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mythvoiced · 3 years

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MORE QUESTIONS FOR HYUN BECAUSE WE CAN'T GET ENOUGH: Does he have a favorite dish or type of food? Does he prefer colorful drinks or goes for those with neutral hues? Does he have a favorite flavor? How does he feel about fancy/elegant anything? What type of jewelry does he enjoy the most? And finally, how would he react if Boram sneaked behind him and suddenly kissed his cheek? 👀 HAVE A NICE DAY, LOVE YOU LOTS ♥️♥️♥️

-. @theimpalpable | I’M READYING THE PACKAGE FOR MY EXPRESS DELIVERY OF MYSELF AS I’M WRITING THIS

---

-. Does he have a favorite dish or type of food? Even though he spends a lot of time trying new dishes, usually from all over the world, going as far as spending hours on extensive research just to make sure he finds authentic recipes from people of the culinary culture he’s dabbling into, his palate isn’t as varied. Not that he’s a picky eater, au contraire, he’s most likely to cook something different every day than stick to any sort of ‘type’ for prolonged periods of time, but there is a difference for him between food he cooks for the practice and then eats, and food he just cooks specifically for eating. And the food he cooks specifically for eating is usually Korean and taken from a ‘Grandma’s original recipe’ website. He likes ‘traditional’ food, if you will, recipes he might have already been eating before the internet existed, usually the opposite of ‘gourmet’ and preparable with stuff any Korean grocery store has available. He’s no stranger to fast food, and unlike some avid cooks, he doesn’t feel superior to them, even though he does prefer healthy meals (and unhealthy snacks, kind of balances it out, really). And... he likes meat. And sweet berries, to eat while he’s watching something. Raspberries. Blueberries. He loves magnolia berries and feels somehow connected to them... spiritually, almost. I don’t know what that means, this is Hyun’s blog, I just write in it.

-. Does he prefer colourful drinks or goes for those with neutral hues? He’s genuinely not too fond of coffee, or chocolate, two common dark-toned beverages so that already makes him more likely to opt for more colourful choices, that and the fact that he likes fruity things (because he likes fruits in general, to be honest). Often times he’ll order colourful drinks purely because of how colourful they are: he’ll land in a place with pictures in its menu and won’t even read the drink’s name, if it’s got a spunky colour of which he can’t guess the taste/ingredient with certainty, he’s ordering. It’s all about curiosity.

-. Does he have a favorite flavor? To be honest, not really. He’s really just too fond of too many combinations or dishes or drinks for him to really stick to one thing he likes above everything else. He loves spicy food and he loves sweet drinks and he loves sour candy and he loves salty snacks. He has a least favourite flavour, though, and that’s bitter. Just doesn’t do it for him. He also likes the listed flavours the most when they’re in the contexts used to mention them.

-. How does he feel about fancy/elegant anything? Frankly? Bit of a bore. He understands when circumstances kind of ask for something fancy/elegant, but he’s not particularly into it. He is deeply impressed by elegant interiors... in museums, or offices or... well, honestly, if you asked him directly, he’d most likely voice his confusion in regards to those who live in elegant ‘modern’ interior designs or wear fancy clothing on the regular as casual wear, as to why they would willingly surround themselves with things commonly associated with work or public events where you usually have to pretend, lie through your teeth, or speak to people you don’t even know (all the while also making sure you don’t incriminate yourself). He mostly associates fancy/elegant things with... contexts in which they’re frequently found, which are, not so coincidentally, contexts you most likely won’t find him in... as long as he can avoid them.

-. What type of jewelry does he enjoy the most? Earrings and rings. He likes dangly earrings, long ones, silver chains, one end in his lobe, the other on the tip of his ear. He likes how the light bounces off of them if he turns his head just right and he likes to wear multiple ones at the same time. Hoops are fantastic too, small and silver, slightly larger and black, never big enough to become those hoops, but never solely piercing-size either. Studs, with white crystals, fake gems on them, anything that looks to be made of glass, but that kind of adds to the charm of them, sparkling on each of his ears. And rings, usually with similar things to showcase. He likes them monochromatic and if there are coloured gems, then pastel, lilac, pink, or light blue.

