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redstarwriting · 10 months

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happy birthday

miles morales x reader

request?: yes

request: “I LOVEDDD THE HC’S OMG OMG WORK OF ART!!! i was wondering if you would write something expanding on getting miles’ doodles tatted as an adult!! i would love to read more abt it, it’s so cutee”

requested by: anon

word count: 2.2k

genre: fluff

Warnings: language, tattoos, mentions of tattoos and needles, Miles is so sweet it's sick

A/N: GLADLY!! i've been itching to get a new tattoo since the minute i got my first like three years ago and writing this just made me want to get another one so bad LMAO. i hope you enjoy!

also in case you were wondering what hcs anon is talking about, it's my pda/general affection hcs i wrote for hobie and miles! you can check it out here if you haven't already and feel compelled to :)

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“Miles! Baby, can you give me a tattoo?” you ask, and he smiles. This has become a common practice in your relationship. From the time y’all were kids in love to now, you would always ask him for a tattoo. Of course, he didn’t actually give you tattoos, he just drew on your arm. He’s mentioned you, and even urged you, to get a tattoo every now and again. Especially when he offered to design them, but you always say his temporary ones are more special than any other tattoo you could get. He isn’t upset about it. He genuinely loves drawing on you. “Of course, babe. Come here,” he says, motioning you over to him as he grabs his markers he has specifically for your “tattoos.” You go over to him, sitting between his legs and extending your arm. “Can you draw it right next to the uh… elbow pit?” you say, and he laughs. “Elbow pit?”

“Yeah, like the inside of my arm and not on the bicep part or the elbow pit part, but the forearm part by the elbow pit,” you explain, pointing to the area you’re talking about. He chuckles. “Elbow pit.”

“Well, what else would it be called?” you ask, smiling, and he grins, starting to doodle on your arm. “I’ll text and ask my mom what the scientific name for it is after I’m done here,” he says, and you lean your head back against his shoulder. “Oh, god, please don’t tell her I called it an elbow pit.”

“Oh, I’m totally telling her you called it that,” he teases, placing a quick peck on your lips before returning his attention to your arm. He draws a spiderweb, of course, but in the shape of a heart. He adds his Miles touch to it by making it look like the web was spraypainted, and having it pop with black and red. You don’t even look at the tattoo as he draws it, you just stare at his face. You love watching him when he does his art. You assume it’s similar to the way his face looks when he’s swinging around the city as Spider-Man. He’s in his element, laser-focused and yet has an ease about him that mesmerizes you. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he says, smirking and turning his attention to you. You feel your face heat up but roll your eyes. “Can’t, arm’s a bit preoccupied.”

“You can get creative; I have an idea. Maybe use the one I’m not drawing on?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, and he shakes his head. “What do you think, amor?” he asks, and you look. You smile. “I love it, Miles. Thank you,” you say, kissing him on the cheek. He grins, wrapping his arms around your waist as you admire his art. “What time is it?” you ask, and he glances at his phone. “11:15. Why?”

“Ganke and I are gonna go get some lunch today.”

“Should I be worried?” Miles jokes. “No, dummy. We’re just talking about… something happening soon,” you say, and a sly smile spreads across Miles’ face. “How soon?”

“I’ve said too much,” you say, trying to get up. Unfortunately for you, your boyfriend is Spider-Man and can easily hold you in place. “Nuh uh, how soon is this something happening?” he looks at you with a shit-eating grin, and you roll your eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know, spider boy?”

“I would. Is it, and this is just a wild guess… something happening tomorrow? A special something happening on a very special day?” he guesses, and you sigh. “Don’t tell Ganke you found out…”

“I knew it!”

“We’re supposed to be planning your birthday party, yes. For tomorrow. On your birthday. Are you happy you spoiled it for yourself now?” you feign annoyance, and he laughs. “I am, actually. Now I know to look good for you tomorrow.” You roll your eyes. “You always look nice, Miles.”

“Only for you,” he grins at you, turning your face to look at him. The two of you share a kiss before it’s interrupted by his police scanner going off. He frowns slightly. “It’s okay, Miles. I gotta go soon anyways,” you give him a quick peck for squeezing out of his arms. He sighs. “Fine, fine. Guess I’ll go save the city. Be the best thing that ever happened to New York and all that.”

“My hero,” you joke, and he grins. “You know it,” he says, slipping his mask on and sliding his everyday clothes off. “I’ll see you later, Miles. Stay safe. Love you.”

“You stay safe, too. Love you more.” He leaps out of the window, and you make sure he’s gone before you call Ganke. “Yo, what’s up?”

