the help even if it’s not in the way she expects.

“Fine,” reluctantly, the youngest of the infamous Uchiha sighs with dignity. “However, I won’t say anything... nor will I enter the Hyūga compound... now will I regret what I said. The bastards are idiots with a stick up their ass.”

“Not so different from you,” Tobirama adds with a lopsided smile.

“Only from me?” Izuna mockes, taking a tentative step forward. There is silence and if it weren’t for the civilian getting in the middle, it would be a long discussion.

“I’d rather go home, grab some things and leave... okay?” Karen says, taking the initiative to leave at that moment because of the rush.

“Alright.” Tobirama gestures towards Hashirama.

“Okay... the sooner you fix this, the better.” Hashirama looks from afar. “And Karen... sorry for making you come like this.”

Karen thought she couldn’t treat him naturally, but she answered easily with a soft smile. “Oh... no problem. I guess the work doesn’t do itself, right?”

“Still, I’m glad you came... and to see you.”

“Hashirama,” Tobirama scolds from his spot. The elder Senju is firm in what he said and although Karen blinked in understanding, maybe there was something hidden in those words. She ignores them, it is preferable, but she notices Madara’s frustration and Izuna’s morbid curiosity.

“Well... I’ll go visit Mito-san later.” Karen bids farewell turning around without paying attention to what they say behind her back. She walks in the middle of both compounds without talking to Tobirama, who keeps watching her. “Don’t say anything.”

“I said nothing.”

“Just in case,” Karen says. “I’ll go home... will you tell Izuna-san?”

“I will talk with him.”

“Good... you don’t have to escort me,” she sighs, tired of all this and how her day of relaxation was lost because of what she will face. She doesn’t like the idea of talking to Shinji... or Hyūga Hiroshi, but there’s no other choice... the payment for something that was not in her hands.

She doesn’t complain and keeps going. At least she doesn’t have to deal with Hashirama now.

──

Kaori looks at her with those eyes that search for news, she notices it... and wisely ignores it because of the urgency of her mission to recover the contract with the Hyūga clan. She may be a civilian, but Karen understands the weight of going personally to negotiate the commercial agreement that already existed, to convince them that it is still standing and that it will not turn into something else.

The last thing she wants is to return to those days of chaos where war was present.

“Here is your suitcase,” the assistant says, delivering the requested item to the edge of the door with clarity and stealth. And old woman capable of grasping things with so little. “Young Tobirama-sama must have been very sweet,” she sighs with a soft gesture to look at her. “You should not try too hard... alright?”

Karen understands what is not said, but she does not take her out of her error to smile. “I prefer not to talk about it.”

“Oh... well, if you need any tea...”

“It’s fine,” she clarifies before Kaori finishes explaining the benefits of that tea, which she surely won’t like... but she doesn’t have the heart to reject it either. “Is something wrong?”

“Well, I understand that you will wait until you get married, only... maybe I would expect a surprise,” the woman states, keeping quiet about something that she may not mention out loud, such as her age or fertile period, which they clearly avoid. Karen is not very adept at remembering that this could be difficult considering the time they live in.

“Uh... I don’t think so,” she blinks in understanding, deciding not to comment on her insecurities since she supposes the pressure of a son is noticeable even though they don’t have any of that activity with Tobirama. She blushes slightly... she can’t help it at the old woman’s casual idea of having something about it soon.

She sighs painfully.

“Well, I will have the tea ready in a second.” Kaori disappears, leaving her alone. The civilian doesn’t want to imagine what is going through the head of said old woman and then huffs.

“Ready?” Tobirama appears behind her, her heart only skipping a beat at the habit she had to ingrain from living among shinobi. She looks at him without surprise and snorts indignantly.

Obviously, this man is oblivious to the old woman’s conversations.

“You are ready... are you not?” the albino man presses easily.

“Kaori-san wants me to have some tea,” Karen explains casually. “So as not to have any surprises before the wedding.” If it weren’t for the fact that the man is indifferent and quite controlled, it would have been fun to see some kind of embarrassed reaction. “Although I’m sure she’s dying to be a grandmother.”

Tobirama coughs a little more. “Kaori-san has always seen us... I guess it is normal.”

“You know she’ll be expecting something, right?”

“I will not do anything you do not want.”

“I know you won’t...” The girl does see how to solve this problem. She also doesn’t know if they are compatible in that way considering her lack of that magic system that both Tobirama and Hashirama once explained to her. She scratches the back of her neck, seeing the old woman look at them both with a certain joy. “Thanks, Kaori-san.”

“Oh, it is a little hot,” Kaori clarifies and warns her before sipping. “Tobirama-sama.”

“Kaori-san,” the man greets, watching her gently sip her drink. He is silently pressing her but falls silent to drink from his cup.

“Would you like something quick to take with you?” the lady asks helpfully.

“No, we still have our travel rations with us,” Tobirama explains calmly, as professional as he usually is and oblivious to the careful gaze of the older person among them. Karen is slightly amused by how awkward the atmosphere becomes in seconds.

Although it’s her imagination... isn’t it?

“Thanks for the tea.” Karen just hands the cup over to look at her fiancé. “I’m ready.”

“Good. We will be seeing Izuna at the exit of the compound.”

“Did he give you any problems?”

“He is an idiot,” the albino states to look at Kaori. “Farewell.”

“Of course, I will wait for you. And I hope you can get there safely,” the old woman says goodbye with a casual wave. Both Tobirama and her calmly leave the house quietly. Karen wonders why he's taking so long to take her and go quickly to the meeting point.

But maybe, just maybe, he did find what the old woman had implied uncomfortable in some harsher way.

A complicated issue to resolve when it is a facade. The civilian simply sighs and remains silent. “I was serious about it... I will not ask you for something you do not want,” the shinobi clarifies, almost guessing her thoughts.

“You won’t, but you know... your society asks for a lot,” the girl says calmly. “Considering my age.”

The albino doesn’t say anything else. “I do not want children?”

“No?”

“No... It is enough with the ones Hashirama will have.”

Karen would like to ask what exactly he means, understand these words exactly, but she just stays thoughtful for a while. “I... I wanted to, for some time.”

“...”

“But... my world, there were too many people... and too many problems because of the excess of people,” she explains remembering the problems of her birthplace. “It got to a point where I stopped looking... and waiting for the answer to my desire to come to me... However, my life was so fast... it was difficult to stop and see what I was doing.”

“...”

“But I guess that can wait. I don’t want to deal with this right now.”

“So...” Tobirama looks at her strangely, as if this wasn’t what he planned from the beginning.

“Let’s not think about it for now.” Karen cuts off any extra question or comment that could be rooted in this uneasy topic. Children, the future and those things are complicated when she is far from home, from her life, ordinary and without political issues involved.

Tobirama accepts this, only remaining quiet until reaching the spot where Izuna looks between them with a suspicious expression. He falls silent and doesn’t comment anything ironic or sarcastic so as to focus on fixing their problems.

To go and discuss the subject with the Daimyo and then with the Hyūgas.

It is for the best.

For now.

──

The journey is as long as she remembers. The river running beneath her feet is evidence of the change of course she recalls from that trip she made before. Of course, now she is not escorted by Hashirama or Madara in the matter. She sighs... so many things she has been thinking about lately that simply do not let her enjoy the landscape.

“Are you done?” She hears Tobirama’s voice hidden in the valley, telling her he’s watching out for her, but without looking at her. She supposes it’s a mania she hadn’t noticed in the guy, since she hadn’t traveled with him.

“I’m done,” she says before taking a last dip in the clear river to clean off any dirt left. There are some hours left until they reach the large civilian compound, so she has to take her valuable time to get ready, going out barefoot to grab a towel and begin to dry herself.

Karen gets changed quickly, full of adrenaline with the anxiety of being attacked.

They haven’t been, but both Tobirama and Izuna don’t let their guard down, their paranoid anxiety giving off a bit. She watches the noise of nature softly, taking her own dry clothes to put them on cautiously.

“Ready?”

“Yeah... all that’s missing is the main yukata,” she clarifies just as she sees the man emerge from some trees in the background, who looks at her and arches his eyebrow in annoyance. “It’s just the main yukata.” She can guess the reason for his irritation.

“You must be careful... you are in your underwear.”

“It’s a thick yukata, not underwear,” the girl states, beginning to follow her own routine.

Tobirama doesn’t leave the subject aside, turning to look the other way with no gesture on his face. “You have been with us for years. You know what I mean.”

Karen doesn’t comment anything to finish adjusting it. She lifts her hair in a light but elegant hairstyle that Mikami taught her before; each part and each step is complex in its own way to end in a light makeup. Timing is important when she knows the Daimyo waits before going with the Hyūga.

She only hopes the man is not insufferable... but she supposes she can deal with him in her own way, considering that she will soon be getting married and that on the engagement day he wasn’t so insistent, even though he wanted her to drink with him. She doesn’t like the man, but she figures she can use this benefit to the village’s advantage.

What’s more, she hopes also that the Hyūga won’t be so upset and agree to have a meeting with them. Thanks to the Daimyo’s intervention, of course.

“Okay.” The woman turns to face the man who looks at her for a long time. “Did I miss something?”

“No... you did not miss anything,” he snorts, washing away any discomfort and taking her gently. “Izuna has gone ahead.”

“He didn’t wait for us? You should have told me to hurry up,” Karen complains, not at all bothered by the way she was carried. At least she no longer feels like a sack of potatoes like she used to. Tobirama rolls his eyes without any further comment.

Just jumping and making this faster for the simple civilian who, despite the time, never gets used to this.

──

Shinji shows a twisted smile, almost amused to see them present at that meeting that he agreed to have despite not giving advance notice. He looks at her for a long time... it makes her tense, but she doesn’t comment anything just as many of his assistants depart from the main room to leave them alone.

The samurai guards at the gate remain silent as he lets out a light laugh.

“You know... Hiroshi-san was so upset it was funny,” the leader states shamelessly with clear fascination for the comment, making the only woman sitting between the two men in a perfect seiza bow her head. “He is usually too quiet, like all Hyūga... He was too vocal in his complaint. Uchiha-san, you did a number on him.”

Izuna doesn’t answer. Karen sees that despite his stubbornness and lack of diplomacy, he knows that responding reluctantly to a leader like Shinji would be bad for politics, so he simply sighs. “It was not my intention,” he says through gritted teeth.

But Karen won’t point that out.

“So that is why you got my dear Saucedo-san... involved,” he comments petulantly and saccharinely, looking at her with a mischievous gleam. The Daimyo doesn’t drop the subject, but at least he no longer insists that she join the harem, knowing that the man at her right side took away her virtue.

Ironic... Tobirama is silent but looks haughtier for some reason.

“It was not my intention,” the Uchiha repeats, keeping his irritation to himself.

“It never is,” the leader accepts calmly. “Tell me, Saucedo-san... are you willing to deal with this?”

“That is why I came,” the woman explains. “I was the one who carried out the pact with Hashirama, and I am the only one available of the two.”

“Oh, well... it is a shame that this has postponed Senju-san's honeymoon,” Shinji says, assuming things that have not been touched, like the honeymoon of said leader. One that she took, but she silences herself letting the man’s imagination fly slightly. “I imagine that is the reason.”

“Something like that,” she comments clearly taking the lead in this meeting. “He has been reviewing other possible alliances.”

“I heard about it, and I love the idea. Now, the Hyūgas... I can call them to meet with you in the main courtyard.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course, dear... I like the idea of being useful to you in this.” Shinji winked cheekily, making a sign for one of the guards to come closer, whispering things that made him tense up and smile just as amused. “We could still have tea... if you do not mind waiting.”

“Alright.” She stands up with the other two boys.

“It is fine if she comes alone, Senju-san... Uchiha-san, you can wait here,” he declares, stopping any advances from his guards.

“I apologize, sir. My fiancée cannot be alone for so long,” Tobirama casually comments before the amusement of said noble who chuckles freely.

“Do not worry... my intentions are not romantic. Although I keep insisting that it could have been better if she entered my harem, I won’t force her into anything,” the man clarifies, not at all offended by such a comment, though Karen swears she saw the guard move. “Nevertheless, it amuses me to see that you protect her... for a shinobi, your heart is clear.”

Tobirama doesn’t say anything but looks at her lightly.

“It will be alright; I just want to clarify some political points. I know from a very good source that I could help in such matters.” Shinji does not hide his intention to look at her. “If you do not mind being alone with me.”

“No, it is okay. I trust it is just for work purposes,” Karen comments formally. The shinobi sighed lightly.

The man takes the first step. “I am glad to hear that. So, I wish we could talk about this... more in person.”

“Alright.” Karen looks at the men. “I will be back in a moment.”

Tobirama doesn’t look placid, but he accepts the silent order to stay back as she is escorted to a spot amongst the beautiful garden she remembers. There are several samurai deployed throughout this enclosure coincidentally, and she sighs noticing the man’s seriousness.

He gives her a smile. “I really had never seen the infamous White Assassin so in love... I still cannot believe it, and I attended your engagement and Senju-san's wedding,” the man laughs sitting on the other side of that prepared table while she gently takes the other, being helped by said leader.

“He is kind... and loving,” she says, not wanting to lose the thread of the comment. “However, I do not think I was separated from my fiancé just to criticize his character.”

“I like how direct you are.”

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” Shinji sighs to put on a serious face when the tea is already served, and the aroma of the desserts is light. “An assassination attempt has been made in my heir,” he says as if it were nothing abnormal, which makes her blink naturally at the man. “I know this has nothing to do with you, but I have suspicions that the neighboring country has broken our agreement by supporting an internal revolt.”

Karen sees the point. “Then... you need me to see some kind of solution without going to war.”

“Of course,” he chuckles. “I am glad you have the ability to see with so little. I would like for us to look for a solution that favors my position and destroys whoever is behind it.”

“Even if they belong to your family or harem?”

“Your doubts are normal. Usually, there are always these kinds of movements to take power,” he laughs as if were such a funny and twisted story that it doesn’t surprise him. Deep down, maybe he also did the same to take this position over his other brothers.

Ones that she doesn’t know and doesn’t actually care much about, but she assumes that this is a normal occurrence.

“However, they have requested foreign support... a very disturbing one,” Shinji accepts, looking at her. “And I need to have everything in my favor.”

“Well, it will be complicated considering the little information.”

“That I why I will hire your guards.”

“...Will you?”

“The Hyūga clan will respond as soon as I send the message. If you help me with this... in the most subtle way, I will do my best to ensure that there is no negative response from them.”

“So, you do not want them to find out that you hired shinobis.”

“No... I will take advantage of the fact that you came for a political issue. I know that they are both good at their job.”

“Yes.”

“Then...” He shrugs. “As for you, I will put you in some civil meetings which will justify why you are here.”

“I will be a facade for your real request.”

“Precisely.”

“Alright,” Karen accepts, beginning to talk about the details of this special mission, the political issues and other things that they were able to exchange, surprising her with the confidence that said leader has in her to reveal such sensitive matters such as the attempted murder or the coup d’état.

Although Tobirama didn’t like the idea of leaving her behind, it was for the best. He left shadow clones as backup and cover for his real work.

Karen just hopes it turns out well.

A/N: Okay, a short one to say present! As you will see, another political plot will come, where Karen will be involved only for the pleasure of existing (poor thing) Will they fix the situation with the Hyūgas? Will the Daimyo resolve his coup d’état?

She hopes so.

Author-chan out!

PS. Thanks for your likes and comments.

#lost in the forest fic #warring states period #angst #senju tobirama #tobirama x reader #tobirama x oc #ocs #hashirama senju #naruto #naruto shippuden #naruto fanfiction #uchiha madara #uchiha izuna #mito uzumaki #luchipuchi's writing

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fanatic564 · 2 months ago

Text

My English Teacher is a Zombie! (BatFamilyWeek 2025 Day 7)

AO3 link

Fandom: Batman All Media Types

Rating: Teen

Warnings: No warnings apply

Relationship: Jason Todd & Dick Grayson

Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Original Characters

Tags: batfamilyweek2025, batfamily week day 7, Age Regression/De-Aging, purposeful de-aging, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Jason never confronted Bruce, batarang incident never happened, Jason Todd is Red Hood, english teacher Jason Todd, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, de-aged Dick Grayson, body small but brain big, aka his mental capacity doesn't change but he turns into a teenager, Damian Wayne is Robin, Tim Drake is Red Robin, both only mentioned in order to establish a timeline, Zatanna shows up speaks one line then disappears into the night, identity reveal, reunion, no beta we die like Jason Todd, Do not post to other sites, Cross-Posted on tumblr, POV Third Person

Summary: Dick is sent on an undercover mission to weed out moles for Red Hood's gang in Gotham Public High School. He's not too happy that the mission calls for him to be de-aged to be a teenager and a student at the school. That attitude changes when he discovers just who his English teacher is.