-. And finally, how would he react if Boram sneaked behind him and suddenly kissed his cheek? 👀 Ah, yes... Now we shall talk about the circumstances leading up to Ji Hyun’s death- NOT KIDDING, I think he’d just shut down. The ‘sneaking up’ part, depending on how good at it Boram’s being, would either end with momentarily startling Hyun, or him standing there and listening to Boram approach, trying so hecking hard not to have his big, lovey-dovey smile split his face in half. And no matter how sneaky sneaky Boram is being, the kiss to his cheek will lead to the same result: you’ll have Hyun having a regular day with some tiny, innocent heart palpitations, to then witnessing Hyun’s face gradually turn the shade of one of those magnolia berries he likes so much, while his heart is trying to beat at the speed of light, and he loses all thinking capabilities and any and all functions possible related to that. He’ll most definitely try to play his reaction of if they aren’t anywhere in their relationship where it’s clear to Hyun that Boram is reciprocating his heart palpitations (although, lowkey, if he doesn’t start considering it after this, we have a new dense simp on board). Will probably lightly smack Boram’s chest (and by lightly, I mean he’ll just... brush his shirt, or something, he’s got Dokis-) and call him silly or anything like that, insinuate he ‘shouldn’t fool around’ (Hyun, you’re breaking my heart here buddy), absolutely laugh (but it will sound kind of wobbly as if he’s trying not to die on the spot or say the big L word right then and there). If this happens at any point in time in which, well, mayhaps, maybe, forse, perhaps, vielleicht, possibly, there’s something going on already, Hyun’d just... grow slightly pink instead, grab Boram’s face and drop a kISS SMACK DAB ONTO HIS LIP-

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the-witches-you-couldnt-burn · 3 years

Text

It started with a whisper

I originally wrote ‘Like I did with you’ as a one-shot but people wanted a sequel. This turned out to be waaaaay longer than expected (4.7k word count). Inspired by Everybody Talks by Neon Trees. I hope you lot enjoy!

Ao3

(Also this is Mari’s new outfit, all credits go to the original artist)

————

Two teens stood upon the balcony of a large banquet hall, exposed to the midsummer night air. The sky was a lilac blanket that hung over the Parisian buildings, speckled with glowing stars. The moon, with it’s crescent smile, beamed down of the young couple.

Hey, baby, won't you look my way?

Marinette’s eyes were closed as she rested her head upon his shoulder, relaxing after the night’s rapid escalation. Tonight she had arrived at the ball with the intent to be there for her friends, but somehow she found herself within the arms of Gotham’s (and probably Paris’) Ice Prince. She had overheard his nickname from the Gotham students, one of which being Jon, who was in the middle of mocking the young Wayne. She had never considered that nickname as suitable; sure he was temperamental & had a tendency to snap, but icey to the core? No.

I can be your new addiction

Damian was calm. For the first time in his life he felt like he could take a breath. His exhale was carried off by a small gust of wind, the bush over hanging the stone railing rustled. With his inhale, the scent of Marinette’s perfume became present once more. Mixed with the crisp night’s air, her usual scent of pastries was mixed with what could only be described as ambrosia. His phone vibrated within his pocket, it was never on volume due to the potential risk it caused during his heroic activities.

“Shit.” Notifications covered his screen, multiple tweets, Instagrams and Tiktoks in which he had been tagged in. But the alert came from his family’s private messaging chat. The whole thread was a shit storm, Grayson and Todd’s messages were completely capitalised (he learnt years ago this meant ‘to yell’ in writing form) and both had multiple ‘keyboard spasms’. Drake, like the thorough detective he is, had combed through the images and videos, investigating their validity. His honorary sisters had replied with ‘awwwww’(s) and ‘Omg we MUST meet this girl! I need to know how she tamed the demon!’. He could practically hear Brown’s shrill voice from across the ocean.

Hey, baby, what you gotta say?

No reply from his father or Alfred. The two of them were the only semblance of ‘normal’ paternal figures he had within his life, after the sham of a relationship he had previously held with his grandfather. Their silence unnerved him.

Marinette had noticed his attention had shifted to his phone, her own mobile was buzzing away within her baby pink purse. Messages, notifications of account tagging and comments galore. A sigh left her lips when she saw her parents seemed to be none the wiser. Good, she didn’t need to deal with future adoration for ‘The boy who swept our daughter off of her feet’ (or something along those lines).

Her cheeks regained some of the warmth they held before as she thought of her parent’s reaction. Scrolling through her Twitter she saw her friends had posted multiple images of the night’s events, majority being her shared dance.

Chloé Bourgeois @TheBestBourgeois

what kind of Disney shit is this? (Insert video of two teens dancing around an mostly empty dance floor.)

Alix Kubdel @Sk8trGirl

Replying to @TheBestBourgeois

I KNOW RIGHT?! THEY WERE FUCKING FLOATING!!!

All you're giving me is fiction

She was thankful that they hadn’t tagged her but she hadn’t been spared by others in attendance. Her post thread had blown up, thousands had commented and even more had viewed the evidence. There was no way she would come out of this unscathed.