“You gotta plan Miles’ birthday party tomorrow.”

“Woah, what?” You sigh. “I already have the roof of our building booked out for it, I ordered the cake already and will pick it up tomorrow and have all the decorations. You just need to invite everyone, okay?”

“You mean I have to reach out to people in different dimensions, tell them to clear their schedules for tomorrow, and hope for the best?” Ganke asks, and you hum into the phone. “Yep! Thanks, Ganke! Also, if Miles asks, we went and got lunch, okay?”

“And where are you really going?”

“I’m getting a tattoo to surprise him for his birthday tomorrow,” you say, grabbing your keys and putting some money in your pocket. You put Ganke on speaker, sending a quick text to Hobie. “You need to stop using me as a cover-up, (Y/n).”

“Who else am I supposed to use? Gwen?” you say, and Ganke sighs. “I mean, yeah, you know she would be down to help you with something like this.”

“Ganke she is so bad at keeping secrets like that, and you know it,” you say, admiring the art on your arm again. “Then use Hobie.”

“Wait that’s actually a good idea,” you say, “Especially since he’s the one giving me the tattoo.”

“AND YOU STILL USED ME?!”

“I PANICKED! He was asking questions! Just, listen, invite as many people as you can think of, alright? Please, and thank you.”

“Fine. Go get inked or whatever they say,” Ganke says. The two of you give some quick goodbyes before hanging up. You receive a reply from Hobie, and a portal opens in Miles and your bedroom. You step through it and find yourself in Hobie’s flat. “Can I just say it’s about damn time you got one of ‘is works tattooed onto ya,” Hobie says, motioning to his couch. You sit and he gets his whole get-up ready, all the cleaning wipes and gloves and the tattoo gun all ready to go. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m getting it now and that’s what matters,” you say, and he clicks his tongue. “I can guarantee ya this is just gonna be the beginning. Kinda becomes an addiction,” he says, sitting next to you, and fiddling with his gun. “Then I guess I’ll just need to have Miles draw on me even more.” He chuckles. “Lemme see it.”

You show him the drawing, and Hobie shakes his head. “Your man is corny,” he says, and you shrug. “I like it.”

“I know,” he dips his gun in ink, and looks at you, “Ya ready?” You nod, and he begins tattooing Miles’ art onto your skin. The two of you talk the whole time, really, and you let him know about the party tomorrow. He, of course, agrees to come, and can’t wait to see Miles’ reaction. It takes a few hours, but eventually he finishes up and it looks exactly like Miles just drew it on your skin. Hobie places fake skin over it and gives you the rundown of how to take care of it. He turns away from you to put something away, and you quickly slip $100 under a pillow on the couch. You know he won’t accept any money from you because he’s ‘not a capitalist pig,’ so you have to be sneaky with it. “Thank you so much, Hobie,” you say, and he winks at you. “Anythin’ for my mate’s better ‘alf.”

He opens the portal again, and you two say bye until tomorrow. You’re back home, literally, in no time, and you quickly throw one of the hoodies Miles left lying around on. This way he won’t see the tattoo, and you can play it off like you missed him. Especially since you did kind of miss him and it is sort of a staple in your relationship that you wear his clothes when you do. That’ll make him melt and he’ll forget all about the art on your arm. And you were absolutely right.

It ended up being a late night for Spider-Man, and when he got home, he saw you curled up on the couch, sleeping with his hoodie on, and all he could think about was that you missed him. He carefully picked you up and carried you to your shared bed. You started to wake up as soon as he was getting in bed after taking a shower and cleaning up, and he began desperately trying to get you to go back to sleep. “What time is it?” you groggily ask. “It’s like 3am, (Y/n/n), I’m here now, we can go to sleep, okay?” he says, slipping into bed next to you and pulling you on top of his chest. “Happy birthday!” you sleepily say, burying your face into his chest. He smiles. “Thank you, amor. Let’s get back to sleep now, yeah?” You make a muffled mmhmm sound and are out like a light almost immediately. Miles smiles to himself, wondering how he got this lucky.

You can imagine his disappointment when he wakes up the next day and you’re not snug against his chest, but he feels better the minute he sees a little note on his chest that explains you’ll be home, you just had to go do something for him. He gets up and decided he can do his Spider-Man duties until you text him and let him know he needs to come home. It may be his birthday, but the city still needs it’s defender. So that’s exactly what he does. He cannot explain how grateful he is that none of the big bads were trying to start anything today, because if he didn’t get to see you and eat a slice of cake, he was going to scream. The day went slower than he wanted but also sped by when eventually he got a text from you saying to come home. He immediately obliges, swinging in through the window and putting on some of his nicest clothes. He walks out of your room and sees you chilling on the couch. “Miss me?” he asks, walking over and bending down to kiss your lips. You giggle. “Obviously. Hey, before we go up to the roof where there totally isn’t a party waiting for you, I wanna show you something, okay?”