AN: I… couldn't think of a good title for this so have a meme.

Not sure how I feel about this one, but I hope ya'll enjoy.

Day 7: Legacy | De-Aged | The Batcave

~~~~~~~~~~~

Bruce sits in his office, staring down Dick on the other side of the desk. Dick wants to fidget at the stare, but holds himself back.

"Why'd you ask me to come here, B? Got a case for me or something."

Bruce grunts. "Or something."

Dick raises his eyebrow. "Your tone makes me think I'm not gonna like whatever you got for me. Should I bow out now?"

Bruce doesn't respond. Instead, he slides a manila folder across the desk for Dick to analyze. Dick picks it up and starts to read.

Ok. Undercover operation. Dick's not a huge fan of those, but it's not a deal breaker. The mission is in response to a large number of drug dealers winding up dead around Gotham. Pretty standard so far. Dick skims a little, trying to get the gist of the case now while vowing to read it more thoroughly later.

Lets see, dealers sold to teenagers, suspected Red Hood involvement, high concentration sold near Gotham Public High School, Dick's cover would be-

Hold on, what?

"B have you officially lost it? You want me to go undercover as a high school student?" Dick stares at the older man in shock. "You could have picked literally any of your other kids and they would make a more convincing high schooler than me."

"You are the best pick for this mission. Currently, Tim is on a business trip and it would be too suspicious to pull Damian out of Gotham Academy to send him to Gotham High. Duke and Steph are both busy with college, and I know you haven't found a new job since leaving the force. Additionally, you are the most high energy and sociable. This mission requires someone who can talk to both students and staff at the school."

"And just how do you expect to work around this?" Dick gestures to his body. His clearly adult, thirty year old body.

"I have already contacted Zatanna regarding a de-aging spell."

Dick gawks at Bruce. "So not only do you expect me to act like a high school student, but you want to turn me back into a teenager? Please. At least tell me I'll be able to go back to normal after school hours."

Bruce shakes his head. "That would put too much strain on your body. A more semi-permanant solution is advised, one that we can reverse once the operation is concluded."

Dick groans. He has a feeling he's going to hate this mission.

~ ~ ~

"Nruter mih ot htuoy!"

~ ~ ~

A sixteen year old Dick Grayson sits in the family room of the manor. There's papers spread all over the coffee table in front of him as he looks over his notes one last time before he has to leave.

He reviews the basics in his head as he goes.

A string of deaths involving drug dealers who were later revealed to have sold to children. This itself isn't unusual for Gotham. Red Hood, a crime lord in Crime Alley for almost five years who made a name for himself by killing Joker, is known for not going easy on those who hurt kids. No, the unusual bit is how many of these dealers made attempts to sell to Gotham High students right before their deaths.

This implies that someone in the school has a way to contact Red Hood and is likely a part of his gang. Dick's job is to determine who it is and try to get information on Hood from them.

Dick himself has interacted with Red Hood a few times over the years, while out as Nightwing. While the man definitely has a tendency for violence, he's got a good head on his shoulders. He has morals on who he kills, only those he feels are truly unable to be redeemed. And Dick won't admit it out loud, but he's grateful the man killed the clown. Jason can rest easy knowing his murderer is finally put down for good.

So, Dick doesn't mind working with the man and he knows Tim doesn't either, despite Hood's obvious dislike of the boy, as unwarranted as it is. Bruce, on the other hand, thinks the man is too dangerous and must be apprehended immediately. Hence, this mission.

"Master Dick" Alfred calls to him from the doorway. "It is almost time for school. Gather your things and make your way to the car please."

Well. Here goes nothing.

~ ~ ~

The day starts out good. Really good in fact. Dick, sorry, Joshua "Josh" Peterson charms his way up the social ladder fairly quickly. (Dick wants to roll his eyes every time he hears the name.) Math, Science, Spanish, and Gym all fly by as Dick seamlessly introduces himself to those around him and starts up conversations. By fifth period lunch, he already has a couple of students to sit with and talk to.

"What do you have the rest of the day?" One of them, Chris, asks him, leaning over to look at the paper schedule Dick has on the table beside his lunch.

"Uh…" Dick checks the paper, as if he didn't have it memorized days ago. "It looks like Art next, followed by History and ending with English."

"Oof, English last period? Who do you have?" The other student, Izzy, replies. "Hopefully not Mrs. Baker. She's a fucking bitch."

"It says here 'Todd Peters'" Chris lights up at his words.

"Yo, Mr. Peters is great! I have him last period too."

Izzy snickers. "Peters and Peterson, huh? Sure he's not your dad?"

"You both have black hair and blue eyes." Chris teases in response. He pauses before continuing, "Well, blue-ish. His are more green, but still. It's possible."

Dick laughs. "If all black haired blue eyed guys were related, we'd probably all be hoarded by Brucie Wayne by now."

The other two laugh and they all finish eating their food just in time for the bell to ring.

~ ~ ~

Dick lets Chris walk with him from History to English class so he 'doesn't get lost'. Of course Dick has the layout of the building memorized, down to the air vents in the ceiling, but Chris can't know that.

Chris holds the door for him when they get there. "After you."

"Why thank you." Dick says dramatically as he walks through the door. Only to stop in his tracks at what he sees. He feels something collide into his back.

"What the- dude you good? Don't just stop in the middle of the doorway!"

Dick doesn't hear him. He's too busy staring at the man at the front of the room. Dick can only see the side of his face as he writes something on the chalk board, but what he sees is so familiar.

There's differences. This man's fluffy black hair has a white streak peaking out from the front. He's an adult, tall and bulky, nothing like the scrawny kid Dick envisions. He's missing scars that should be on his face and arms, and yet… The rest is uncanny. His face shape, his posture. It's all so goddamn uncanny that Dick can't stop the words from slipping out of his mouth.

"Little Wing?"

The man freezes before jerking his attention to Dick, chalk slipping out of his grasp in his shock. His eyes burn into Dick and well, that's another difference he supposes. Dick watches as the man's teal eyes quickly turn a toxic green as they widen. If Dick had any doubts about who this was before, his reaction all but confirms it.

Somehow, Jason Todd stands before him.

Chris clears his throat awkwardly. "Uh, Mr. Peters, this is the new student, Josh Peterson. Josh, this is Mr. Peters." He pushes past Dick, grabbing his arm as he goes by to lead him to the open seat beside his desk.

"Dude, the father-son theory just became a lot more likely, what the hell was that?"

Dick looks back over to Mr. Peters, to Jason, seeing the man is still staring straight at him.

"Uh… nothing. Just. He looks like someone I knew who passed away."

Chris's eyes gain some understanding before he pats Dick on the arm, leaving him be for the moment to sort out his feelings.

The late bell rings before Dick gets the chance to do that. The other students stare at Mr. Peters as they wait for him to begin the lesson. Noticing the stares, Mr. Peters snaps himself out of his shock. He starts the lesson, seeming all to the normal eye as if everything is fine. But Dick knows better. The man is tense, and every so often he casts subtle glances to Dick, as if checking to see if he's really there.

Dick pushes any thoughts about Jason to the back of his head. He's still on a mission right now, he needs to be keeping an eye on his classmates. He'll confront Jason as soon as school is over. (Thank God it's the last period of the day.)

That's the plan, at least, until the principal calls Dick to her office about five minutes before the bell rings. A check-in to see how his day went. How is he settling in? How are his classes? Before, Dick would have used the opportunity to gain the woman's favor while subtly gathering information from her. Now, he just hurries through his answers, trying to finish up as quickly as possible.

The bell rings and Dick grows impatient as the minutes tick on. Fuck. He needs to finish this now.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but my mom is waiting outside to take me to an appointment, so I really have to go."

"Oh dear. No worries, Joshua. Sorry for keeping you. I'm sure you have a lot you have to get settled from the move. It was a pleasure to talk with you and I hope you enjoy your time at Gotham High." Dick gives her a wave as he rushes out of the room. He darts through the halls, expertly avoiding any collisions as he makes his way back to the English room. By the time he gets there, it's over ten minutes after the bell. The hallways are basically deserted, save any students staying for extracurriculars.

He bursts into the classroom. Jason jerks up from behind his desk, his eyes wide once more. Around him, all of his desk drawers are open and he seems to be… packing? The bookshelves have already been emptied and he's in the process of dumping the contents of his desk drawers into a bag.

"Fuck" Jason mutters as he zips up the bag. His eyes dart between the door Dick is blocking and the second story windows on the opposite side of the room.

"Jason!" Dick cries as the man takes a step towards the windows.

"Listen, Dickhead. I don't know how you fuckers found me, or why you though it necessary to fucking. What? De-age yourself? Really? Either way, I'm out. Don't look for me."

"Wait, Jay, please. I don't know what you're talking about." Dick reaches his hand out as if trying to grasp Jason, to not let him leave him ever again. He takes a step into the room as he does so, only stopping when Jason takes another step backwards towards the windows. "I had no idea you were here. No idea you were alive." Dick pauses as he registers his own words. His next words come out almost in a whisper. "Why didn't you tell us you were alive?"

"You expect me to believe you're here for shits and giggles?" Jason spits, ignoring Dick's question. His eyes are back to that toxic green. "You think I'm that fucking stupid?"

"Oh course not!" Dick cries. He pauses only for a moment, wondering if it's worth it to blow his cover so quickly. Jason will always be worth it. "I'm here for an undercover case. You gotta believe me, Jay."

"Why you, then? Why not a different member of your little flock? Like the brat? Or my replacement? Why go through the trouble of de-aging you instead of getting one of them to come?"

"Why does it matter? Why does it matter why its me here, or what I'm doing here, or…" Dick's voice breaks as he continues. "Just, why don't you want us to know you're alive?"

"You all fucking replaced me, asshole." Jason's voice gets louder, and Dick really hopes no-one comes to check what the noise is. "I died, and before my body was even fucking cold, B had a new little bird to show off. Why the fuck would I want to come back when you all clearly didn't care?"

"No…" Dick's tone betrays his heartbreak at Jason's words. "No, you're wrong. We cared so much about you. We still care about you. Come home, Jay. Bruce will be thrilled to see you."

Jason scoffs. "Yeah fucking right."

"It's true. Bruce was devastated when you died. The only thing that saved him from that dark place was Tim entering our lives."

"That replacement had no right wearing a dead boy's colors."

"He tried getting me to go back to being Robin first." Dick says softly. Jason stares at him as the words register. "Tracked me down in Bludhaven, told me he knew who I was, and begged me to come back. Said Batman needs a Robin, otherwise he'll go off the deep end. Showed me reports and records of B hurting others and himself in his grief. I told him I couldn't, that I outgrew that role a long time ago. So Tim ended up taking up the role himself. We never wanted to replace you, Jay. If anything, I think Tim did everything in his power to honor you and your legacy. You were, you are, his hero."

Jason looks conflicted, his eyes switching between that toxic green and the teal that must be his new normal. He finally speaks up. "I've made a new life away from you all. One that Bruce wouldn't approve of if he finds out. Even if I wanted to come back, I can't."

"I'm sure Bruce would be fine with you being an English teacher Jay. In fact, he'd be ecstatic to see you're clearly doing something you love." And Dick can tell he loves it. Even as distracted as Jason was during his lesson in class today, Dick saw a passion in his eyes he remembers from when the boy would go on and on about books he read when he was younger.

"Yeah? And what's Bruce's opinion on the Red Hood?"

Dick freezes, a cold wave of shock crashing over him. He… did not expect that. Realizations flash in his head as dots connect in unexpected ways.

"You're… the Red Hood gang member I'm here to find." Dick watches as multiple emotions flicker rapidly in Jason's eyes. It starts as confusion, making its way to understanding before landing on acceptance. As he reaches that last point, his whole body slumps, exhaustion suddenly lining every muscle in the man's body. He plops back into his desk chair and slumps down.

"Just, come sit down, Dickhead. No use having this conversation all the way on the other side of the room." Dick gives a small, grateful smile as he makes his way to the chair on the opposite side of Jason's desk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

End Note: Chris, processing everything he just heard from outside the room, after he saw his new friend Dick Josh rush back after class was long finished: What the fuck? Why couldn't Mr. Peters have just been his father? Less complicated than this soap opera shit.

Whelp, here's my last piece for Batfam week. This one didn't go quite how I expected, but it was still fun to write. I kinda lost steam at the end, so sorry if it feels incomplete. I had more ideas I just couldn't figure out how to get them on the page. Maybe I'll do a follow up, maybe not.

Either way, I hope y'all enjoyed. Feel free to point out any mistakes.

#batfamilyweek2025 #batfamily #more tags in the text #de-aging #batfamilyweek day 7 #fanatic fics

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pipwasreal · 8 months ago

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Day 6: books + stripper

Characters: Edwin Payne, Charles Rowland, Niko Sasaki (mentioned)

Content warnings: sexual themes? Non-explicit discussion of stripping and yaoi

Idk this one's pretty tame and silly tbh. Enjoy!

Edwin has a two-foot high stack of Niko's manga on the desk and he's been working his way through it with a frankly alarming intensity. Charles knows they're mostly pictures, but the breathless speed with which Edwin turns the pages seems excessive.

He's still only halway through the stack though, progress halted by frequent pauses to consult a Japanese-English dictionary, or to jot something down in his notebook. He's been thoroughly absorbed for bloody hours and Charles is bored.

"Read to me?" he asks.

Edwin, frowning in concentration, doesn't respond.

"Mind if I pop on a Deltones record?" Charles says, a little louder.

Still no response.

Charles sighs dramatically and tosses himself down on the worn leather settee.

"I swear, I could be dancing about in just a collar and cuffs, and you wouldn't even notice."

Edwin's head whips up at that, expression confused and a little alarmed.

"What? Why would you be in a collar?" He raises a sceptical eyebrow. "And handcuffs? We are ghosts, Charles, we cannot be arrested."

Charles grins and sits up.

"Nah, mate, I didn't mean it like that! I meant a shirt collar and shirt cuffs, but no actual shirt."

Edwin looks at Charles as if he has lost his mind.

"Like those American blokes," Charles continues doggedly. "Chippendales, or whatever. The dancers? Well, strippers."

Edwin's eyebrows practically hit his hairline.

"Oh bloody hell," Charles mutters. "Forget I said anything. Please."

"No," Edwin says thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes, "I don't believe I shall."

He glances down at the open book in front of him, then closes it and folds his hands neatly on top.

"There are male striptease artists now? And they wear only detachable collars and cuffs? That sounds ridiculous." He scoffs, pauses. "How do they fasten?"

"I dunno, do I?" Charles groans. "Velcro? And like, they do wear trousers. Until they tear em off."

"Tear them off?" Edwin asks, incredulous. "They must be very poorly manufactured garments indeed."

"Nah, they're made to..." Charles trails off and runs his hands down his face, regretting ever opening his mouth. "You know what, never mind. Can we please stop talking about strippers?"

"You were the one who brought up the subject," Edwin points out. "I was thoroughly enjoying this series Niko lent me, about boys who are in love."

Charles perks up at that.

"You've just been sitting there, studiously reading porn?" He says, mock-scandalised, then grins. "And you weren't even going to share it with me?"

"It is not pornography, Charles!" Edwin protests. "It is erotica. There is, I am assured, a difference."

He doesn't seem entirely convinced.

"And," he adds, "I would be happy to read it to you, but I fear that my halting translations would not be a particularly enjoyable listening experience for you."

"Mate, I don't mind about that. I just like hearing you read. Being involved, you know."

"Very well," Edwin says, with a long-suffering sigh. But he's smiling as he opens the book and begins to read aloud.

#Dead Boy Detectives #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #dbda promptober 2024 #pipwrites #bonus content for you my beloved tumblrinas #Charles: are you reading the Kama Sutra?#Edwin guiltily slamming the book shut: only the gay parts!

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queen-of-writing-bad-things · 1 year ago

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Danger Force Reader Insert | Captain Man x Reader: SEASON 1

Episode 5: Mime Games (SMUT)

Season 1 Masterlist

Click for vibes

bonjour ma peeps. je suis ruth und je ne parle le french. spanish is more my bag. mi bag. enjoy ray as he slowly descends into madness because he wants a baby and his wife sys no. sucks to be him :)