“Has anyone been on Twitter today?” The blonde of the family asked as she walked into the dining room. Her eyes focused on her scrolling screen, brows furrowed in confusion. “Actually has anyone seen what’s happening on any of our socials?”

It was early in the afternoon and the family had recently returned home after a straining stakeout. The Joker had broken out of Arkham and the Batfam had to deal with his minions. Dick’s arm was in a sling (sprained from a grapple gone wrong), Jason was icing his hand, Alfred was stitching Bruce’s chest wounds while Tim and the girls escaped without severe injuries. All were still recuperating and finally able to recharge.

Alfred always enforced a strict ‘no devices at the dinner table’ rule; no matter how urgent it was, it could wait until after sustenance was consumed. Tim strongly opposed this, but there was no arguing with Agent A. This all surmises that probably no one had seen the crap storm on social media.

I'm a sorry sucker and this happens all the time

Bruce sighed, bringing his free arm up to rub his eyes. Tilting his head back to look at Steph, “Who was it this time?” Barbara quickly took out her phone to see what Stephanie was talking about, all the while glancing accusingly at Dick and Jason. Both of whom held up their arms (or in Dick’s case arm), declaring their innocence.

“It wasn’t fucking me!”

“Jason! Language!” Dick shot a glare at Jason and was met with one in return. “It wasn’t me either.”

“Then who-“ Bruce started before being cut off by his most rambunctious daughter.

I found out that everybody talks

Stephanie with a squeal, exclaimed that it was Damian. Visions of what the Wayne brat could have done flashed through the heads of everyone in the room. He had been sent overseas before the quarantines and lockdowns hit. During Damian’s first month in France he had been forced into online schooling and then finally when he got to go to in-person classes he hated it. Described the class as a kindergarten with petty and vindictive toddlers.

Had he broken someone’s arm? Was that person of such importance that it had spread over multiple social media platforms? France’s government had announced on June 15th, that teens were now being inoculated so him having COVID-19 was doubtful. Had he insulted the wrong person? Had he taken over the government? He certainly had the potential.

Everybody talks, everybody talks

What they saw stunned them, even Steph as she watched it for the 7th time. Damian Wayne was dancing. But not only that, he was dancing with a girl.

It started with a whisper

“What is this shit?”

No one verbally objected to Jason’s outburst but he was sent a harsh glare from Alfred, Dick and Bruce. Their focus soon returned to the images and videos before them. Babs’ and Steph’s phones were returned to them as the others ran to grab their own devices. They all met back at the table, comparing the posts and comparing their notes.

I can hear the chitchat

“There’s no way this can be real.”

“Jesus Tim,” Barbara rolls her eyes, “have you seen the amount of posts there are? You’d be an idiot to think otherwise.”

Take me to your love shack

“I’m with Tim, how do we know this isn’t some skit. I mean, Demon Spawn almost looks normal. That’s a matter of concern.” He almost dry heaved when he agreed with Tim. Damian couldn’t be capable of naturally exuding that amount of humanity unless there was something in it for him.

Mamas always gotta backtrack

“I was just saying Babs, that we should check the credibility of these images. For all we know they could be gorilla glued together and trying to get unstuck.” Tim cringed at his own reasoning, he really needed to either sleep (probably not going to happen anytime soon) or find his favourite coffee brand (which had been one of the first to vanish after the covid hoarders appeared).

When everybody talks back

Dick was too busy freaking out and spam messaging the youngest Wayne, to defend Damian’s humanity. The family saw this and followed suit, wanting to get information from the source.

Chat name: Alfred supremacy

BigBird: AHHHHHH DAMIAN!

BigBird: YOU LOOK SO CUTE!!!

BigBird: HAIFJDNDNFI

LittleWing: WTF HAPPENED DEMON SPAWN YOU LOOK ALMOST HUMAN

Babs: who knew the city of love would influence the brat

Blondie: they are so cuteeeeeee!

Blondie: We HAVE to meet her!

Silent-but-deadly: agreed.

Timbo: YO DEMON

Timbo: Apparently the videos are legit

Timbo: are you being blackmailed?

And it just devolved into more chaos from there, fueled by the fact that they saw Damian’s ‘Blood Son’ account appear online before vanishing once more. Dick shrieked, “I FOUND HER ACCOUNT!”

The family gathered around the eldest son, peering over his shoulder to view his iPhone 12max screen. They saw a young girl’s Instagram account. It was locked but they could see her profile pic, the girl had black hair and looked to be if Asian decent. They compared it to the videos but it was hard to see due to the hall’s lighting and the minimised facial features of the pfp. Alfred suggested that they search up her username and see who has tagged her, some might have other photos of her.