“Okay,” he grins, and you grin back. “Cover your eyes.” He does as instructed, and hears you shift slightly. “Okay… open them.” He opens his eyes, and immediately sees his “tattoo” on your arm. Only it was covered in a clear wrap. And it’s real. His eyes get big, and he looks at your face. You give a small smile. “You always encouraged me to get a real tattoo, so… happy birthday.”

“Yo! It looks so good, hold up,” he gently grabs your arm and softly traces it through the saniderm. “When did you get this?”

“Yesterday.”

“You weren’t actually with Ganke, were you?”

“No, I was with Hobie,” you say, and he shakes his head. “I got a little liar on my hands, huh?”

“It wasn’t lying it was covering my ass because you ask too many damn questions,” you say, and he laughs. “I love it, (Y/n/n).” You smile and the two of you share a kiss. “We should probably get up there. Some people are waiting. Oh, and pretend like you haven’t seen it yet. Hobie wants to see your reaction.” Miles laughs. “Alright. Well, I hope he knows I’m not gonna stop drawing on you. And that he fully traced my art,” Miles says, and you shake your head. “I’m sure he knows, Miles. You really like it?”

“Like it? Baby, I told you I love it. I love you; I love this tattoo; I love that this is a birthday present from you… everything about this? I love it. I don’t even need to go up there to make the day better because all I need is you,” he says, and you smile. “Hobie was right. You’re so corny.”

“Nah, hold on, he said that? Forget everything I just said it’ll be a perfect day when I punch him.” You laugh as the two of you make your way up to the party. But the whole time, Miles keeps finding his eyes drifting to your tattoo. Something about having his art on you permanently makes his heart swell with pride and happiness. And he and Hobie were both right.

It’s not the only “tattoo” that will become real.

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#miles morales x reader #spiderman x reader #miles x reader #spiderverse x reader #atsv x reader #miles morales #spiderman #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #atsv

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sexiestpodcastcharacter · 6 months

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Sexiest Podcast Character — Unscripted Bracket — Round 3

Propaganda

Glenn Close (Dungeons & Daddies):

#Propaganda for Glenn Close: one of the other PCs mentions multiple times how hot he is #Actually several characters point it out but especially Henry #Also the only person in a podcast that has to put a disclaimer about not being a BDSM podcast to have had sex during the course of the show

PLEASASSWEEPLEASE TOU DONT HUNRERFSTABDS

GLENN GLENN GLENN ITS GLENN VOTE GLENN VOTE FOR THE BOY

We didn’t do hot Glenn summer for him to LOSE. Spoilers for his story but MORE PROPAGANDA FOR YOU:

Young hot rocker dilf

Loyal to his dead wife <3

Does in fact smoke weed

BARD!! HES A BARD. HE WAS LEAD GUITAR IN HIS BAND (that he was kicked out of)

His band was a Christmas cover band btw.

Literally the fandom had hot Glenn summer which consisted of drawing him being incredibly hot and sexy

Anti government (ofc)

Kind of cringefail (Disney adult) (was on dilfs of disneyland)

Young and sexy not your style? Then how about HIM AFTER YEARS LOCKED IN A TIME PRISON WITH A DAMN HANNIBAL MASK ??

Lost an eye and wears a fucking eyepatch

One incredibly buff arm

Has a pet rat named after his son <3

Immeasurable amounts of trauma in this man- becomes progressively more unhinged

OH OLD HUMAN BARD ISNT CUTTING IT? FINE

HE BECOMES A FUCKING DEMON

A COOL HOT ONE-EYED DEMON WHO WANTS TO KILL HIS DAD (also sexy)

HE CANONICALLY ENDS CHRISTIAN HELL VIA CHRISTMAS

IS ALSO WAY OVERLEVELED

Becomes a demon hunter for the rest of his existence

Also nonwhite !!! We are done with cringefail whiteboys !!!!!!!!!

I can’t put into words ok just know he is the best plz love him.