~ Swellview Academy for the Gifted~

"Come on! Let's go, s'go, s'go, s'go, s'go, s'go, s'go, s'go, s'go, s'go!" Ray bellowed as he impatiently hovered by SWAG's front door.

Glancing at his gadget-filled watch, he breathed a frustrated sigh, wondering what was taking his protégés so long to pack. They were going on a trip, not for fun, but for a mission - three days max, so he didn't know what the hold-up was. After all, it was only Paris - he didn't see the big deal.

For some, it was a big deal, the getaway of a lifetime to the city of love, famed for its cafés, architecture, and tourist attractions. (y/n) was one of them, having been unable to sit still all week ever since they received confirmation that Captain Man and Co were needed overseas. Her childhood dream was to take her lover and experience all those cheesy, cliche things she saw in her rom-coms.

It was enough to make her bounce excitedly on the spot, hugging Ray's beefy arm close to her chest, where her heart thundered from the adrenaline. Their bags were packed: a manly, dark camo sports bag for him and an overly girly, glitzy purple suitcase for her, and of course, her husband insisted on carrying both. His sweet girl packed enough for three weeks, let alone three days, but he indulged her.

After all, only a genuinely remarkable lover would whisk their wife away to the most romantic city on Earth, even if it involved a little crimefighting.

Well, that is if the children didn't fuck things over for him.

"We're s'go, s'go, s'go, s'go, s'go, s'go, s'go, s'going!" Mika replied sharply, snapping her hard plastic case shut and haphazardly zipping it up. Unlike some, she and her friends had only learned about the little detour half an hour ago; trust Ray to tell them they were going halfway around the world when no one had anything decent to wear, toiletries, or parental consent.

"Our Goober Lux is three minutes away, and I'm not going to lose my five-star rating for any of you!" The man growled, anxiously glancing at his phone to see the taxi approaching. He wanted to be the perfect customer, ready and waiting by the door with his sweet girl's hand in his, looking ever so handsome.

His hair was so floppy, that jacket was deliciously tight, and the gleaming, golden band on his left hand made the heroine swoon as she squished his bicep more. Maybe it was the thrill, the whiff of adventure, or maybe Paris was just that enticing, but she was ridiculously giddy, too happy to scold the children about dragging their feet.

"You could help us...(y/n/n)?"

"Well, I--"

"She's with me, and I'm helping by yelling..." Ray told Mika sharply when she looked at the starry-eyed woman for help, refusing to let his wife go merely because they weren't prepared. He'd already told her twice, but she looked gorgeous in that pretty little dress--so cute he could burst, but he concentrated on yelling instead. The sooner they moved, the sooner he could show her the fancy-schmancy suite he'd booked at the hotel.

"Let's go! Let's go!"

"Relax, boss. I'm good to go," Miles called out smoothly, looking like the picture of relaxation as he reclined in his chair, feet propped up on his desk with a magazine in hand. Everything around him was chaotic, yet the boy didn't look phased, flicking through the pages while his sister ran around like a mad bull.

"Uh, Miles. We're going to Paris. Aren't you gonna pack anything?" (y/n) asked, wandering over to the kid's side with her doofus in tow. Maybe it was just her - she was a stickler when it came to luggage - but it was a wonder how calm and collected he was, barely sparing them a glance as he turned another page.

"Whatever I need, the universe will provide," he replied with his usual zen. He was so confident in the mystic power that he almost looked smug. For some reason, coincidences fell around him like dominoes, always ensuring his life ran smoothly with no bumps or issues in the road.

But, of course, there were no such things as coincidences - cue Mika walking into the room from the closet, dragging double her weight in suitcases while Miles sat idly by. She always did this, looking out for her brother, even when her care bordered on neglect; after all, he was old enough to look after himself.

"Okay, Miles. I packed all your stuff. Again."

"Told 'ya!" The boy smirked at his teachers before licking his forefinger and thumb to grasp another page, looking arrogant since all the hard work was done for him.

"Mika, honey..." (y/n) sighed, swallowing the urge to give the conceited kid an earful about respect and good manners. Instead, she turned to the sweating, out-of-breath girl, who smiled sweetly after placing the heavy bags down for a breather. It was like she didn't see anything wrong with her kindness; she was too innocent and thoughtful to see how Miles took advantage of her generosity. But she did - (y/n) knew the doormat life all too well.

"Why do you do this for him?"

"The only way he'll learn is if I do it over and over again for him until he learns," Mika explained, and for one so bright, she just sounded dumb. Uttterly stupid. Painfully moronic. And it practically had the woman slapping her forehead in exasperation.

"Mika. I have raised four other children and a doofus. Trust me. Sometimes, you have to be cruel to be kind. You are not his maid, nor his mother, so Miles," (y/n) turned and glared at the boy as she growled out his name, "should get off his butt and pack his own suitcase."

"You're scary when you're mothering..." the girl trailed off, staring at her friend in awe and mild reluctance once her furious tirade finished. It even left her brother looking a little sheepish, shrinking into his chair as Ray approached her, looping his arms around her waist to pull her back to his chest.

He, too, was in awe of his wife, finding it ridiculously hot when she took charge and laid down the law with her confidence and authority. He nuzzled her hair and neck as the girl nodded shyly, promising to be more assertive next time.

"I've had a lot of practice. This doofus used to be and still is a handful," (y/n) joked, reaching a hand up to stroke Ray's hair as he smooched her jawline loudly, making her shriek. It was nauseatingly cute, causing Miles to loudly clear his throat as the hero stroked the glittering rings on her finger, wildly in love with his darling girl, to notice the children swanning around the room.

"You still married me, though, Mrs Manchester..."

"Of course, Mr Manchester."

"Get a room, you guys..." the boy said in a sing-song voice, making the woman giggle when her husband sighed and grumbled. He longed for their honeymoon days when he could openly kiss and love her without a pesky child whining about decency and celibacy.

But Miles was right; they had places to go and people to meet, and any kiss would be ten times sweeter in France. So, the man pecked her cheek and released his wife, clearing his throat before heading back to the door, wondering where that Goober was. At least one kid seemed abnormally focused on his task...

"Bose! Bring the stuff outside."

"You got it, boss. Remember, I am Boooooose..." the long-haired boy replied nasally - almost like he had a cold - as he bent over and fiddled with the zipper on his luggage.

It was strange; he'd been hunched over the damn thing for at least fifteen minutes, ignoring anyone and everything around him, even as his friends ran around doing a million tasks at once. He'd never concentrated so hard in the few months he'd been at the fake school, and it was rare for him not to wander around with that dimpled smile like nothing was wrong in the world.

Instead, he did not show his face, looking through thick hair strands with his hood tightly pulled over his head. Very odd, and that voice... It was so familiar, but not like Bose's, prompting Ray and (y/n) to whip around with deep frowns. He knew that adenoidal tone...

'Wait a minute..." Ray growled, sniffing the air like a bloodhound as he stomped to the quiet boy, sensing something was wrong. It was those superhero instincts... "I knew I smelled science in here!"

Everyone gasped as the man yanked the hood from Bose's head, only to find an imposter was among them.

Turning around with a terrified face after being discovered, the team were shocked to see Schwoz staring back at them in a very clever disguise. If he had played his cards a little better, no one would've noticed the deception since his costume was so good, complete with a very Bosey wig, his signature blue hoodie, skinny jeans, and trainers.

The resemblance was uncanny but not good enough.

"Can you smell science?" (y/n) pondered, knowing her doofus hated anyone behaving smarter than him but smelling it? That was a little crazy, even for him.

"Schwoz, why are you dressed like that?" She moved on, standing beside Ray as she looked the small man up and down, wondering what he was thinking.

"'Cause I want to go to Paris! It's the city of love--and I want to fall in love!" Ah, a stowaway. Schwoz gazed at his friends with misty, wonder-filled eyes, looking every bit the hopeless romantic that (y/n) often saw in her sappy movies. Hearing him talk about feelings and emotions was a little out of character. Still, it warmed her heart as she smiled warmly - she was a sucker for romance, no matter who it involved.

"Awwww..."

"That's strangely adorable."

"The heart seeks what it needs!" She cooed with the kids, clutching her chest as her heartstrings sang. They all thought it was adorable, mirroring the genius's dopey, hopeful smile as he imagined meeting a tall, beautiful bombshell along the Seine. Ray, however, wasn't so smitten, scoffing loudly as he sneered at his handyman.

"First of all, we're not going to Paris to fall in love," he said firmly, pointing a stern finger in Schwoz's face. He fell in love in Swellview, not halfway around the world, so anyone else's feelings didn't matter.

"We're going to Paris because the French Captain Man is on strike. Second of all, everybody knows you're going to die alone!"

"Raymond! How could you be so mean?!" (y/n) scolded her doofus as the poor guy gasped loudly, undoubtedly wounded by his boss' harsh words. Ray flinched under her sharp gaze, but she didn't waver, wondering if he'd be so cruel if someone said the same to him; after all, their relationship seemed hopeless initially.

"...Monsieur Man is on strike?" Schwoz asked incredulously, clueless about how the woman's face fell when he brushed over the apparent insult. Maybe it secretly hurt him, but he didn't show it, staring up at Ray, who smooched her cheek as an apology - although she didn't hear him apologise to the little guy.

"Yes!" Instead, he turned on the smartboard, where he had the front page of France's online leading newspaper. All anyone could gossip about was how the city's leading superhero refused to work and Monsieur Man was very popular.

In some ways, he looked very similar to Ray, or at least (y/n) could see the similarities. He was stereotypically handsome with solid and masculine features, thick biceps, and shoulder-length, slicked-back blond hair. His uniform was a little strange, designed like Ray's, with a long-sleeved white undershirt covered by a zip-up tunic in the French flag's colours.

"I am Monsieur Man!"

He spoke with a thick, French accent, flashing his crazy eyes at the camera as he sipped from an espresso cup. Maybe in an alternate universe, she would've dated him. Still, her better instincts said he wasn't the same as her doofus - a little too eccentric and cheesy for her liking.

"They need us to protect France's greatest national treasures until he agrees to go back to work."

"Yeah, how long is that going to take?" Miles asked, praying that the Parisian hero was reasonable and easy to handle. He could lie to his parents a bit - a weekend field trip - but anything longer and they'd get suspicious. Also, who wanted to spend more than a few days in the city of love with Mr and Mrs Manchester?

"Not sure. We'll have to ask when we get there," (y/n) replied, leaning up on her tippy-toes to peck Ray's lips. She could barely wait, sharing a bright smile with him as they imagined everything they'd see and do together, squeezing hands without realising everyone was watching. Mika thought it was adorable, and Schwoz could only hope for a love like theirs.

"I don't speak French..." the boy added, wondering what they'd do once they landed. Ray couldn't work with others, so a translator had to be out of the question. Maybe just some very well-timed hand gestures?

"That's okay. Je parle un peu français. Je l'ai étudié au lycée, donc on devrait survivre," the heroine replied smoothly, her cheeks slightly warm as the children quirked their eyebrows at her - even Miles was mildly impressed, which was no mean feat.

Ray curled his arms around her waist, pulling his beloved wife to his rumbling chest, practically purring as the beautifully romantic words wrapped around her tongue before soothing his ears. She had to be trying to seduce him, right? Looking up at him through those lashes, smiling cutely, kissing his jaw...he had to be the luckiest man in the world.

"That's so hot, darlin'..." he murmured in her ear, hugging her closely as Schwoz sighed dejectedly, longing for love like theirs. They giggled and whispered to each other, cheeks superheating when Ray asked if she could kiss like the French, too, but he pulled away when the kids coughed awkwardly. Right...he forgot they were there.

"Anyway, you don't have to learn French--French is just English but with very ridiculous accents!"

"That's very ridiculously wrong," Mika mumbled, stunned when her so-called teacher put on the worst impression of a Frenchman she'd ever seen. His voice was thick and heavily accented, finished with a little Frenchy laugh, but he couldn't be further from the truth.

"Such a doofus, mon amour..." (y/n) sighed, shaking her head, but she leaned up to kiss him anyway. Love was in the air, making them extra affectionate and cuddly as they buzzed with anticipation for their romantic break, even if it was technically for work.

The hero grinned against her lips until an alarm sounded, painting the walls red momentarily before Chapa and Bose dropped from the ceiling in their chairs. They'd been grabbing some last-minute essentials from upstairs - weapons, gadgets, underwear - bringing everything down in large, heavy-duty, carry-on bags. They were late, making Ray frown as he glanced at his phone again - where was that Goober?

"Sorry, I'm late! I couldn't find my hoodie," Bose said as he placed the bag on his desk, only to look across at Schwoz and see him wearing his looted sweater. No wonder he couldn't find it; it was part of the genius' cunning disguise.

"Hey, I have that same hoodie! And that same hair!"

"You pack all out travelin' weapons?" Ray asked Chapa after wandering over to her side, looking too damn handsome in that jacket. And seeing him in his tight jeans and the black muscle shirt underneath? Nothing made (y/n) drop to her knees quicker...

"Yeah," Chapa confirmed, having run around the Man's Nest like a madwoman when the hero snapped his fingers and demanded she find everything they'd need to protect themselves in a foreign country. And obviously, he couldn't do it, monitoring the taxi and smooching his beloved wife. Critical stuff.

"You got Lil' Sizzler?" He asked, his lips twitching upward when the girl nodded diligently for every weapon he listed. "The Smoke Wagon? The Mean Wheel?"

"Trick question. There is no weapon called The Mean Wheel..."

"Okay, Chapa..." Ray grinned, thoroughly impressed by her attention to detail and in-depth knowledge. She didn't miss a beat, knowing everything she'd left in the pack, which, strangely enough, was identical to the one Bose had packed - the one he rummaged through as they chatted. Unzipping the gym bag, he pulled out a weird-looking device, like a child's windmill, with half a dozen stickers of his grumpy face stuck to each point as it spun around.

"I got a Mean Wheel right here. You show it to the bad guy, and when he all the mean faces on it, he's like, put that away! It's so mean!" Oh, sweet boy. He meant well, but God, he was simple.

"Oh, Bosey..." (y/n) shook her head with a sigh as Ray flashed the kid a wobbly smile, swapping a look with his sweet girl.

"Lemme holla at you for a second," Miles murmured to his fellow sidekick, placing a warm, kind hand on Bose's shoulder as he pulled him aside for a quick chat, leaving the happy couple with Chapa. Someone needed to tell him why that windmill thing wasn't appropriate, and the boys were particularly close, even if Miles' patience only stretched so far.

"So, I was thinking...when we're in Paris, we have to kiss on top of the Eiffel Tower!" (y/n) mentioned to her doofus as the boys talked a few paces away. She turned in his arms, grinning at him as Ray hummed and kissed her forehead, knowing he'd do anything she asked. He didn't mind what they did, willing to show her the entire city if she wanted, but he couldn't help but tease her a little.

"Can't we kiss anywhere else?" He smirked, stroking her curves as Chapa gagged at his side. God, every minute of every damn day...they couldn't keep their hands to themselves.

"Well, duh, you big doof! But it's a tradition! All couples kiss on top of the Eiffel Tower."

"Well, I can arrange that..." the man growled, leaning down to kiss his wife as she giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck and humming appreciatively.

As they smooched, utterly entranced by the nerves, excitement, and love in the air, the girl by their side groaned and shook her head. She always wore a frown, but this was something else - deep, stern, and severe, etched into her baby-like features the longer they locked lips.

"No fair! So, you guys get to go off doing all your kissy-kissy stuff while we do all the work!" She complained, forcing the couple to break apart as Ray scowled, ignoring how Bose skipped upstairs to look for something. Honestly, he could never love her properly with these little shits around...

"Hey! Can't a man take his incredibly hot wife on a romantic trip?" He asked, squeezing (y/n) 's hips as she rolled her eyes and lovingly kissed his cheek, running her wedding rings down his freshly shaven face. Before she could coo about how unbelievably handsome he was or Chapa could argue otherwise, Mika piped up, looking perturbed.

"Hey, Ray?" She called out, standing and looking through the window while everyone nattered. She'd watched a large, mini-van-type vehicle pulled up outside the school, loitering by the curb as the driver glowered at the front door. He didn't look happy - impatient like every taxi driver - making her gulp as she turned toward the hero.

"There's a Goober LUX SUV outside."