After research for awhile, the family began to get frustrated with lack of results.

Hey honey you could be my drug

You could be my new prescription

“Come on!” Jason complained, “What kind of teenage girl doesn’t post her life online?” He ignored the girls glares and went back to researching. How had the account by the name of ‘mariiiiinette’ to managed to prevent the entire Wayne clan from accessing it? Damn Instagram privacy settings. He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, “We are fucking stupid. Why don’t we just use the Bat-computer? It would be so much fucking easier.”

“It shouldn’t be used for civilian issues-“

Too much could be an overdose

“The girl could be a meta for all we know! We aren’t safe until we know who she is.” Jason points a finger at Tim, his paranoia flared up and even though he would never admit it, Jason would do anything to protect each member of his family (although Bruce is still debatable).

All this trash talk make me itching

Barbara and Tim took their usual positions as Oracle and Red Robin (who had been banned from patrol due to lack of sleep). The rest of the Batfam stood behind them either with arms crossed or still failing at researching.

Oh my my shit

“The account is owned by a girl called Marinette Dupian-Cheng. She is French-Chinese and her parents own a popular bakery. Also if it wasn’t already obvious, she goes to Collège Françoise Dupont, aka Damian’s French school.” Tim begun informing his nosy family, “But this account has been inactive for the past 6 months, which is strange due to her frequent posting schedule before hand. It seems she probably has a second account and this is her old one.”

Everybody talks, everybody talks

“Not only that,” Barbara interrupted. “There are unopened messages from other accounts that accuse her of being a bully. There is a whole Facebook page about this girl and how she has been hurting her old friends, but neither side seems reliable. The so called victims seem to be twisting the truth but there is barely any information about Marinette so we can’t disprove it either.”

“Read out some of the messages.” Bruce took a cup of coffee from Alfred and sipped it.

The main screen of the bat computer displayed a Facebook group with the banner picture being a photo of Marinette. “They are mostly complaints expected of teen girls when there is a girl they don’t like; ‘Marinette is such a know-it-all’, ‘She is constantly insulting Lila’s intelligence’. They go on to talk about how Marinette was briefly expelled from the Collège before being reinstated by the principle for a reason unknown to them.”

Everybody talks too much

“Her school reports up until this year were good. The newest one states, ‘While Marinette is a wonderful and bright student, I encourage her to settle her disagreements outside of class. This seems to only be a recent occurrence and I implore her to go to the guidance council if she is in need of help.’” A beat of silence echoes through the cave, Tim sighed. “Jason’s meta theory could be correct. She could have just recently started exhibiting her abilities and using them to get what she wants.”

“Bruce what do you want to do?”

“We’re going to Paris.”

She opened her eyes to the blaring morning light that streamed through the blinds. Her lashes still painted with mascara that refused to leave. She felt a pang of sorrow when she was removing her makeup and dress last night, she never wanted the night to end. She shuffled down the stairs to the kitchen, covering her mouth when she yawned. She greeted her mother as she entered the kitchen to get breakfast.

She glanced at her phone and there was the chaos that was started hours ago and it was still occurring. It was the weekend, she wouldn’t need to deal with her classmates until Monday. But she would still have to survive her parent’s interrogation. Out of the corner of her eye she caught her mother smirking at her.

Everybody talks

“Nadja told me some interesting news about last night.” Marinette held her breath, glaring at the toaster, willing it to hurry up so she could escape. “Well,” Sabine patted her shoulder before rubbing Mari’s back. “I know you didn’t want to go but I hope you had fun.”

With that she exited the kitchen, probably going to help her father in the bakery. The ravenette stared after her, eye widened in shock, jumping when the toaster went off. Buttering her toast she went over the conversation, her brows furrowed in confusion. She had expected a ‘When do I get to meet the oh so famous prince?’ or ‘Should I be expecting a new guest sometime in the near future?’ or at least a ‘Who was that young man, Bǎozàng (宝藏 it means treasure)?’ But she said nothing.

A small smile was plastered upon her face as she changed and went down to help her parents in the bakery. Her father didn’t say anything either, he gave her a knowing smile before continuing to kneed the dough. She sat at the the store front as the cashier whilst her parents were busy making ‘Paris’s Finest Pastries’.

Her musings slowly faded as she was brought back to reality by badly hushed whispers. Two young preteens were by the bread roll casing near the door. She had seen them come in before with their parents, the girls went to the prestigious international school over in the 16th arrondissement. The one with purple hair kept whispering to the brunette, both ‘subtly’ glancing towards her. Using her enhanced hearing she listened in on their conversation.

“That’s her, I swear that’s her in the video.”