GLENN GLENNNNNN

Listen, I don't know this other character but I've seem some good arguments for her However Consider Glenn Close winning through no effort of his own in a bullshit way despite being a dick is the most in character thing ever. He leveled up three times and got a crab mech, we GOT to give him this win, it's fitting

I haven't dedicated the last 2 months of my life drawing Glenn close for him to lose

Vote for Glenn Close or I will make you read the parody I did of the vaporeon copypasta

I don’t regulate if minors follow me or not bc I’m a pretty chill space but I hope the world is aware that’s the only reason I haven’t been downright nasty about Glenn close. I’m down bad. I’m NOT in the boat of ‘Glenn isn’t sexy but I want him to win bc it’s my fandom’. I would estimate I have 200+ drawings of Glenn on my phone that AREN’T safe for work. Way more that are. Where did they come from? That’s MY business. But I tell you this fact to assure you- Glenn IS sexy. I’m not voting to represent my fandom I’m voting out of TRUTH AND LOVE. IF YOU DON’T GET IT YOU DON’T GET IT!!! I just think my level of feral over this man is more powerful than y’all realize. If you don’t get his sex appeal that’s okay, but don’t doubt that this is my truth.

VOTE GLENN

Glenn fuckers fought tooth and nail to get us here from like 38% dawg we DESERVE THIS. GLENN IS THE SEXIEST MAN!!! HE WAS THE FIRST FICTIONAL CHARACTER I FOUND HOT AND HE’S GONNA CONTINUE TO SWEEP!!! Your hot goat woman sounds sexy don’t get me wrong but I’m forever fighting for the man that changed my brain chemistry. Proud of our fandom tbh. I don’t think y’all understand the sheer amount of effort I have put in to get my boy where he is today but this placement feels well earned. TO GLENN SWEEP!!

THE FUCK YOU MEAN GLENN CLOSE ISNT WINNING IM BOUT TO THROW HANDS FR

Okay but Glenn made a minivan cum by talking to her so

Yalll better vote glenn i swear to god

Vote Glenn or else the bird gets it🐦🛸

HOW IS MY DUDE NOT WINNING????

GLEN GELN NELG GLENNANN HE DESERVS ITTTT

HE HAS A BOOK THAT HE MARKS X’S AND CHECKS FOR EVERY DAY TO SEE IF THAT DAY WAS A SUCCESS OR NOT. TO SEE IF HE DID GOOD THAT DAY. ITS ALMOST ENTIRELY X’S. HE WAS CUCKED OUT OF A SON. AND A DEAD WIFE. HE DIDN’T EVEN GET TO KILL HIS DAD IN REVENGE. There’s absolutely nothing going for him except his sex appeal in his life. Nobody he loved remembers him. He lost his eye. All he has is a pet rat and friends who admit they don’t really like him that much. He was kicked out of his own band. The band was named after him. He was kicked out of the Glenn Close trio. All he could do was deez nuts the big bad and be sexy. If nothing else, then pity him. Look in his eyes. Look at his heart and soul. Do you think pickman needs this to feel good about herself? Can she not accept a loss for the sake of a pathetic father? Can she shake hands with the minivan fucker and his human gun and just take the L on this one? He did not do the BDSM episode for this I’ll tell you what. Do this for my his sake. Do it for Nick Jr, who needs the prize money to pay for his rat snacks. Do it for his son. For Morgan. Ganbatte.

Mod Note: While I will still take "bad dads are sexy" propaganda and "bad dads aren't sexy" anti-propaganda, I kindly request no more discussion on whether or not he was a bad father. This is a sexypoll, not a parentingpoll. If you see a post you strongly disagree with, you can just not reblog it.

Taako (The Adventure Zone: Balance):

A celebrity chef from another plane

#Round 3 #Glenn Close #Taako #Dungeons & Daddies #Dungeons and Daddies #The Adventure Zone #TAZ Balance

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todayisawthewhxlewxrld · 4 months

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spellbound: with you

ch49

masterlist

- :)))))

-2 chs today kittens.

-also regarding ur guys comments on the last post… y’all give them entirely too much credit i fear… they hate each other… the last person they r gonna wanna think is E is each other😭😭

^ALSO ABOUT MY COMMENTS IM SORRY I DONT REPLY TO MANY ANYMORE I FEEL LIKE MY RESPONSES WOULD BE REPETITIVE WITH ALL OF U SO MY BRAIN SAYS TO NOT REPLY AT ALL BUT TRUST 🤞🤞🤞 I LOVE READING UR COMMENTS N GIGGLING AT THEMM!!!

-i fear gege is plotting something… 3 choso drawings in a month???? it’s chosover. dear lord when i get to heaven plz let me bring my man😭😭💔💔💔

^speaking of choso... haha... what if i said i wrote the priest!choso drabble?... what then...