"Oh, my stars! MY stars!" The man gasped, yanking his PearPhone from his pocket and baulking when he noticed the app said his car was here - and his rating was going down. He must've missed the notification, too distracted by his wife's sweet lips or the dumb kid's stupidity.

"What, doofus?" (y/n) quirked an eyebrow, quickly following her lover as he dashed around the room in panic.

"I missed the alert, darlin'! Now, my five-star rating is going down! C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon! S'go, S'go, S'go!" He urged them all, clapping his hands as everyone jumped into action.

The kids grabbed a bag, swiftly wheeling the suitcases toward the door, including Bose, who lowered his face to the floor. He hurried toward the door without saying a word, frantic into the Goober without glancing at his friends, especially the happy couple. (y/n) grabbed her case, too, nudging Ray's until he raced over to take both, not wanting to see her lift a finger.

"Chapa!"

"What?--" Ray tossed a heavy bag toward the girl before shoving a suitcase toward her knees like a bowling ball. The force nearly toppled her over, but he didn't care, flashing his beloved wife a brilliant smile before holding his hand out for her to take. He practically dragged her to the car, but (y/n) didn't mind, tottering along with a giddy giggle.

This was the beginning of her romantic break, and no one would ruin it.

Everyone was so eager and rushed that no one noticed how Bose expertly programmed the Man's Nest security programme, which involved inputting a code far beyond his technical capabilities. The kid could barely count to ten, yet he punched in the string of numbers without issue, activating dozens of skin-searing lasers that crisscrossed every room should any burglar dare to break in.

With that, he scuttled out of the door with his case, closing and bolting the door behind him, dashing toward the car with a mischievous grin. No one would ever know...the genuine Bose would be safe and snug in the Nest, and Schwoz would find the woman of his dreams.

*bonjour mis amis. je have le smutti smut - oui-oui. if les enfants amongst us could shut their eyes for the next 5k, that would be lovely, and everyone avert your screens from your mothers.

(Raymond secretly wants a baby zut alors!)

SKIP IF YOU DON'T FANCY IT! ONWARDS!*

"Holy shit, doofus. This place is insane..."

"Anything for my best girl..." The hero grinned at his wife as she marvelled at their hotel room. She chucked her jacket over a regal chair draped in gold silk with a polished mahogany frame, offering both opulence and comfort. Its gracefully curved legs and delicate embellishments made it a statement piece of luxury. Yet, it was the bed she focused on.

In the grandeur of the bedroom, the luxurious mattress commanded attention with soft sheets and plush, tufted velvet cushions. Crafted from polished mahogany, too, the bedframe boasted ornate carvings, while a canopy of sheer curtains added a romantic touch to the opulent retreat, inviting anyone who entered to indulge in a haven of rest and relaxation. She fell backwards onto it, testing the plushness and sighing, knowing this was the epitome of comfort as her husband laughed.

Paris was a bit of her. The culture was clever, all elegance and the finer things in life as the city lights twinkled in the darkness. They'd landed quite late - past nine - and headed straight for the hotel, which was far too expensive and fancy for four tweens, but Ray paid for double twin rooms. He had to if he wanted to wine and dine his sweet girl, booking them into an executive suite facing the Champs de Mars.

It was one of the best rooms available--anything to see her smile. Everything had a lovely, warm glow from the furniture's pastel hues. The wallpaper was French - thick, glittery, and doubtlessly expensive with its gold, elaborate design. The carpet was plush, creamy, and woollen, caressing her feet as she stood up and padded across the room, dodging the seventeenth-century sideboards and coffee table.

"Oh, Raymond..." (y/n) breathed as she pulled one of the chintz drapes back from the window and peered at the outside world.

An iconic structure illuminated the city skyline with a golden glow, its intricate lattice of lights shimmering against the dark canvas of the night sky. The city below was a tapestry of twinkling lights. The Eiffel Tower stood as a timeless sentinel as the couple gazed out, casting a romantic spell over the heroine.

She didn't want to imagine how much he'd paid for the view, glancing back over her shoulder as Ray pressed his front to her back, enjoying it with her. His hands held her hips as he rested his chin on her shoulder, silently smirking to himself for a job well done at her awed expression. He took it as a sign he'd chosen well, feeling his heart sing when she took in every aspect, not wanting to lose a moment.

"Do you like it?" He whispered, kissing her neck as she nodded slowly, barely aware of reality as the lights twinkled on The Eiffel Tower. It was breathtakingly beautiful, although he was looking at someone else.

"Of course, doof! I've always dreamed of seeing The Eiffel Tower..." (y/n) sighed dreamily, leaning her forehead on the cool glass as her hand laid over the one on her hip. "Thank you..."

"I promised I'd make all your dreams come true when I married you, pretty girl."

"You didn't have to book us into the fanciest hotel in town, though..." She giggled, squirming at the ticklish sensation of his lips on her skin, but she couldn't be happier. His wedding band felt hot, hard, and heavy on her waist, slightly digging into her as he kept rubbing around his favourite spots...hips, tummy, and ass, up her ribcage until he nearly brushed under her breasts.

"Bose was so shocked he couldn't say a word, poor kid..."

"Go big or go home, darlin'. And besides, I have a dream too..." Ray mumbled, losing himself in his wife's soft body and floral-scented hair.

The mention of that kid barely passed his mind, forgetting how uncharacteristically quiet and shy the boy was when they checked in. He barely said goodnight, not that the hero cared. He couldn't drag his wife into their bedroom quick enough, eager to have her all to himself in the lap of luxury because they didn't get to do this very often. Not with those little demons knocking on the door every day.

"Really?" (y/n) asked quietly, feeling a new heat pulsing through her veins from his wandering fingertips. It didn't help how he'd stripped off his red jacket, revealing the deliciously tight black muscle shirt underneath. He looked so fucking hot, standing there in all black with his biceps bulging every time he moved his arms.

Every inch of him was pressed against her, hands glued to her waist, and there was nowhere to go but the cityscape before her.

"Oh, yeah..." he replied, lightly nibbling a spot just below her ear before bringing his lips back up, whispering in a sultry, throaty voice.

"I've always wanted to say I fucked my wife in Paris."

"Raymond!" She gasped, half-scandalised, half-pulsating with heat. She sounded shocked, but it was a little late for that at this point. She was used to his antics, familiar with how he said it how it was, revelling in his blatant and unapologetic love and lust for her. So used to it, in fact, that the brief feeling - which could've been shock - passed all too quickly, painting a coquettish grin on her face in its wake.

She turned her head to glance at him over her shoulder, giggling when his nose nuzzled into her cheek, mirroring her heated expression. His lips brushed her skin, holding her waist a little tighter as he pulled her ass back into his body. He was obvious and unashamed in every way, rolling his pelvis into her, nipping her jaw a little.

"What? Don't you want me to ravish you, sweet girl? This is the City of Love, after all," Ray teased, a rumble in his voice when she rocked her hips with his, wiggling her butt as she pushed against the glass. A little minx in his mitts, just as unabashed as he was as she tilted her chin up, encouraging the marks he sucked into her skin.

There wasn't a hint of rejection. Not even a suggestion that she didn't want him as much as he wanted her. If anything, she slumped against the pane more, arching her spine while his fingers danced with the button on her jeans. But indeed, giving in from the off wasn't as fun.

"The kids are next door..." A pathetic excuse - murmured through lips curled upwards, making the man snarl.

Frankly, he didn't give a shit. He had the girl of his dreams in his embrace, lovingly trapped with nowhere to go--his wife, hot, ready, aching to take his cock. He wouldn't stop for anyone, and certainly, not four little Satan-spawns, who made it their mission in life to steal him away in the morning, interrupting every clinch with their problems, groaning at every stolen kiss.

It was time to test if his money was well-spent, to see if this hotel really was le triomphe de Paris--if anyone could push the soundproofing to its limits, it was them.

"They won't hear a thing," he replied curtly, running his middle finger around the jean button before expertly popping it open with his forefinger and thumb. His sweet, precious girl didn't struggle, whining as another hand snuck around her body to grasp and fondle her tit, stealing that argument from her mind as she bucked into his touch.

"W-we only just got here..." (y/n) gasped as he squeezed whatever he could grab, dipping into her pants only to stop when she went and ruined it. She loved playing games, and Ray loved a challenge.

"No time like the present," he shot back instantly, wasting no time in moving past her panties and into her slick, circling her clit as he gathered her wetness on his fingers.

Humming in the back of his throat, he approved of how her body did all the talking, juddering when the heel of his palm ground against her sensitive flesh. Soft moans fell from her mouth as he hunched over her body, playing it to a tune only he knew when he found her nipple through her shirt and bralette. That pulled a sharper whine from her, and when he bit the side of her neck...the fight left her.

No more teasing. Just a sweet girl and her doofus in the most romantic city on Earth, in a suite designed to give the ultimate satisfaction.

"Take me to the bed, then, doofus..." the heroine begged, nails scraping down the window as he unhurriedly toyed with her.

"No..." Ray replied lowly, smirking evilly since he was enjoying the game she started. She - the girl of his dreams - was putty in his embrace, keening at the slightest touch until she dripped for him, soiling the loose jeans barely clinging to her hips. They shimmied down her body, making them both desperate to rip them off and get on with it, but he had a different idea. When in Paris...

"First, you'll take me right here, right now. Let the whole city see how well you take me."

His mouth was hot against her ear, whispering harshly as she nodded without thought, becoming drunk and pliant on his throaty tone and thick fingers - the way they cupped between her legs to tease at her entrance.

Usually, she'd never be so daring, rationality telling her that anyone - one of the hundreds of tourists exploring the city's nightlife - could look up and see them in a lust-fuelled tangle. Then, the nerves kicked in, whispering about how they'd be the next internet sensation, how the hotel would kick them out, how the world would know what they did. Usually.

To her surprise, (y/n) found herself equally hungry, clammy palms leaving the window and their prints behind to roughly shove her jeans down her hip until they gathered at her knees. Then, it was just a matter of shimmying them down her calves and stepping out of them, kicking them to the side without a spare thought once her lower half was bare and accessible for her doofus.

"Such a needy girl..." he chuckled, although he didn't waste the opportunity. With more space to manoeuvre, his fingers slipped through her slit with ease, smearing her wetness around her clit until she sobbed, nodding weakly.

"Such a good girl for me, though..."

A hand curled around her throat, pulling her forehead away from the cool glass until she tilted the base of her skull on his shoulder. Her torso was a canvas for him to roam, tweaking her breasts while he twisted his neck to kiss her, tongue messily running across her lips to tangle with hers.

"Want my cock, pretty girl?" He asked breathlessly after they pulled apart, and (y/n) didn't miss the angelic note in his tone. She could never understand how he could say such vulgar things so nonchalantly. Still, either way, she loved it, gasping, begging, vigorously jerking her head in a reverent yes.

God, yes, she wanted it. Wanted his cock. The only thing that could soothe the ache in her pussy, five stories up, watching over the city of Paris with him all over her like a rash. It was daring, it was dangerous, it was downright obscene, but yes, she wanted it.

"Your words, darlin'. Say it," Ray cooed, hissing through his teeth when his beloved wife turned to jelly in his arms, merely presenting her ass against the hardened length trapped in those black skinny jeans.

But that was boring--too easy to just fuck her now without making her ravenous. Hearing her desire was hot - hotter than self-gratification could ever be.

"I want it..." (y/n) mumbled quietly, her lips feeling fuzzy and clumsy like she'd spent the afternoon knocking back shot after shot of hard liquor. She'd say anything he wanted to hear if it meant he'd be deep inside her, screwing the lust and longing out, trusting her beloved idiot to take care of everything she couldn't think about.

"Louder. Do you want to be fucked or not?" The hero growled, hands still against her clit and tit when her pitiful attempt barely made it to his ears. Where was the woman who commanded his home like a queen? The one who often straddled his hips and rode him with authority and conviction?

"Yes!" She cried a sudden desperation fuelling her sharp shout when the dear pleasure he gave her was ripped away. Her hips rolled into his fingertips, chasing the hazy delight. Yet he retreated before she could, bringing them to his lips instead so he could suck the honey off them - down to the goddamn knuckle.

"Fuck, please, doofus...fuck me. Give me your cock."

"Right now? Right here? Wanna give all those people a show?" Ray grinned, licking at the delicious sweetness on his lips, eager to have another taste if she'd let him. But first, he needed to be inside her, straining against his jeans when she tucked her nose under his jaw and whimpered.

"Fuck me hard, Captain. Give it to me."

"That's my girl." He moved in an instant, shoving her back against the window with an unusual but not unwelcome roughness so she was braced against the glass again. His foot kicked her ankles apart, spreading her legs a little further, opening his favourite view in the world while he hurried to free himself. God, he never tired of eyeing her so ready, wet, and frantic for him.

Arching her back, (y/n) waited for what she craved, smiling tipsily when she heard the gentle, unmistakable jingle of his belt buckle as Ray shoved his pants and underwear down his thighs - just enough to free himself. He took his rigid length into his hand, pumping the achingly hard flesh with a groan as he guided the tip to her blazing cunt, sliding it through her folds.

A moan left her lips at the sensation, mewling when he rubbed himself against her clit to cover himself in slick.

He couldn't help but grunt at the relief of fisting his cock, staring at her pretty cunt as it fluttered and clenched around nothing in anticipation. It was tempting to keep going, fuck himself to the biggest walking turn-on he'd ever seen. Still, Ray stopped himself, curling his forefinger and thumb around the base of his cock to will himself to calm down.

"Fuckin' take it..." he growled lowly as he guided himself down to her entrance and pushed in, hissing when he felt that all-too-familiar tightness engulf his cock.

Like always, there was some slight resistance, willing to force him back out until he surged forward, parting her walls as (y/n) wailed. The thickness was heavenly, making her jaw go slack and eyes flutter shut when his groin pressed against her ass, fully sheathed inside his sweet girl. She clenched around him, now sucking him in, squeezing him tightly like nothing he'd ever felt before, and it felt like coming home.

"Oh, pretty girl, you feel so good."

"Don't make me wait, Ray..." (y/n) whimpered, planting her feet a little further apart to give him more room, enticing him to start moving. Slick was dripping down her thighs at this point, allowing her lover to inch a little deeper, but he wasn't particularly fussed.

He held her hips flush against his whilst he ran kisses from the edge of her shoulder to her neck, panting harshly and trying to reign in his desire - she'd never believe his lack of control when he had his wife in his arms.

"Keep those pretty eyes on the city. Leave me to my husbandly duties," Ray muttered against her throat with a smirk, gently sucking and nipping on her skin as he began to pull and push into her.

They groaned together at the friction, clawing hands leaving greasy streaks down the window pane as his cock dragged against her walls, providing sweet relief. Starting off slow, the man hummed lowly in his throat as he steadily coated himself in her, rubbing her hips as he tried not to get too excited. He felt so deep inside her from this angle, marvelling at the sight of her bare flesh and the moans she made.

"Fuck--harder--" She pleaded whinily, wiggling her hips to try and force herself back onto him, taking matters into her own hands. The slow, gentle, shallow thrusts were pathetic and maddening, barely enough to satisfy the ache deep within her.

She needed the rough, brutal pace only he could give her, but Ray stopped her movements, holding her waist, when his mouth suddenly appeared next to her ear, hot and harsh.

"I said, look outside. Don't waste this view," he spat, a large hand shooting up to cup his chin and force her to turn to Paris again - like she could concentrate on anything but him. "And I'll look at this one."

With his sweet girl staring blankly at the warm, twinkling lights and traffic-heavy roads, the hero pawed at her body and took a step back to admire her. He'd swear on the book that he'd never seen anything so beautiful in all his born days, trailing his gaze from her naked back and shoulders to the reflection of her breasts in the glass to her hips and the delicious crease between her thighs.

God, he could stare at it all day, licking his lips as he studied every minute detail of how stuffed her cunt looked with his cock crammed inside. She took him so well, stretched and drenched around him, piecing a sinful picture together in his head, which he tucked away for a rainy day.