The blonde’s face soured likes she sucked on a lemon. “No, it wasn’t good lighting there is no way he would dance with someone like her.”

Everybody talks

Marinette had tough skin but their words had an impact, only a small one due to her defence mechanism of repressing emotions. She stopped listening and went back to drawing in her sketchpad, she was in desperate need of a new school outfit.

The two girls eventually came up to the counter, goods in hand. Marinette rung up and bagged their items (paper because save the turtles sksksk) in a tired daze. A phone was shoved into her face, her eyes barely adjusted to view the screen before the blonde spoke.

“Is this your instagram?” She asked in a tone so snobbish that it should be illegal from a person her age. Marinette finally was able to view the screen that was barely an inch from her face. Her old Instagram ‘mariiiiinette’ was displayed on screen, she hesitantly nodded, gaze flicking back to the two in front of her.

The blonde’s nose scrunched up and the purple goth girl squealed in delight. They soon after left the store, their conversation had devolved into ‘See! I told you’ and ‘Yeah, yeah. You were right.’

Walking to school on Monday, she had finally come down from cloud nine. She still rode the tail end of her high as she rushed along her path to her campus, she wasn’t going to be late but she sure wasn’t going to be early. She had spent the better part of the weekend designing and sewing a brand new outfit. Her new look was composed of a black cropped singlet (L'amour gagne hemmed into it and it’s straps), paired matching peach plaid cropped overshirt and a-line miniskirt. Her hair was down, ballet flats were worn and her makeup was the usual with the added edition of a rose gold eyeshadow.

Even though her face was covered in a black and gold mask, she looked hot.

She reached the campus and the whispers started again, people were still buzzing from Friday night. Her classmates, the majority of her grade and the younger years seemed to gossiping before class about the formal’s events. She couldn’t spot any of her friends or the two Gotham transfers, so she was stuck listening the the chitchat. Why couldn’t she have been late like usual?

Damian had a fowl disposition and it showed in multiple icey glares (and that was before he even reached the collège). His family had made their appearance known in Paris at 1am Sunday morning. He could have used his dorm to escape but his family didn’t have the word ‘privacy’ within their vocabulary. He didn’t want to have to pay for a lock replacement due to his brothers’ (most likely Todd with Drake & Grayson laughing at him) lock picking habit.

The Ice Prince was back with full force. He had just been... influenced by all the other couples. Yes he did respect Dupain-Cheng and he appreciated her company & pleasant conversations. He would struggle to hide a small smile at the memory of the dance, even if he denied himself the happiness of normality, he felt content when reminiscing.

“Ooo the Ice Prince is here, did he have a fight with his princess or something?” The voice seemed to mock him.

“The Disney Magic is gone. The demon is back.”

Everybody talks

At the second jeer he shot a glare at the perpetrator. Jon held his hands up in an ‘I surrender manner’, laughing as he joined Damian at his side. The two entered the school’s large foyer and looked to see if any of the classes were open yet. Sadly they weren’t, before he was wrong and the his class was plain torture but this was truely hell.

He saw Dupain-Cheng sitting alone on the stairs, drawing within her sketchpad. He wondered how a girl like her, who always seemed to be involved in other’s lives (for the better) was ignoring all of the comments about her. She felt his focus centre on her, eyes flicking up to meet his, she provided him with a small wave before continuing to draw.

Jon nudged him with an elbow to his ribs and dragged him off to the side, into the boy’s locker rooms. Jon scowled at the door, “It’s a mad house out there. You’ve heard what some people are saying right?”

“Why would I care about these imbeciles?”

Jon jabbed Damian in the chest, causing the demon to stumble. Green eyes darted from blue eyes to the tan finger. “You care when lies hurt people you care about.”

The day began to rapidly decline once the two dance partners took their seats, next to each other. They had both been placed up the back of the class and them sitting together hadn’t been a problem until now apparently. She wasn’t even safe when the teacher started their lecture, whispers and glances were cast towards them. Once the two got to biology it was better, Ms Mendeleiev was a strict teacher and was able to control the class.

Everybody talks

But the recess came. When the bell rang she slowly started packing up her equipment, Alix and Max (who she shared biology with) waited for her; she watched as the Ice Prince left through the door. She knew she didn’t need to be concerned about her friends joining in with the gossiping, if anything they would dispel people and tell them to ‘Mind their own fucking business’ because this whole situations is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.

She did receive some slight teasing from Alix about being a Disney princess, but Marinette quipped back about the skater’s fairytale story being ‘Pinknette, the Geek and the Beast’. The three met up with the other two of their group, they had just come from geography. Kim was complaining that Argentina was a state in America.