His hands kneaded her ass, parting her cheeks to see the puckered hole that only he knew - a vulgar secret and privilege he'd never take for granted. Although, perhaps he'd take it later on when he'd fucked her pussy numb.

"Feels so good, Captain," (y/n) gasped, glueing her eyes to the skyline as her husband moved again, finding a rough, sweet pace that had them slumping against the window like rutting animals.

"I know, darlin'. Shit, your pussy feels so good," he groaned from above, belt buckle jingling with every movement of his hips. His skin was blazing, still dressed from head to toe, but it only inspired liquid fire in the heroine's veins; glancing down to her right to see his biceps in that black muscle shirt.

Her pussy fluttered at the image conjured in her head: sweat clinging to his skin, strands of hair falling from his gelled quiff, the trail of hair down his navel peeking out from the hem of that stupidly hot shirt from where he'd shoved his jeans down those toned thighs.

She just knew he looked like sin and heaven and everything she needed for another gush of slick to run down her thighs, making her lover snarl and smirk.

"You fuckin' love this, don't you?" He chuckled, resting his forearm on the window as he snapped his cock into her harder, nosing her cheek as (y/n) struggled to breathe--see--think, let alone speak.

"Wha--?"

"Anyone could look up now and see you, and you don't give a shit. These pretty fuckin' tits are on show for the world, but you're mine, aren't you?" Ray growled, releasing her iron grip on her pelvis to gather a fistful of hair, bringing her head back towards his.

He'd never hurt her; a gentleness in everything he did, even when he slapped and pinched at her stiff nipples - moans falling from her lips with every tweak and tug. Something green, dark, and ugly rose within him when he thought about someone else seeing her like this, bare and beautiful, which should've been for his eyes only, but it merely made him fuck harder.

Anyone would look up and see him fucking her, his touch making her cry in ecstasy, his ring on her finger.

"Yes--sh-shit, yes!" She nodded weakly, a thrum of pleasure passing through her as her doofus wrapped himself around her, her bare back to his fully clothed front.

"You love this--can feel your cunt squeezing me, dirty little girl."

"'M all yours, Ray. Love how you f-fuck me," the woman stuttered, practically drooling down the glass as he continued ploughing her pussy, bringing forth the release she needed so badly. "God, I wanna cum..."

"Yeah? Wanna cream all over my cock?" Ray cooed with an evil, shit-eating grin as he snaked his hand down to her woefully neglected clit. He'd left it alone for far too long, leaving it exposed and throbbing in the cool air until his fingers began their assault.

"Let me cum! P-Please, I need--I need--I--" (y/n) shrieked at the sensation, lurching forward as he rubbed rapid circles against her most sensitive spot, electrifying her every nerve end.

Her tongue felt clumsy and too big for her mouth. It barely wrapped around each word as she gabbled and babbled like an idiot, feeble and pliant like putty for her doofus.

"Fuck, you can't get enough. This little pussy needs filling every fucking day..." Ray muttered to himself, memories of their previous encounters coming to mind as he fluidly pumped into her, never failing in his rhythm.

Before their flight, she'd begged him to fuck her into their mattress, accidentally nudging their suitcase onto the bedroom floor after he accosted her while packing. Maybe that was hours ago, and perhaps they'd had a quick fumble in the plane toilet, but God, if she was insatiable, he was ravenous. And he'd never, ever say no.

"I'll give you what you need, precious girl--I'll always take care of you..." He mumbled, lapping at her neckline as he played her every weak spot,

"So, cum for me...Let go, sweet girl. Let me feel you...""

It ripped through her on his word, pulsating around his cock as Ray groaned, willing himself to thrust through it, crowding her against the window until he had her tits pressed against them. He kept circling her clit, whispering sweet, filthy nothings in her ears as her fingers clenched and cunt twitched. Soak me...get this pussy ready for me...fuck, I know what you need.

"Shit--Ray!" (y/n) screeched, writhing in his arms when he didn't stop. His thrusts were frantic and fast, balls slapping against his ass as Ray groaned.

He couldn't help it; maybe it was the romantic setting, the thrill of exhibitionism, or the temptation of another round on the bed, but something told him to claim her now. He felt wound up like a coil, endlessly needy and in love with his perfect wife as she became even slicker around him.

He'd undoubtedly make it up to her - in no way planning for the night to end so early. This was only the first round, and he planned to stay inside her all night, to make her see stars with orgasm after orgasm until she didn't know what planet she was on, but first, Ray needed his release.

The sensation of his pretty girl coming around him was convincing enough; it had been hours since he came inside her, and something inside him itched.

It was a peculiar feeling, one he'd never felt in his life until he met and wedded her. The thought of painting her insides with his cum made his thoughts go black, replacing them with deep, carnal desires to see her swell and grow, all because of him. He'd make her grow and change, and fuck, the outcome... He knew she said to wait, but fuck if it didn't excite him, just the thought of giving her a ba--

"Gonna fill you up, sweet girl..." the man choked out, stepping closer until (y/n)'s entire body was pressed against the window, rutting against her ass and a sensitive spot inside her in tiny, grinding thrusts. He felt it getting closer, scolding himself for not lasting.

But her pussy was incredible, stealing his resolve as he curled his arms and brought her into a tight embrace.

"Yeah? Gonna cum inside me, doofus?" She whispered, grinning dopily, still riding her high when she turned to look at him over her shoulder. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he seemed effortlessly handsome as he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, panting hard.

"Fuck, yeah..." Ray nodded feverishly, eyebrows knitted together in concentration as he kneaded her tits and tummy, not knowing where to touch, "Gonna stuff this pussy and then--shit--I'll--"

"What, doofus? What do you want? I'll do whatever you want..." His wife asked softly, rocking backwards on the balls of her feet to meet his thrusts, adding a little extra bite to the pleasure that coursed through them. The glass had fogged up, and if any sightseer looked up now, they'd doubtlessly know what was going on, but neither cared.

Everything built up slowly and quickly at once, pushing them further together until the lines of reality blurred with delight, making Ray throw his head back and howl. He returned to her clit, keeping his arms tightly around her frame--like he couldn't bear to let her go, not when the end was so near.

"That's my good girl," he growled, smooching her cheek loudly as he raced through a million daydreams - all of them filthy. On the bed, on the dresser, the vanity table, seeing her on her knees, parting her thighs and diving in, bending her over and pounding her needy little hole until the sun came up.

"I'll eat you out after this."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Let me have a taste. Let you cum on my face, and then, I'll fuck you again and again," the hero rambled on, sinking further and further into his desire, getting off on everything he wanted to do to her.

"Ray..." And it seemed she wanted it, too. She bent her back, arching into his touch as they fucked harder and harder, chasing their highs. The extra stimulation of her clit brought (y/n) to another peak, tilting her head back against his shoulder, and Ray knew she was his to drain for pleasure.

"Not letting you go tonight, darlin'," he promised against her temple, hot breath rolling across her face as his pace became uneven yet snappier. "I want to have you all night."

"Cum for me, then, doof. Fill me up," (y/n) coaxed, finding his hand on her breath and threading her fingers through it, holding it over her heart as she whispered the sweetest words of the night. "I'll let you fuck my ass."

It ended him. A harsh gasp ripped from the man as his hips pressed into hers as far as possible. Warmth spread inside the heroine as he stilled, saying nothing but rushed mumblings of her name and small groans, holding his sweet girl as tight as he could. She came second, milking him in gentle waves, mewling softly as he painted her insides before all of Paris.

Strong arms - those bulking biceps - held her safe, cooling their blazing, sticky bodies against the steamy window, refusing to pull out since his pearly load was so precious. It felt right to keep it inside her - it scratched the itch, and even though he knew they shouldn't, it didn't mean he couldn't dream.

Just knowing she was full to the brim with his cum, knowing one day he'd have the satisfaction of seeing her swell, was enough. For now.

"Oh, fuck, Ray..." (y/n) sighed once they slumped against the window, fingers cupping her breasts and gently squeezing - more of a comfort thing than sensual.

He rested his chin on her shoulder, sighing deeply as she leaned her weight back on him at his gentle touch, humming in mild discontent when she realised he was still wearing clothes. Admittedly, very hot clothes that made him look like some kind of God, but still. She wanted the intimacy of skin-on-skin, but that would be in a bit - once they had a breather.

"Good? He asked, kissing her shoulder, and he felt the weight of her flesh in his hands. He'd never seen someone so beautiful, utterly besotted.

"Good," she confirmed breathlessly with a delicate smile, reaching behind her to bring his face to hers. They shared a brief kiss, so soft compared to when he ploughed her senseless. "So good."

"Good," Ray smiled, squeezing her body before gazing at the skyline, all doe-eyed and gooey inside. The night sky was stunning, the warm glow of the lights even more so, but his sweet girl? She was everything he ever wanted and needed, looking so perfect with his softening cock still deep inside her.

"I'm yours, too, y'know..." he muttered after a few moments of silence, "I want you to be mine so bad, darlin', but I'm yours too. You've got me--forever."

"I know, Ray. I love you, too," (y/n) sighed, rubbing her hand over his, grinning when she heard the slight chink of their wedding rings bumping together.

To say she was glowing was an understatement; she was safe, happy, and warm with her husband, even if she realised post-entanglement that they'd played a risky game - fun but scandalous.

"Can't believe we just fucked in front of the most famous city in the world."

"I'm hearing no complaints...In fact, you begged for it. Screamed," Ray grinned, and upon hearing the smirk in his voice, (y/n) whacked his shoulder, albeit with warm cheeks and a grin of her own.

Perhaps that was true, but people in glass houses... He made himself sound like such a prude. Yet, really, he was the horniest man she'd ever met, and the one with his pants hanging around his knees because he'd been so desperate - the one who'd still not yet pulled out because he was hoping to get lucky again.

"Only because you seduced me! Like you did before we left home and were on the plane. You're a bad influence, you big doofus." She giggled, gasping slightly when their bodies moved, making his cock drag against her walls.

It wasn't the best argument, given how her eyes fluttered closed, biting her lip in what Ray saw as an utterly seductive move. Was she trying to make him want her? Because it was working, he whispered hotly against her ear, suddenly serious and baritone, his voice as smooth as a rich, dark chocolate.

"Can't a man make love to his wife?"

"Against a window for the world to see?" (y/n) gulped when he tweaked her nipples again, sending all-too-familiar shockwaves down her spine as her sensitive core tingled. Ray was silent and simply leaned forward for a filthy kiss - all tongue and teeth as he planned his next move. What was that offer she made again?

His eyes glanced down to where their bodies connected, feeling himself harden inside her again when he observed the deliciously slick flesh engulfing his cock. Only he had a different goal, pulling out of her entirely to a chorus of petulant whines as he drifted north.

He'd give the city a show, wanting his precious wife ruined and speechless by the end of the night. It started when he pressed himself into her tight passage, turning whimpers into wails and gasps as he whispered...

"Well, when in Paris, sweetheart..."

*je suis sweating after that, mon amors. mais oui, mais oui ray wants his baby so bad (and I do too but not yet ruth.)

children, open les peepers and let's go forth. we've got some weird mime shit to get through and endless bits of pda from our doofus and sweet girl.

allon-sy! (said the 10th--or 14th???--doctor).

~The next morning~

The team rose bright and early, donning their uniforms before heading to a quirky cafe in downtown Paris.

Everything was so French, unsurprisingly, with freshly baked bread, croissants and coffee for breakfast, walking down the street to the sound of an accordion. Of course, Ray and (y/n) went hand-in-hand, wearing matching lightweight, waterproof jackets for the cool morning air, and they adored the city of love.

It screamed them, strolling with enamoured smiles as the kids trailed behind them, chatting about the thrill of being in a foreign country. Bose was a little quiet, but (y/n) supposed it could be jet lag, and her doofus had already swept her into a passionate kiss before she could think about it further.

She entered the cafe first, ears warming when Ray opened the door for her like a true gentleman, even if he left Danger Force to fend for themselves. He strolled in like he owned the place, looking ridiculously handsome in his Captain Man costume.

He faced a hoity-toity old lady with a sour expression and an alarmingly bright red jacket, tie, and crisp white shirt - her name was Marie, and she had the joy of being their host.

"All right, everybody! Calm down! America's here!" Captain Man announced as he walked toward the woman and unzipped his jacket. Miss Danger gestured for the children to come closer. She was willing to let her husband do most of the talking since only he could saunter around with that level of nonchalant confidence.

"All right, first things first, I got a couple'a great jokes about French people, so let's dive right in. How many French people does it take to surrender to--" Or perhaps not.

"Okay, doofus, we're not gonna go there!" (y/n) shouted above his voice, jumping forward to push him away before he could say anything offensive. They'd not even been there for twenty seconds, and he'd already scandalised his host, etching a deep frown on her face - some things were still too raw to talk about.

"Je suis de le mond désolé pour lui," Mika crooned to the woman with her sweetest smile, hoping to smooth things over as her friend gave the hero a stern look.

She'd sat with them on the plane, and when they didn't sneak off to the bathroom together - which was obvious to her - she'd had a few French lessons from (y/n). Not much, just enough for the average tourist, but Marie looked at her like she'd grown a second head when she put it into practice.

"I'm sorry. I do not understand," the older woman replied in a thick, French accent, making the group's Smarties frown.

"But she was speaking French," (y/n) pointed out, coming up from behind Mika to gently place her hands on the girl's shoulders. Ray's soft eyes followed her every move, but he smirked at his young sidekick, ready to deploy his smug face.

"But no! French is just English with a very ridiculous accent!"

"See? I'm right about everything," he told Mika arrogantly when she turned to him with that stupid and annoying face. Marie was nice enough, but that couldn't be right...and she desperately wanted to smack him.

"Oh, doofus..." (y/n) sighed and shook her head at him, but as always, she couldn't help but smile and peck his cheek.

Ray was just too adorable to her when he looked at her with that dopey grin, sliding his arm around her waist as Mika rolled her eyes. Deep down, he knew she was right, glaring at the French woman for being so ridiculed.

"This place kinda looks like Hip Hop Purée," Chapa mentioned as she wandered around the café, noting the similarities.

The counter was in the same place with all the snacks and drinks, the logo on the wall was similar, and the decor screamed modern American culture. Save for the random memorabilia and displays around the room and the name difference with Paris, the heroes felt at home - almost as if they hadn't gone transatlantic.

"But of course! We want you to feel at home while you guard our national treasures," Marie replied, dramatically gesturing around the room with elegant sweeps of her arms.

"Well, I guess somebody has to," Ray retorted as the woman moved to the priceless artefacts they had to protect. His gaze slid to the only other Parisian in the room, glaring harshly at the blond, garlicky man as he spun around in an ergonomic chair and sipped an espresso with an unbothered, clueless smile. "Since Monsieur Man over there is on strike."

"That is correct. I will not fight crime until someone buys me a pretty pink motorcycle," he replied defiantly, looking almost ridiculous in his copycat uniform. (y/n) had heard how he was popular with the ladies, sharing many characteristics with Captain Man, except he hadn't found a sweet girl of his own yet. She supposed he was handsome somehow, but he had nothing on her husband.

"I'm sick of taking the subway! I want to drive around and say, beep, beep, beep! Out of my way! I am Monsieur Man!"

"Okay..." Was all Chapa had to say, reacting to his cheery explanation with a flat, bored expression--almost a look of repulsion. She wasn't impressed, wondering why she had to travel thousands of miles for the whims of some spoilt little French boy.

"What are we guarding here?" (y/n) asked, turning to Marie to refocus the group. Still, when she saw the items the hostess had gathered, she wouldn't exactly call them treasures.

"Only the most important treasure in all of France," she said proudly, gazing at the weirdest collection of knickknacks they'd ever seen.

"Napoleon's pants..." She held up the so-called antique, and everyone wrinkled their noses. The garments were pinned to a board for preservation and were tiny as if they belonged to a child. They'd yellowed with age, looking disgustingly old, wrinkled, and manky as she held them to the light.

"The first French bread ever baked..." She gently picked up the long, stick-like baguette like it was made of glass, but dear God, the smell.

The bread had to be decades old and had turned a dark shade of green due to a cakey layer of mould. It was enough to make anyone sick to the stomach, and (y/n) nuzzled against Ray's chest, subtly inhaling his fragrant cologne and not the musky stench from the bread.

"And finally, the original helmets of music superstars, the Daft Punk." She smiled at the futuristic helmets, which made everyone genuinely smile. They could be considered true treasures - part of music history, even if they weren't precisely to Ray's taste.

"Ah...I definitely know who Daft Punk is because I'm cool, and I know cool things," the man commented flatly as he stared at the helmets. Yet, nothing came to mind, not even when the kids cheered and gasped with excitement. Even his sweet girl grinned with awed eyes, her hand clamped over her mouth.

"Really, doofus? I wouldn't have thought they were your thing..." (y/n) frowned confusedly as she squeezed his beefy arm to her body. She knew everything about him, from the colour of his underpants to his childhood imaginary friend to his favourite baby name. This was news to her.

"Name any of their songs," Mika dared him, making the hero freeze, not that he showed it. He couldn't care less about this Daft Punk, but he played it off well, keeping his expression stern and focused as he ignored her.

"There's no time!" He shouted dramatically before snapping his gaze to Chapa. "Volt! Let's get an inventory of those weapons before any of these cheese-eaters try to steal my favourite band's helmets or whatever."

"Uh, we got a problem, Cap..." The girl said slowly as (y/n) glanced at her lover suspiciously, only to look even more perturbed when she heard that. Those weapons were all they had; problems weren't what they needed when they'd left everything else at home.

"We took the wrong bag," she revealed, snatching a familiar item from the gym bag.

Ray scoffed at that doohickey of Bose's creation, his little windmill of angry faces. He hated that thing, but unfortunately, they'd mistaken the proper weapon bag for the identical junk sack, and he growled when he yanked out another bizarrely useless item - a tangled, brightly coloured, shaggy slinky.

"Aw, what? Care to explain this, buddy?" He asked the kid harshly, stomping over with the slinky in hand to where Bose had been deathly silent, keeping himself to himself in a shady corner. It was weird; he was typically so outgoing, but he had barely said a word since they'd left Swellview, and even when his boss snapped, he didn't turn around.

"I can't because I am the dumb one," he replied quietly, sounding like he'd gone swimming in a brewery, slurring his words in a funny voice. His jacket said BrainStorm, but (y/n) narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Bose, honey..." she called out to him, reaching to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. The poor kid sounded like he had the world's worst cold, but as Ray threw the springy tangle into a corner, a sour smell assaulted his nose, a shiver ran down his spine...a deep, instinctive yearning settled in his gut.

"Ew...did someone science in here?!" He questioned in a disgusted tone with a wrinkled face, glancing at his sweet girl and the kids.

"Don't luck at me, doofus! I only do math when you're around to drool..." (y/n) exclaimed as she and Mika held their hands up in defence. They were The Smarties but had barely had enough time to sleep, let alone flex their brains, so it didn't make sense. That is until Ray's nose pointed him somewhere else.

"Wait a minute," he muttered, squinting at Bose's figure. His superhero senses told him something was wrong, especially when he noticed how the boy refused to look at him and how short he seemed to be--a little too shifty.

So, he yanked the hood down, revealing those familiar sickly brown locks and a pair of dark sunglasses. He quickly ripped from his stunned face, and there were a pair of irritatingly familiar, wide, brown eyes locked onto his.

"Schwoz! Dang it!" Ray snapped upon seeing the genius through his cunning disguise, making the others gasp in horror, too. "I thought I told you to stay home, you little nerd!"

Schwoz didn't even need to think about his next move. He'd been busted, and now that the cat was out of the bag, he felt no loyalty to Ray. There was no need to keep up this façade, not when he had a personal mission to complete, so he threw the hero and his sidekicks an anguished glance before bolting for the door.

"I want to find looooooove!"

"Wait...if that was Schwoz...then where's...?" Mika pondered as she stared thoughtfully at Chapa, who was stunned speechless by the handyman's devious actions and dramatic exit.

"Kevin!" Ray screeched in horror, his face a picture of panic when he realised the worst. The thought was there, but come on...

"Um, doofus, you mean, Bose?" (y/n) corrected in a whisper as she hovered by his elbow. She was equally terrified at the heart-stopping thought of accidentally leaving one of her babies in the Nest. Still, she couldn't help but frown when her husband got his name wrong - after so many weeks, if not months, of knowing him.

"I mean--Bose!--I mean, BrainStorm!" He exclaimed dramatically when he realised he lacked his wife's tact, shouting the boy's name when it should've barely been a whisper.

But he got there in the end, and the couple gawped at each other in a state of pure panic; this was the first time they'd forgotten a child in the many years of having them, and it felt like they'd lost a limb. They felt sick to their stomachs, foreheads clammy and fingers trembling as (y/n) slowly shuffled into his embrace, picturing the poor kid alone in the Man's Nest. It broke her heart, and all she could think was how it was her fault.

You didn't check. You should've noticed. You will be responsible if he gets hurt. Her brain always picked the right moments to be so helpful.

"You guys, what happened to Bose?" Chapa asked angrily, breaking them out of their self-loathing. She was aloof and insensitive, but deep down, she cared about her friends--especially the ones who could barely tell a goldfish from a grenade.

"Did we leave him at home?"

"Alone?" Miles gasped, snapping his gaze to his teachers as they gulped.

"Yes! Oh, God...we left BrainStorm at home! Oh, my baby..." (y/n) whimpered, feeling truly awful as she hugged herself. Ray tried to comfort her, keeping his arm around her shoulders as he mournfully stared at the floor before pecking her hair.

"He's my favourite one!" He nodded, not that it helped. The others looked at him offendedly, although Chapa could understand why. Still, (y/n) slapped his chest and tried not to smile or show any sign of approval because that would be wrong. Very wrong.

"Captain Man! We don't have favourites!" She told him firmly, flashing the children a wobbly but sincere smile since she loved them all for unique reasons, but that wasn't important whilst she sunk further into her sadness.

"But poor Bosey...he's probably scared and cold and hungry and tired, and oh, God! Doofus!"

"I know, sweet girl. I know..." Ray sniffled, holding her painfully contorted face against his chest when her rambling turned into anguished, strangled cries. He couldn't bear to see her sad but knew her pain, feeling responsible and guilty despite not showing it; deep down, he cared, and it was enough to bring tears to his eyes, too.

They could picture it now: he'd be tucked up in a corner of their home, not knowing how to find the kitchen or turn up the thermostat. He wouldn't have gotten any sleep, too afraid of the dark and the monsters that could lurk in it since he didn't do well alone. The poor kid must've been terrified, and it was impossible to help him--possibly days before they could go home.

He didn't show it often, but Captain Man would move mountains for his sidekicks, so it mildly shocked them to see him so distraught. The man resorted to squeezing his beloved wife in His embrace, manically petting her soft hair as she fanned her eyes, refusing to show fear in front of her other babies, but they wouldn't stop.

"Somebody call my baby Bose...My poor baby," she whimpered, feeling a little pathetic, but luckily, Mika swiftly fished the PearPhone from her pocket. She had Bose on speed dial, clicking his contact and holding the cell to her ear as the dialling tone beeped.

"Relax, (y/n/n)...I'm calling him."

"It won't work!" A cruel, mocking laugh came from the corner - more like a sneer. Miss Danger flashed her most vicious glare at its owner, wishing she could burn holes in Monsieur Man's head as he sat there, perfectly content and carefree, whilst her world was in chaos.

"Listen here, Pepé Le Pew..." she growled, so ready to sink her claws into him that Ray had to encircle his arms around her waist to keep her at bay, only for another annoying froggy accent to reach her ears.

"The cell phone service you are using, ATandOui, is on strike."

"The whole country is on strike," the French hero explained, coolly sipping his espresso as Ray tried the number to no avail. "They all strike for Monsieur Man. Ha, ha!"

"Okay, that's it! I'm gonna rip his head off. See if he's still smirking then." (y/n) lunged for the man, hoping to at least gouge an eye out or break his nose, but Ray was too swift and strong. He kept her snuggly in his arms, whispering soothing words in her ear to drown out Monsieur Man's victorious huff. She was better than that, even if her babies' safety could make her ferocious.

"If only we had someone who could teleport back home..." Miles suggested dryly, giving the woman a bemused yet tender look, making her ears warm.

"Au revoir, Frenchies," the boy sassed before jerking his arm in the air, disappearing in a flash of golden light. Surprisingly, he didn't reappear half a centimetre to the left or an inch to the right, so Ray and (y/n) assumed he'd returned to the Man's Nest - a much-needed reassurance.

"Nice! One of your superpowers actually worked... Lookin' at you, ShoutOut," the handsome man remarked, which earned a few eye rolls from the girls, but at least his wife perked up, and he was relieved to see her smiling again.

"Wow, you're really gonna go there?" Mika growled, a little hurt, but she had the last laugh when (y/n) reprimanded her doofus like a mother berating her child.

A gentle tug on his earlobe told him to behave, and he begrudgingly apologised to the girl, earning himself a soft kiss. They leaned in, needing a little sweetness after so much distress, but just when their lips were about to touch...

"What are you doing?!"

"Get out of here!" Two disgusted, ladylike voices suddenly bellowed from the female toilets at the back of the café, and a mortified figure burst through the door. It was Miles, who covered his blazingly hot face with his hands after seeing...things. He'd be scarred for life, but nothing was more humiliating than an utter failure.

"Okay, if anyone else is curious, that is the ladies' room," he said meekly as his friends stared at him, making the girls cringe. Nothing was worse than stumbling into a place where you couldn't be less wanted, and he'd really taken one for the team there.

"Anybody else got any ideas?!" Ray asked sternly, still worried and now pissed off since he'd missed a kiss from his sweet girl. And he really needed that kiss.

"I've got an idea!" Monsieur Man called from his cosy corner, ignoring Miss Danger's frosty glances. She'd warm up to him eventually - all women did - so he couldn't help but smile when she rolled her eyes and snarled.

"Merci, but we're good."

"Ah, but mon chéri..." the Parisian hero crooned smoothly with a blinding smile, a little too flirtatious for Ray's liking, as he stiffened and stood closer to her. But Monsieur Man was harmless, shifting his gaze behind them, finding something hilarious as everyone stared at him.

"Why don't you stop that mime from stealing the baguette?" He suggested playfully, pointing to where a sneaky criminal had slipped past Captain Man's razor-sharp senses and swiped the mouldy bread.

The heroes turned around to see the bizarre man creeping away most ridiculously. He was a classic mime, his face painted a ghastly white with exaggerated features. At the same time, he wore a black beret, white gloves, a monochrome striped shirt, braces, and black breeches.

Watching him was funny as he kicked his feet out with every step, the baguette raised high above his head, but despite the cutesy act, a criminal was still a criminal.

"Freeze!" Ray ordered after getting over his initial shock, and the mime immediately stopped...and began shivering?

"Oh, freeze! Like he's cold... That's kinda good," (y/n) giggled as she watched the silly man tremble like he was stuck on an arctic tundra. It even broke a smile on Ray's face, laughing with the kids when the actor hugged the baguette close and chuckled, too.

"All right, take it. You've earned the bread..." Ray sighed--so impressed with his quick wit and improvisation that he didn't have the heart to chase after the criminal. But that wasn't the point, much to his sidekicks' disgust and fury.

"No!"

"That's stealing!"

"He's getting away!" Mika and Miles exclaimed, wildly gesturing to the mime, who prepared to make a swift if overacted, exit. Luckily, Chapa had the brains to guard the door, blocking his path with the deadliest weapon in their arsenal - The Mean Wheel.

And surprisingly, it worked. One flash of Bose's grumpy face and the mime cowered away, holding his hands up in surrender with little fight left to flee.

"I guess it works!" The girl declared happily, expecting an epic brawl, but maybe Bose was onto something. It gave Ray enough time to grab the guy by his collar, yanking him back into the store.

"Well, sometimes, you just--" he grunted, pulling his detainee back with a mighty jerk as he jogged on the spot, "--y'know, get lucky."

"That's a Daft Punk song..." Miles pointed out, but he wasn't surprised when a blank expression passed over the hero's face.

"I know it is. Thank you," he scoffed casually, even though no one was fooled by his bluff.

Ray had to save face, not only for the civilians and so-called heroes watching but for his sweet girl, who shook her head in amusement as she kept her eyes trained on the mime. She didn't trust them - something about how they didn't speak made her nervous.

"Then sing it," Chapa taunted, smirking underneath her poker face. Everyone knew the man couldn't resist a challenge, and it was a battle of wills as he pondered his next move.

"Too expensive..." he answered vaguely before quickly dropping his gaze to the surly mime, clenching his fist around his collar in case he tried to escape.

He didn't trust them either, snapping his fingers for Mika to bring him a chair. The girl gently placed it in the middle of the floor, unaware of his plan.

She was shocked to see how roughly her teacher shoved the poor man onto the seat, nearly pushing him onto the floor as a melancholy pout made his bottom lip wobble. It was even more alarming to watch Miss Danger loom over him, an uncharacteristically aggressive glint in her eye as she studied the mime's pasty face, unnerving him for some weird reason.

She knew they had to question him about why he targeted the national treasures, but did they have to be so...mean?

"Talk!" Ray bellowed, making the actor flinch at his loud tone. Still, he said nothing - just collected himself and returned to sitting prettily.

"I said talk! Tell me where your friends are!"

"He's a mime. They don't talk!" Mika told him exasperatedly, knowing he could shout all day but never get through. (y/n) usually told him stuff like that, but she was weirdly silent for some reason, observing the mime broodingly.

"They also don't have friends," her brother jokingly added, which to most people would be true. Mimes were socially celebrated, perhaps a little nerdy and weird in most circles, but the couple knew better. Oh, they knew things the children would never believe. Things that would scar their innocent minds.

"Oh, he's got friends!"

"Guys, he's a mime. They live in hives, so when you see one, there's always a mime hive nearby," the heroine explained, much to the children's confusion. They looked at her like she was crazy, not missing how antsy Ray was.

"I expect this from Captain Man, but not you, M-D. Are you thinking of bees?" Chapa asked dryly, unable to believe such outlandish, childish nonsense.

"No! We're not making this up!" (y/n) exclaimed indignantly, clinging to her husband's arm as he frantically looked around for this so-called hive. "Mimes work together, they live in hives, and they protect their Mime Queen at all costs! Trust us!"

"I do not trust you..." Miles replied slowly, staring at the couple warily. He couldn't trust them, not when she spouted such nonsense, and he fondled any bit of flesh he could reach. Still, Ray didn't need their faith, nor did he seek their permission, returning to glare at the mime and bark his orders.

"Talk! Tell me where your hive is!"

"He's not gonna talk!" Mika yelled back, wondering when the man would learn, not that he'd listen.

"We'll see about that..." Ray growled before reaching for his belt, fingers fumbling angrily as he searched for his laser remote. In his experience, although unpleasant, a little pain and zapping here and there often loosened a criminal's lips. Even if the children disapproved, he shot a few orange bolts at the mime's shoulder, searing his skin a little - not enough to scar, but just enough to make him yelp.

"Talk! Talk! Talk!" He snapped, zapping the guy three times until the mime clutched at his chest, a mournful expression turning his face sour. He was an excellent actor and didn't break character through the mild torture.

"Okay, this guy's good! He's gotten me twice so far. I say we just let him have the bread, you guys."

"No!"

"Stop!" The children groaned as the hero stopped his interrogation and smiled cheesily. That's what the crook wanted--to lure them into a false sense of security, but they knew better. Plus, the bread wasn't theirs to give away like some two-cent fairground prize.

"Doofus, our job is to protect the bread, not give it to the first person who smiles at you!" His sweet girl said, chastising him, but Ray just whined like a little kid.

"But he wants it! Look, he's hungry!" He said petulantly, grinning as their captive pretended to tuck a handkerchief into his collar, rubbing his tummy like he'd not eaten in a week. The man felt sympathy for him yet failed to realise that the mime could just go to the bakery and buy fresh, non-mouldy bread.