“That’s Arkansas you idiot!” Chloe shrieked, lightly hitting his arm with her white handbag. Max held his head in his hand as he approached, how had his tutoring sessions failed so badly?

Chloe turned to Marinette, a smile forming from her glare. The blonde examined the designer’s clothing, nodding. “You look like you are about to have a hot girl summer.”

Marinette’s face burned, the tips of her ears coated in red. Alix chuckled and nudged her shoulder.

Everybody talks

“Look at her, she is so desperate for his attention that she probably copied those designs.”

“Why do you think he danced with her anyways? Maybe she has something on him? I mean, she forces him to sit next to her in class, who knows what else she has done.”

What. The. Fuck.

Chloe glowered towards Lila’s posy. “We have a fucking seating plan, those cretins-“ She made a motion to storm over but was caught by the ravenette, looking back to Mari, her rage decreased from a boil to a simmer.

“No Chlo. It’s fine, it’s not worth it.”

Everybody talks... back

The group walked out to the school’s front steps, it was a mad house... a mad courtyard? Students sitting on the stairs, on the grass and standing around mingling, all of them now were staring at her. She held her backpack close to her chest (she had swapped her signature coin-bag purse for the pastel pink bag), pretending its a shield. Her friends circled around her becoming an obstacle to prevent their stares. If people were afraid of a scowling Kim then they don’t know the scorn of Chloe or Alix’s bite. And Max, sweet quiet Max.... you better hope he doesn’t have blackmail on you (he probably does), he can dismantle your life with a single anonymous post.

Rushed footsteps approached them. The group was broken apart by a rude Wayne boy, he swept Mari away from the school and the gossip crowds within. Her four friends shouted at him and he kept walking, shooting a glare at them in response. He kept pushing Marinette forward with a hand placed on the small of her back, her backpack was now swung over his other shoulder.

They ended up in her favourite alcove. She had brought him here with the other Gotham transfers for a native’s tour of Paris. It had always been her safe place to be creative.

It started with a whisper (everybody talks, everybody talks)

“My apologises for our rushed departure but you seemed to want to get out of their anyhow.” His gruff tone danced through the silence, his head still peaking around the corner; watching for any unwelcome guests.

“Thank you.” She whispered, her voice almost being carried off by the gentle wind. A genuine smile illustrated upon her face.

“We weren’t able to converse after the events of the other night. I would like to formally apologise once more for my actions causing this adverse reaction. If I had kn-“

“You don’t need to apologise!” She squeaked, hiding her eyes behind her fisted hand. Her shoulders curled inwards as she tried to make herself seem as small as possible, a side effect of her common use of her secondary miraculous form: Multimouse.

“I chose to dance with you, you don’t need to apologise for my own actions.” He stared at her with confusion. He had taken the blame so she wouldn’t need to do so herself; but she had taken it anyways. He had given her an out. Why does she always take the blame, even for things out of her control?

“But if I hadn’t danced with you then you wouldn’t have been the focus of the entire school.”

Marinette stepped forward, her eyes hardened and blazing. “Damian Friday night I went there out of obligation to my friends, I didn’t want to be there. But dancing with you? That was the highlight of my week, probably my month too. I enjoyed our time together.” Her face softened, lips twitched downwards ever so slightly. “I don’t regret anything about that night, but do you?”

He was bad at comfort. Everyone in his family avoided him when they were in need, he plainly didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t visibly upset but he sensed that she is disappointed that he apparently didn’t share the same opinion of the night. The only thing he regretted about that night was letting Jon call him a coward, but then again if he didn’t he never would have danced with Dupa- Marinette.

He picked up her clenched hand, the tension in her body alleviated at his embrace. He remembered how Grayson would apologise to Kor’i or how his father interacted with Ms Kyle. He brought their hands up and placed a kiss upon her knuckles.

And that was when I kissed her (everybody talks, everybody talks)

“I do not regret anything either—“ he cleared his throat, “In fact, I’d appreciate if we would be able to interact more, especially outside of that cesspit.”

Was he...?

It didn’t matter.

She smiled the same dazzling smile she gave him at the dance. She nodded while laughing, “I’d love that.”

Everybody talks

The two stay talking, hidden within their secret alcove for the rest of the day. She texted her parents to say she was with a friend and would be back later that night. Damian didn’t bother texting his family, Marinette knew he had to be back soon due to his dorm’s curfew.

The sun was setting at they walked back together, he did the gentlemanly thing and dropped her off at her bakery door. She could see her mother behind the register inconspicuously looking over at the two of them. Damian’s lips quirked upwards, she was satisfied with his kinda-smile.

He walked back, hands in pockets and a neutral expression upon his face instead of a scowl. He reached his door and took his keys, he found that it was already open. Damn.