"Well, he can go and whistle for it 'cause he's not getting a single crumb!"

"He's got a little bib going..." Ray sighed, amusedly watching the mime's antics even as his beloved wife scolded him. He was in a world of his own, absentmindedly patting the small of her back as Mika groaned and rolled her eyes.

"Cap..." she called out, but his stare remained blank and vacant.

"CAAAAAPPPPP!" The girl said louder, her flat tone finally reaching him when (y/n) whacked his shoulder and flicked his ear. The man blinked a few times, turning to his wife with a slight pout since he didn't like being on her wrong side, but the annoying noise of Mika talking to him soured his mood.

"WHHHHHAAAAAAT?" He replied in the same monotone drone, flashing the whites of his eyes when they rolled back in disgust. Would they ever stop pestering him?

"Let's try something else," she suggested, gracefully brushing past his rudeness when her friends slapped him again. Giving her a grateful smile, she turned to the mime, studying him closely.

"Like what?"

"What if we just played along? Let's let him do his mime games, and maybe he'll like us and tell us something," The girl grinned hopefully, making her teachers exchange a thoughtful look. At least they were considering it.

"If he won't speak our language, let's try speaking his..." Her brother added pensively, circling the glum-looking mime as he gently placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. He agreed with her; he'd always been the hippie type, and it was much better than lasering the poor guy.

"Oh, no! I sure hope no one throws an imaginary rope around me!" Mika exclaimed in a weird voice, drawing puzzled frowns from her friends.

Her cheery, overly enthusiastic attitude wasn't natural. She sounded like she was on a TV commercial or as if she'd had a brain transplant, especially when she smiled like that - a little too brightly for sanity. It didn't impress Ray or Chapa, the latter of whom folded her arms and glared because it was stupid. There was no way she'd do that.

"What?" They said together flatly, but it worked on the mime. He perked up instantly, turning that frown upside down when he finally understood ShoutOut's meaning. Snapping his head in her direction, they smiled gently at each other, radiating hope, peace, rainbows, and everything else Chapa hated.

"Because then I'd have no choice but to get pulled in." That had the stripey-shirt-wearing man leaping excitedly, as giddy as a schoolboy, to join her little game. As Mika began to jovially run away, he expertly mimicked taking an imaginary rope from his imaginary belt before spinning it around his head like a lasso and tossing it in her direction.

"Oh no! I'm running away!" She announced in that fake voice before she was caught, arms glued to her sides like he'd tied her up. "He's got me!"

"He got you! He totally got you!" Ray exclaimed, happily pointing to the mime's antics as he began to pull the girl toward him in solid and dramatic tugs. Someone changed his tune quickly...

"Do me next! Do me! Rope me!"

"Doofus, watch out!" (y/n) gasped when he pushed past her, Miles, and Chapa, utterly charmed by the mime's innocent act.

It was a world away from how he'd threatened and assaulted him, jumping up and down with his hand above his head. He volunteered as tribute, ignorant to the tired, shaking heads behind him. Was this a good idea?

Ten minutes later, the mime had added to his posse.

He'd managed to rope - literally and figuratively - Mika, Ray, (y/n), and Miles, lashing them together with his invisible lasso. They didn't struggle, playing his little game with bright smiles and good sportsmanship - everyone except Chapa.

The moody girl refused to stoop so low, hovering on the sidelines with crossed arms and a joyless expression as she watched in disdain. She couldn't believe them, watching as they fell for its tricks one by one, huddling together until (y/n) was pressed against her husband's side and her fellow students were tucked under her arms. Utterly ridiculous.

""Uh-oh, we're tied up!" They exclaimed, clamouring loudly about how fun it was, how clever the mime was, and how they were finally getting through with him. All of which Chapa resented.

"Now, you gotta do Volt next!" She scowled at Ray's suggestion, throwing him a killer glare as she leaned against the door.

"Tie up, Volt!"

"Yeah, do Volt!" Their endlessly irritating cries came, and she huffed and puffed at how they encouraged the alabaster-faced criminal. It got worse when he flashed a saccharine grin and began to spin his invisible lasso above his head, intent on roping her into it.

"Nope. Not doing it," Chapa stated firmly, turning her nose up at the thought, even when they begged and pleaded.

"Come on! You're in Paris! Give in to the whimsy!" (y/n) said teasingly, feeling a muscular arm curling around her waist. She wasn't keen either but quickly found the fun in the mime's horseplay since it gave her a great excuse to stand closer than proprietary usually deemed acceptable to her doofus.

"Whimsy! Whimsy! Whimsy!" The Macklin twins chanted as Ray dipped his head to smooch his beloved wife's cheek.

He'd definitely succumbed to the whimsy, holding her tightly as the children caused their raucous. Glancing up from her soft skin and sweet-smelling hair, the man smiled when he saw Chapa budge an inch, slowly - very slowly - edging toward her friends in little jumps as she fought off a grin.

"She's moving! She's playing along!" He exclaimed, laughing when the girl finally gave in and showed that beautifully rare smile, side-stepping closer to them with every yank of the pretend rope. By the end of it, spurred on by the chant, she was entirely into it, leaping toward the group like no one was watching - even Chapa had a little child inside her who wanted to play.

"Man, I told you this guy was good!" Ray noted as she wiggled close to him, beaming at her teacher due to her good mood. It was a little disconcerting, but they went along with it, happily huddling together as the mime crept away. He had them right where he wanted them...

"That's it, case closed. He's gettin' the bread."

"He's not gonna get the bread, doofus," (y/n) giggled as she rested her cheek against his chest, so entranced with his handsomeness and the thumb stroking her hipbone that she didn't notice anything behind her.

It was just the chattering children, her, and her husband, who slowly reached down to kiss her gently - the best distraction.

"Ew, do you guys have to do that when you're so close to us?" Chapa grimaced, looking up from her excited conversation to see them locking lips. She could even practically feel the pleasured rumbling coming from the hero's chest and gagged when (y/n/n) cupped his cheeks happily - vomit-worthy.

"I think it's the romantic atmosphere. Do you see how he clung to her this morning when they left the--"

"Hold up!" Miles gasped, interrupting his sister's idealistic and romantic rambling, when he noticed something weird. While they'd been talking, kissing, and God knows what else, the mime had disappeared to rummage through their bag of useless weapons; only some of them weren't so useless.

"What's happening?"

"Uh, is this still part of his act?" (y/n) gulped nervously, feeling rather stupid as she separated from her lover to see how the mime had literally tied them up. Even though he'd used Bose's bizarre slinky, he'd wound it around their bodies tightly, forcing them together until he had a nice little bundle of superheroes under his control, stuck and helpless in the multicoloured tangle.

"Yeah, let him do it, sweet girl! Don't worry!" Ray reassured her, returning to focus his lips on her jawline since he wasn't worried. He could protect her immediately, although the mime was utterly harmless in his mind.

"I thought the whole thing with mimes is that they only pretend to do real things," Chapa noted, her happiness gone and replaced with her signature moodiness. But this time, it was justified, seething at the guy as he pulled the slinky tight, squeezing her abdomen uncomfortably. She knew this was a bad idea, but nooooo...

"No, the thing about mimes is they make invisible honey," Ray explained, not that it helped their nerves.

"Again, bees." Mika sighed, wondering how his imagination worked, but then, an obnoxious laugh broke her from her panicked thoughts. A very irritating, French-flavoured laugh from the man across the room.

"What are you laughing at, French fry?" (y/n) sneered as she turned to Monsieur Man, thoroughly irritated to learn that he'd witnessed their whole failure.

He stood in the doorway to the other side of the cafe, nursing yet another coffee as he watched bemusedly, highly entertained by how his American cousin floundered so spectacularly. But he didn't react to her sore-loser sourness, flashing her that charming smile again like he did with all the ladies and nodded toward the entrance.

With a small amount of strained effort, the group shuffled around to see what he was looking at, feeling faint when they faced a band of more merry mimes.

Ray gasped loudly when he countered three more pasty-faced men, one clutching Napoleon's pants as the other two flanked a lady mime.

She wasn't just any old weirdo, though, staring at them down her nose with pursed lips. There was something different about her than the others, not just the small accents of red in her outfit; above her white face and stencilled eyebrows, a pretty little crown sat nestled on her pinned-up hair, a symbol of authority in the mime world.

"It's more mimes!" Miles cried, suddenly feeling like a sitting duck as he accidentally elbowed Mika in the ribs when he jerked in surprise.

"They've come from their hive!" Ray growled, glad he'd taken his chance to wrap an arm around his sweet girl, protectively holding her against his chest. She turned in his arms to hold onto the kids, pulling Miles and Mika closer as she glared at the head mime, knowing she was as vicious as they came.

"Is that...a Mime Queen?" Mika gulped, leaning back into the woman for comfort as the Queen pretended to act something out, holding a blue plate with a slice of toast.

"And is she squirting invisible honey on a piece of toast?"

"Of course she is!" Captain Man exclaimed angrily, silently furious with himself for being duped so quickly when he knew their tricks so well. "I told you I'm right about everything!"

"Stop gloating, doof! They're...laughing at us..." (y/n) breathed out, her mouth dropping open when she indignantly watched all four mimes bent over, laughing their lungs out. They pointed and giggled, chuckled, chortled, and barked like a pack of hyenas, much to their anger.

But no matter how much the team struggled, growled, or begged, they couldn't get free. The slinky was surprisingly sturdy, so knotted and jumbled that the links couldn't be undone, even if Chapa bit it, if Ray puffed out his chest, if (y/n) yanked it, or if the twins tried to untie it. Watching them struggle, muttering curses and harsh words as they knocked against each other, was hilarious, and the mimes retreated to the corner to plot revenge.

With their enemies rendered useless, they turned to the Mime Queen for orders, hissing and giggling as they imagined all the fun of stealing the national treasures before their eyes.

"We gotta stop those mimes!" Chapa exclaimed as the others tugged her one way and tossed her another. And to make matters even better, Monsieur Man sat on the sidelines, chuckling at every slip-up they made.

"I'm trying. I'm just stuck!" Miles replied curtly, squirming against his friends and teachers to try and loosen their bonds, but it was no good. Bose was really ahead of the curve with that goddamn slinky.

"I can't believe this stupid thing actually works..." Ray mumbled to himself, furious that he had his sweet girl pressed against him, gyrating, and he couldn't do a damn thing. Not to mention that his young protégés were at risk like fish in a barrel, and to top it all off, that smug idiot was loving every second.

"...and stop laughing!"

"Stop being funny!" Monsieur Man shrugged, his shoulders shaking mirthfully, much to the other hero's fury.

It was too much for poor ShoutOut, who felt the pressure of every more than most - the mimes, that asshole, their infuriating bonds, the urge to protect the treasure, the reputation of her whole country on their shoulders. Succumbing to the stress, she released an almighty scream from deep within her diaphragm, reverberating so powerfully that it blew the door shut and knocked the mime squad over.

"It worked!" Mika gasped softly, shocked that she'd managed to activate her super-scream when it was typically so elusive.

"About time..." Ray muttered quietly, earning himself a sharp jab to his elbows from his wife.

The kids were slowly but surely getting better at their powers, which Miles proved when he wormed an arm free and managed to thrust it in the arm. He vanished from the huddle, and with his disappearance, the slinky loosened enough to drop to their feet. Now, the tables had turned.

"Hey! Nice job, AWOL!" Miss Danger exclaimed gleefully when she took her first unencumbered breath for the first time in fifteen minutes. The group immediately jumped apart, scared to be roped together again, even if the Mime Queen and her minions were still winded on the floor.

"Where'd he go?" Chapa asked, scouring the room for her teleporting friend, but he was nowhere to be seen. He could've gone anywhere in the world knowing the unreliability of his superpower. Still, there was no time for a debate.

The Mime Queen recovered from the minor attack relatively quickly, and her subjects followed when she got to her feet. She put up her fisticuffs, ready to battle the heroes to her last breath, glaring at them as they shook off the shock of Miles' teleporting.

"Who cares?! It's queen-punchin' time!" Ray barked, dancing on his toes like a boxer as he readied himself for a fight - and boy, he wanted to sink his teeth into it. (y/n) copied his movements, drawing her fists close to her face as the kids did the same, following his lead.

"Ahhhhhhh!" Ray bellowed his battle cry, brawny arm raised high above his head as he charged, desperate to pound the Queen into the ground. She met his attack with equal tenacity, leaping with the grace of a ballerina before she brought her fist down on his cheek.

The hero tumbled to the ground like a sack of potatoes, dazed by the brutal blow as the other mimes circled his sidekicks. They were efficient, keeping (y/n), Mika, and Chapa away from their boss as the Mime Queen beat him while he was down - not very sporting of her. She kicked and clawed at him, trying to squish his skull with the pointed heel of her boot, and it was more than Ray's job's worth to swiftly roll out of the way before he was jelly on the floorboards.

"Captain Man!" (y/n) called out worriedly, dodging the mime who tried to drag her around by her hair as she watched her beloved doofus rolling around to preserve his life. The woman was vicious, snarling with each foot stamp, but she had to trust him to care for himself.

Mika and Chapa relied on her expertise to keep the mimes at bay as they battled to protect the treasure. The former wrestled with one to retrieve Napoleon's pants while the latter worked with her teacher to throw another against the wall. Monsieur Man nearly spilt his espresso as the mime bashed against it with a groan.

Still, he was amused anyway, thinking Miss Danger looked very pretty in her uniform. He sighed contently as she held the mime by the throat, unabashedly slamming his head against the bricks as Chapa dusted her hands off.

Across the room, Ray had escaped the Mime Queen's clutches, taking his chance to swipe her feet out from under her. Luckily for his French cousin, he didn't see how his soft eyes followed her, wondering what it would be like to have a pretty assistant like her to fight by his side. And what a sight she made, tossing another mime into Chapa's hold, only to roughly throw him to the ground.

"Waaaaaah!" Mika shouted as she tried to activate her scream on her opponent as he whimpered on the floor, still refusing to release the pants. "Okay, this worked a few minutes ago!"

"Miss Danger, get over here and help me with the queen!" Ray yelled to his wife, making her anxiously dart from him to the children and the remaining artefacts on the counter. She'd fight by his side in a heartbeat, but a hand on her arm stopped her.

"What the--?"

"We have to secure the treasures!" ShoutOut implored, knowing they'd merely stupefied the miming minions. They'd only need a minute to recover and swipe the treasures again - Ray would surely be okay on his own.

"Who cares about the treasures? Give me my wife!" The man argued, ducking and weaving against the evil woman before him. "We gotta take out this queen before she lays any more eggs!"

"Eggs?!" Chapa gasped, having never heard anything so weird and grotesque.

She didn't want to know how that was possible, but she didn't have time to question it, watching when Ray tried to punch the Queen several times. He gave her a succession of swift, straight lefts and rights. Still, she miraculously evaded them, floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee.

"What?" He mumbled when she mimed, moving something out of the way, distracting him for a split second. It was long enough for her to whack him across the face, much to Monsieur Man's amusement, as he tumbled to the floor.

"Oh, shut up, you smug ass!" (y/n) growled at him before rushing over to her husband, unnecessarily worried, but she couldn't help it. "Doofus, are you all right?!"

"I'm fine, darlin'..." The hero swiftly reassured her with an enamoured smile, wiping his lip to chase away the fleeting pain before lightly gathering her in his arms. There was no time for more comfort, but it was enough to quell her worries until he picked up a smooth, pale object from behind the counter. Well, that was worrying, and he turned to Chapa with a stern frown.

"Eggs that hatch into mime larvae! Keep up!" He growled, his tone varying wildly from how he gently addressed his sweet girl as he brandished the disturbing egg at the girl.

The Mime Queen didn't take too kindly to her enemy holding one of her...children and angrily yanked it from his dirty mitts before kicking him in the guts. The brutal blow knocked the wind out of Ray, who grunted and panted as (y/n) turned a disgusted and shocked scowl at her. She didn't take too kindly to see her husband hurt.

"Hey!" She shouted, pointing an angry finger at the nonchalant Queen as Ray hunched over the counter. "No one kicks my doofus!"