His family was splayed out within his two roomed dorm. Todd and Drake were fighting over a place to sit on his bed, whilst his father sat at his desk, watching the commotion. The three of them turned to him as he enter the room, they were the only family members able to attend on short notice; Cain had a ballet audition, Gordon & Brown had concert tickets for tomorrow, Grayson had to take care of Mar’i while Kor’i was on Tamaran and Alfred stayed to ensure no one died during their night time activities.

“We need to talk Damian.” His father stood, leaning onto the desk chair. “The school called and said you had an unexcused absence for half the day. Where were you Damian?”

Damian stared into his father’s eyes. He was fifteen, almost an adult, but was treated like he was ten again.

“I was with a friend.”

“Probably the girl from the dance. Marinette, right?” Todd mocked him. Damian snapped his head in the direction of his bed, glaring at both his brothers.

“That’s what I want to talk about with you Damian. Now I don’t know her personally but from what we’ve discovered through our investigation we have some concerns. What’s happened Damian?”

The youngest Wayne’s glare shifted off of his brothers to the floor, and then finally to his father; his family sitting in wait for his answer. Straightening his posture, his shoulders clicked as he rolled then back. His statement’s tone was sure and steady, “Everybody talks father.”

Everybody talks... back

#maribat #marinette x damian #mlb x dc #batfam salt #batfam is concerned #Daminette #the aftermath of ‘Like I did with you’#everybody talks by neon trees #max kante has blackmail and will use it #Alix will bite if provoked #dc x mlb #damian wayne x marinette dupain cheng #Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a meta?#supportive Dupain-Cheng parents ❤️

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caffeinatedtimdrake · 5 years

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Hi! I don't know if you're still taking requests (congrats on 200+ by the way!!! You deserve us all you gem :D) but if you are, can I request 47 ("I'm fine." "You don't look fine." "Then stop looking.") with Timmy? Thank you if you can do it, and don't worry about it of you can't!!! Again, congrats on the milestone :D 💙💙💙

hello!! you are the real gem here. I hope this is okay! about 1.5k of Tim x Reader fluff.

also requested by the wonderful @prettylittlebrownskingyal

47.“I’m fine.” “You don’t look fine.” “Then stop looking.”

The bitter taste of failure lingers on your tongue, tugging the corners of your mouth downward into grimace.

Tim regarded you through ocean eyes, peaking over the top of his computer manual cautiously.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You grumble, low voice reverberating off the walls of the study room, applying perhaps too much pressure to your pencil because the tip snaps off.

You don’t even flinch.

“Okay, okay. If you say so.” He chirps, glancing back down to the jumble of letters and symbols.

Barely ten seconds pass before his gaze flits back up to study you. There’s a storm in your eyes and a crinkle in between your eyebrows and he can’t help the ache in his chest at the sight of you so troubled.

A lump forms in your throat because you can feel the concern swimming in Tim’s gaze and it brings warmth to your cheeks. You know him too well to conceal your distress – and he’s too privy to Bruce’s intel, anyway.

Last night had been a disaster, heavy emphasis on dis. You were supposed to be in and out of the lab in less than an hour with a USB full of information on a new genetic research program without a hassle.

That’s not quite how things played out.

It thrilled you to no end that Barbara was allowing you to operate a mission solo. This was your chance to prove your worth; that Babs hadn’t made a mistake training you, that you were just as capable as the boys, that you could handle the pressures of heroic vigilantism.

Several unexpected firewalls, a newly upgraded security system, and one untied boot left you panicked and cornered by a dozen security guards in a hallway colored a dizzyingly bright, institutional white, gripping a bat-shaped USB so tightly your knuckles ached beneath sleek leather gloves. Nightwing had to drop in and save you; you, someone who was supposed to be a hero – you were supposed to do the saving, not be saved.

Once you reached the exit, helping an injured Nightwing along, you heard Babs in your ear, a frantic static buzz, reassuring you that it was okay things didn’t go according to plan, that you still succeeded in downloading the information, that your safety was the most critical.

When you got back to the Batcave, tugging off your shoes and ripping off your mask, your face burned with disappointment. The embarrassment smothered you, shame tightly gripping your spine, infamy radiating from your nerves.Babs watched you with concern, placing a warm hand on your shoulder and attempting to impart words of comfort to ease the weight of guilt upon your shoulders.

“Y/N, really, it’s alright. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“Nightwing got beat up because I made a mistake. I let you all down.” You had sulked, pulling on your coat and avoiding her fretful honey gaze.