In a daring, deadly charge, the heroine took everyone by surprise and tackled the Queen, pulling her to the ground for what could only be called a bitch fight. Straddling the woman's torso as she blinked up at the ceiling, she slapped her silly across the face, hoping to rearrange her pointed features or, at the very least, make it sting.

After pummelling her cheeks a little, she scrambled to her feet, dragging the Queen with her as the children watched with wide eyes and mouths. God...remind them never to threaten her husband. She was lethal, taking the lady mime by her collar and launching her over the counter without mercy - it was less than she deserved.

With the Mime Queen down, the mimes resumed their fight, brawling with the children as Ray straightened and rushed over to his breathless girl.

She couldn't be hotter in his eyes, worthy of a thousand kisses, not that the girls cared if they shared them now. Chapa was busy with her mime, trying to zap him with some electricity to retrieve the Daft Punk helmet. Still, he was too slippery, slapping her hand away at the last minute.

The scarlet lightning missed him and flew to Mika instead. Goddamn, it burned her skin like hellfire, pulling one of her ear-splitting screams from her throat, which luckily took down the mime. Unfortunately, as he tumbled, he crushed the precious helm, shattering it into a million billion shards.

It was neither Daft nor Punk, just fragments of something formerly great, making the kids cringe as the treasures fell through their fingers.

"Sorry!" ShoutOut exclaimed woefully as she stared at the ruined helmet, feeling endlessly guilty since the scream was unintentional - indeed an accident, but tell that to the people of France.

"It's okay..." her friend said breathlessly, more thankful for the rescue than the loss of the treasure.

Still, as she took a breather, Ray and (y/n) were plunged into the fray again as the Queen snuck up behind them, enacting her revenge by curling an arm around (y/n)'s throat. She had a little foresight, sensing the encroaching danger soon enough to jam a hand between them, but it was a barbaric attack.

"Can't...breathe..." she gasped, flailing against the Queen and the iron grip threatening to crush her windpipe. Ray was ready to kick the woman's head in, seeing red when his wife's eyes narrowed, fighting to free herself, but Chapa moved quicker.

Thinking on her feet, she grabbed the first weapon she saw - the beloved mouldy baguette that Marie loved so much. She didn't hesitate as she seized the slightly squishy yet stale French stick. She only saw the desperate need to free her friend as she stormed forward, brandishing the disgusting thing.

"All right, lady. Ba-guette wrecked!" She exclaimed, particularly proud of her sick quip as she cracked the bread over the Queen's shoulder, making her release the heroine and collapse.

Breathless, (y/n) fell against Ray's chest, unbothered by the mouldy crumbs all over her uniform since she was safe and unharmed, with only a few bruises for her super-regeneration to heal. Even Ray was stunned, instantly holding his sweet girl, but damn...

"Ba-guette wrecked?" He echoed incredulously, but there was a grateful glint in his eyes as the girl nodded sheepishly. "Okay, Chapa..."

"Thanks, kid," (y/n) said graciously, rubbing at her sore throat as her doofus smiled proudly and tittered over her health. She was fine, but the same couldn't be said for Mika, who'd been left to face the mime minions while they battled the Queen.

"Uh, little help?" She called out awkwardly, struggling with one of the henchmen as he took inspiration from his lady and encircled her in a deadly embrace.

Still, he was no queen, merely holding onto the girl for dear life as was his duty, so it didn't take much for her friends to free her. Glancing at one another, the couple and Chapa turned to the mime with bared teeth, threateningly stepping forward and screaming like they were about to tear him limb from limb.

It was enough to scare him shitless, and he released Mika without hesitation, making a break for it like only a mime could.

"Thanks..."

"No problem." The girls smiled at each other as (y/n) squeezed Ray's hand, glad to have a moment to breathe now that the mimes were scattered. They'd done pretty well to say they'd lost a third of the team, but the peace didn't last, not when Miles randomly teleported back into the room.

He'd been across the ocean and back, bursting here, there, and everywhere before finally returning to his friends, eager and ready to fight. Unfortunately, he was a tad tardy, looking around for any enemies while his friends clutched at their heaving chests - did he have to sneak up on them like that?

"Aw, man. I missed my chance to punch a mime?" The boy whined after squealing, visibly deflated, when he realised that every mime was either unconscious or gone.

Still, he wasn't disappointed for long, not when a loud, obnoxious, high-pitched alarm balled through the cafe, bathing its walls and residents in red light. The heroes looked around suspiciously, wondering if it was another mimey trick or something else to worry about. Yet, Monsieur Man leapt to his feet in delight, bounding over to them with all the energy and friendliness of a Golden Retriever.

"The strike! She is over!" He announced joyfully, much to their confusion. It had barely been going on for a day - how could it be over already when they'd only just arrived?

"What?"

"Yes, the France has purchased me a pretty pink motorcycle," the smarmy hero explained, casually flicking through his social media before beaming at his stunned American counterparts. "Now, beep, beep, beep! Out of my way! I am Monsieur Man! Ha-ha!"

"God, I hate him..." (y/n) sighed as she watched the Parisian disappear through the entrance, skipping like a little girl at the thought of riding through the city on his bike, golden locks billowing in the wind. Well, as long as his garlicky smell was as far away from her as possible, she didn't care, tucking herself into Ray's side, smiling at his grumpy face.

Some use he was; he could've at least stayed to help them round up the mimes before running off to play with his new toy, but no matter. The team were used to getting their hands dirty and doing all the work, so they gathered the mimes and their Queen up in no time.

Bose's slinky - who Miles reported was safely at the Man's Nest like they feared - helped bind them together in a tit-for-tat style. They huddled in the middle of the room, snapping and gnashing their teeth like wild animals as Chapa helped (y/n) finish the final knot, ready for the cops to collect them.

They thought it was a job well done, clapping each other on the back and taking a minute for themselves when Marie burst into Hip Hop Paris. She looked like she'd run halfway across the city, stray hairs flying away from her sweaty face as she fixed her gaze on them. Miss Danger would bet ten dollars she knew what she was about to say...

"Captain Man! Mademoiselle Danger! The strike! She is--"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. She's over. We heard." Ten dollars to her. She was ready to go home, tiredly tucking herself into Ray's side as he wrapped an arm around her waist. France was a little too hectic for them--and a little too weird.

"Did you protect our French national treasures?" Marie asked in concern, only to pale when the couple and their sidekicks winced guiltily. They could barely look her in the eye, let alone explain that they'd either been crushed or smashed.

"Well..."

"Uhhh..."

"Not even a little," Chapa replied in her signature deadpan, barely using a fraction of the remorse or tentativeness as her friends. She stood with her arms folded, not flinching when Marie's face fell because what was done was done. They'd defeated some mimes; that was something.

"Hey, the pants made it," Miles exclaimed when the yellowish garments caught his eye, having been discarded by one of their opponents during the fight. They looked a little dusty, but otherwise, they were perfectly unscathed, and he bent down to pick them up for the concerned hostess.

"Oh, wait, AWOL--" (y/n) started, reaching out to try and explain that old clothing tended to be delicate and easy to rip, but she was too late. The boy didn't reach for the board behind the pants; instead, he grabbed the leg, accidentally tearing the stitching when he pulled it too hard - and Napoleon's trousers were ruined forever.

"Never mind..." she muttered timidly, cringing when Miles stood up with the material still clenched in his fist.

"My bad. That's on me." At least he was noble enough to admit his mistake, not that it comforted the woman.

"What are we going to do?" She cried, tears gathering in her eyes, which never moved from where the pants formally laid, unharmed and relatively pristine. How was she supposed to tell the nation that the ones they'd hired to protect them were no better than the ruffians who wanted to steal them?

"Oh, well. We...are gonna go home," Ray told her awkwardly, looking at his pretty girl, who eagerly nodded despite her morality saying otherwise. She didn't want to stick around for the angry mob to come with their pitchforks and torches, and Ray much preferred his own bed for many reasons, eyeing the door as Marie glared.

"You cannot just leave!" She exclaimed haughtily, not that the hero gave a damn - he didn't answer to anyone...well, no one but his wife. "You came here, made a lot of dust-up, and destroyed all of our stuff!"

"Well, y'know..." (y/n) said awkwardly, not knowing how to explain it other than... "America."

"Nice one, sweet girl..." Ray chuckled in her ear as Marie tossed her arms in the air and marched off, undoubtedly to clean up the mess they'd made.

Still, she left their exit clear, and the group happily tiptoed toward the door now that they'd escaped a major telling-off.

"Can we go home, please?" She asked sweetly, smiling up at her doofus as he squeezed her hand. How could he refuse a request like that? He felt utterly exhausted after such a dramatic and lengthy trip, and nothing sounded like a better remedy than curling up with her in their bedroom to watch a cosy rom-com--one of her favourites, preferably.

So, leading her by the hand with the children following like chatting ducklings, he guided the team toward the door...only to be halted again. Ray had to grit his teeth to stop swearing, especially when he recognised the smooth, shiny head that ambled through the door like nothing was wrong.

Schwoz. He'd soon made himself scarce, the bald little weirdo, fleeing when they could've used another extra body during the battle, even if it were merely a meat shield. But something was off, namely the gorgeous woman with her arm wrapped around his shoulders. He didn't...did he?

"You guys! I met the love of my life!" He announced with one of the brightest smiles (y/n) had ever seen, and despite her tiredness, the romantic sight lightened her heart.

She could see why Schowz had fallen for the lady; she was tall, cheery, and beautiful, with her hair falling around her face in soft curls, pretty pink makeup, a flowery dress, a matching scarf, and an elegant handbag. She was everything and more for the handyman, who beamed with such a delicate creature on his arm, even if she was almost double his height.

"Aw..." she murmured, melting when the lovebirds smiled at each other, yet Ray wasn't so touched.

"We're leaving," he ordered curtly before seizing (y/n)'s hand and dragging her through the door. She could barely steal another glance at the couple, feeling like she was losing her real-life rom-com before she could sink her teeth into it. Talk about a killjoy.

"Doofus!" She exclaimed, digging her heels into the ground as he marched into the street, barely looking back at her.

"But I just found true love!" Schwoz argued, refusing to give up his beloved's hand when he'd dreamed of this moment all his life. It wasn't fair; everyone else, even Ray, with all his flaws and failings, found their soulmate, so why couldn't he? It was heartbreaking, especially when a rough hand grabbed his shoulder.

"I said, we're leaving!" The man hauled him through the door, and the love of Schwoz's life slipped through his fingers like sand. They stared at each other mournfully as the children hurried past, not wanting to be entangled in something so complex.

Even the captured mimes looked gloomy, which (y/n) didn't miss as she tripped over her feet on the way out. One look at Schwoz's wobbly bottom lips and teary eyes and her feet glued to the pavement, stopping abruptly in the street, much to the frustration of several baffled Parisians.

And if she stopped, the others stopped too, refusing to leave Miss Danger behind, even though they could weirdly ignore the genius' silent hiccups and sobs.

"Doofus, what are you doing?" She asked coldly, although when Ray whipped around, he saw more confusion in her face than disgust.

"You said you wanted to go home..." he replied simply, shrugging as if nothing was wrong despite her folded arms and Schwoz's trembling form. "So, we're going home."

"And what about everything back there?"

"What are you talking about?" He frowned, much to his wife's apparent disgusted shock. She stepped away from him as the kids looked at the couple with blank stares, wondering what to do since they were having a bit of a domestic.

They deemed it best to step to the side and start their own conversation; experience told them that fights and arguments were vanishingly rare and often ended before they barely started. They discussed everything from the weather to the dichotomy of good and evil - anything to give them space.

"Okay, don't be doofus all your life," (y/n) groaned, giving him a mildly bemused but mostly exasperated look. Even he wasn't that dense, merely playing coy because he knew she was irritated. "I'm talking about Schwoz and that French woman. Y'know, the love of his life."

"So?" Ray asked, tentatively placing his hands on her hips. He was gently surprised to realise that she wasn't totally pushing him away.

She sighed and returned the touch, reaching up to fiddle with the zip on his tunic, knowing that he could be unnecessarily, stupidly, ridiculously dense sometimes. But she knew deep down that he wasn't cruel, just...silly. Such a silly doofus.

"So, he should go be with her. You can't just rip them apart!" The heroine exclaimed, and Schwoz nodded weakly, pining for his sweetheart. He wanted to go and take her in his arms, just as Ray did with his sweet girl, but he wouldn't move with permission, too fearful of what the hero would do.

"Eh, he'll get over it..." the man replied casually before taking her soft hand. He wanted to take her home more than anything, eager to board the first plane and forget everything about this irritating trip, but (y/n) would budge, standing still with a face like thunder.

"Raymond..." she said firmly, taking his face in her hands so he could look into her eyes. "What if we lost our chance like this?"

"What...?" Ray gasped, heart fluttering at the implication, even if vague.

He didn't question anything to do with her, too thankful that he'd landed the girl of his dreams to want to know what his life would be like if he one day woke up to find out everything was a dream. The thought felt like a knife through his heart, turning the man with unwavering nerves into a shuddering mess.

"What would you have done if, all those years ago, someone took me away from you and said to get over it?" (y/n) proposed softly as the same emotions ran through her mind.

It was unimaginable; they were so solid and dependable, the couple everyone could rely on to always be together because they were soulmates. They were the universe's plan, star-crossed, and whatever else, snuggling closer when they wondered...what if they never fell in love?

"I'd rip their head off," Ray said quietly, and (y/n) didn't argue when he wrapped his strong arms around her as if he was terrified she'd disappear.

They were silent for a minute, hearing nothing but Schwoz's deep breaths and the children's debate over smooth orange juice or the one with bits in it. He kissed her head gently, so thankful he could say his ring was on her finger. "I'd go through hell for you, darlin."

"And I'd do the same for you..." she promised, pecking his cheek before pulling back to look at him with a soft smile, sighing.

"So, don't you think Schwoz deserves the same?"

"But sweet girl...it's Schwoz!" The hero exclaimed, glancing at the sorrowful genius, who looked worse for wear. Even Ray could see how torn up he was, and he felt a little bad, but come on... It wasn't like any of his relationships ever succeeded--like Ray could talk about his past flings.

"But doofus...nothing! Send him back there, or I'm not sitting next to you on the plane!" It was an empty threat; (y/n) always had to sit next to her doofus, needing to hold his hand on take-off so she'd never make him bunk with one of the kids.

Still, it inspired a slight panic in the hero, who gasped in horror and held her tighter at the thought of sitting beside...Chapa.

"You wouldn't!"

"Oh, I would! Come on, doofus...do it for me. And for Schwoz. And for the Frenchy lady," she argued, soothingly rubbing his chest while fluttering her eyelashes - tempting and convincing him in only a way she could.

Ray sighed, weighing up every option. He hated the idea of losing Schwoz, knowing more than anyone that when a man fell in love, he'd forsake his every faculty and responsibility to pledge his devotion to her instead. He'd undoubtedly move out and start a new life, and he'd lose one of his oldest friends - that's why he was cruel...to be kind.

"...Fine. But just because I love you." After a few minutes, he heaved a heavy sigh, meeting Schwoz's gaze, who hoped with all hopes to have the green light. One nod toward the café, and his face lit up like a Christmas tree, shouting a million thanks before sprinting toward the love of his life and all the possibilities she could hold.

"I'll take it!" (y/n) squealed, looping her arms around his neck as she held him close, her beaming grin matching Schwoz's and the kids as they silently watched how he ran like the wind. It was weirdly kind for the man, who hated to see him go, but her happiness was worth it.

It would be like that one day; everyone would move on until it would just be them left - just him and his sweet girl. Henry left, and Charlotte, Piper, and Jasper left, too. Danger Force wouldn't last forever, either, and Schwoz wouldn't work for him indefinitely, not when, hopefully, they retired and had kids.

Not everything lasts forever, and Ray was gradually getting used to that fact, reassured that the love of his life was eternal. A love that would last a lifetime.

"Y'know, there's a heart of gold underneath that grumpiness."

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