She looked at you for several long moments before sighing deeply. It was hard to dig yourself out of this despair in the moment and she knew you needed to let the dust settle before you would take any of her words to heart. So instead of squeezing you in a tight, reassuring hug, she rubbed your back and told you to sleep well.

You slept. Not well, but you slept.

The next day had been filled with classes and granola bars and a new pack of highlighters, courtesy of a kindly Tim Drake.

And now you’re nestled in a Gotham University library study room with the aforementioned boy, trying (and failing) to take notes on ANOVA tests.

Part of you revels in his worry – it tugged at your heartstrings to know he cared about you, sweet affinity flowering in your chest. But it was a scary thing to be vulnerable, to share your fear of inferiority with a boy that seemed so perfect. You wanted to be the best someday, but you were only starting out, so you’d settle for being good.

Last night had been bad, to say the least, and you couldn’t shake the heavy drag of inadequacy on your mind.

Several minutes pass, silent save for the clean swipe of highlighter against paper, before Tim sighs deeply and sits back in his chair.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He frowns and narrows his eyes, pretty mouth pulled into a pout.

Posture rigid, you meet his eyes. “I’m fine.” You tell him stiffly, setting the stick of neon yellow down on the table.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Then stop looking.” You snap, immediately flushing with shame when you see Tim recoil.

“W-wait, Tim, I’m sorry, that was mean. I appreciate your concern.” You ramble, leaning over the table with wide eyes.

He recovers from your sharp words quickly and leans closer, too. He places his hand over your own, soft skin and an even softer gaze.

You think you might lose yourself in the soulful maze of cornflower blue, reflecting deep disquiet for your well-being. You don’t know much, but you know that he wishes for your happiness and the thought makes your insides fizz with warmth.

“Y/N, you work so hard at everything you do. Give yourself some credit, okay? One mistake does not define you.” Tim’s tone is soothing caress over your heated skin and you’re too frazzled to look anywhere but your hands.

The set of his mouth is determined. “You’re doing amazing, sweetie.” He quotes a meme and your promptly burst into tears.

Tim is so startled by your reaction, he can only pale three shades and gawk at you.

But you’re incapable of choking back the waterworks, a violent torrent of hysterical tears above what might be amused laughter – he can’t quite tell, and neither can you.

Your shoulders shake, eyes shut tightly and tears streaking down your cheeks.When you sob out an apology, he snaps out of his daze. He squeezes your hand and rounds the table to kneel next to you. He’s not quite sure how to optimally console you, but minimizing physical distance seems like a promising start because you throw your arms around his shoulders and blubber about how awful you feel.

“I-I want to make Babs p-proud and Bruce and Dick and a-and you, oh god.” You hiccup.

Brow furrowed, he pulls back to look at you, placing his hands on the sides of your face.

“Oh, Y/N, you make all of us so proud, you’re always doing so well and striving to improve. It’s an honor to work with you, it would be impossible not to feel proud of you.”

“How can you be proud of me when I ugly cry about an untied shoe?” You croak and he tenderly wipes your cheeks with his sleeve, soft cotton and a sweet, sweet sigh.

Tim cracks a smile and it reaches his eyes, a tiny ray of sunshine in this storm of emotion. “Because I know you care so much about what you do. Your mentors appreciate that, and I adore that.”

You freeze, caught off guard enough to reduce the weeping to sniffling. “A-adore?”

He reddens, blinking rapidly. His hands and his gaze move away shyly. “Well, of course.” He clears his throat.

A quiet sort of calm washes over the two of you where your breathing evens out and Tim looks at you like you’re rose petals in the wind.

A sharp knock on the door spooks you so suddenly that you yelp and nearly fall out of the chair.

Tim falls flat on his butt.

Through the glass door, a librarian scowls at you intensely and wiggles her finger in disapproval before stalking away.

“I think that made me feel more ashamed than last night.” You whisper.

“I can go get you hot chocolate and a cookie from the café. Would that make you feel better?”

You ponder this for a moment. “That might be nice actually.”

“Crying warrants cookies, I think.”

The pressure of despair slowly begins to float away, like a red-seeded dandelion unraveling in the wind because Tim’s smile makes you feel so light.

“If you say so.”

Tim moves to leave, and you stand to stretch, but quickly lean over to peck his cheek.

The boy freezes on the spot, heat rising in his face so rapidly, you almost expect steam and can’t help the broken giggle that erupts from your throat.

“You okay, Tim?”

He barely even blinks, turning away from you slowly. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

This seems to revive him, a slow grin spreading across his face, and he turns back to you.

He glances at you, eyes dancing with mirth, and you look at his lips, thinking for one beautiful moment that he might kiss you.

But the librarian knocks on the glass again.

“I think everything is going to be okay.”

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