LINK TO A MASTERLIST OF HELP LINKS FOR PALESTINE, CONGO, AND SUDAN

taglist!🦂 (under the cut)

@bloombb @kasumitenbaz @basically-an-anime-stan-acct @deegausserr @slowlyholypeanut @iluv-ace @sad-darksoul @secretanimesimp @satforsatoru @bbysatoruuu @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @1l-ynn @lu-spizzeria @nymphsdomain @babydoll-143 @zellwa @k4romis @ynverse @r0ckst4rjk @chilichopsticks @ryoiii @mood-romantica @st1rvoid @pastatata @morgyyyyyyy @venusinx @lees-chaotic-brain @nishii28 @emii4evr @honeyfewr @nobody289x @afatalheat @hopeladybug @becsmarvel @bakugouswh0r3 @enigmaticnephilim @nanamiswifes @you-always-made-me-blush @everythingseasoning @jayathelostdragon @tranzumaki @saesofficialwife @delulusuga @tar0sw0rld @hexrts-anatomy @camilo-uwu @revrse @tanchosanke @ashfrommyfire @liveincans @gyuville @fushigurosdevinedogs @zamorazz @amenial

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quietblueriver · 7 months

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Because I couldn’t get this out of my mind, some Southern Gothic fluff. Very minor spoilers for last night’s ep but this is almost entirely just them being soft witches in love.

Her hair is a tangled mess. It has been since that shitshow with the dead Paragon’s Call fuckers, but she’s had other things to worry about—ghost pirates and FCG and parleys and, if she’s honest, her girlfriend’s tits, which had caused her brain to stop in its tracks at least half a dozen times since Laudna had declared that she was “bringing out the girls” to help their cause.

Now, though, after an hour-long game of rollies she escaped only because Fearne flirted her way into the bony lap of her opponent, she’s staring at the results of Laudna’s attempt at braiding.

Her reflection winces back at her as she tries to untangle what she can with her fingers, turning her head side to side to take stock of the damage. She’s gonna need a comb.

“Shit. Fuck. Fuck it.”

“Alright, darling?”

Imogen looks up from where she has been wrestling with a knot to find Laudna in the doorway, crooked, concerned smile on her face as she hefts a small stack of blankets that they must have managed to scrounge up between the ship and their stock in the hole. Her top is still arranged for ghostly seduction, and Imogen lets her eyes wander appreciatively. Again.

She finds suddenly that she could give a shit about the comb stuck in her hair and pulls it, and a chunk of purple she doesn’t let herself think too hard about out (she’s been bald for fuck’s sake; what’s a little hair loss for love?), tossing them onto the small barrel by the mirror.

Three steps and she’s taking the blankets and cupping Laudna’s sharp jaw, kissing her softly in greeting. Laudna’s little sigh, the small, surprised noise she makes almost every time they do this, makes Imogen’s stomach flip as it always does, and she leans into the kiss, deepens it and then pulls away, drawing a whine.

“Hey there.” She lifts the pile of blankets. “Looks like y’all found some.”

“Yes.” Laudna clears her throat, face that deeper shade of purple Imogen tries to bring out as often as she can, and Imogen smirks, smug as can be, until Laudna rolls her eyes at her. “Oh, hush.”

“Don’t know what you mean, Laud. I didn’t say a word.”

“Your face said plenty, thank you.”

Imogen grins and kisses her again before turning to toss the blankets onto the bed.

“Can’t say I’m sorry ‘bout it.” She turns back and lets her eyes trail purposefully down Laudna’s neck, stopping at her chest and staying there. “It’s been real hard to focus today. Nice knowin’ I can fluster you a little, too.”

Laudna laughs disbelievingly, and Imogen raises an eyebrow.

“You sayin’ you wouldn’t have trouble focusin’ if I…” She undoes a button and Laudna’s dark eyes focus in on her fingers. “What did you call it? Bring out the girls?”

Her eyes are still pinned to Imogen’s hands, and she undoes another button, because she likes it when Laudna looks at her like this, wants Laudna to look at her like this, and there’s no reason now to pretend she doesn’t.

She offers a gloating, teasing, “Laud?”

Black eyes snap up, and she smirks again when Laudna pouts at her even as she flushes that pretty color. “Yes, well. There’s a bit more there to admire, dear, isn’t there?”

She’s working on this. On Laudna moving beyond a blustering veneer of self-confidence and learning to see herself at least a little bit like Imogen sees her. It’s not exactly a hardship, letting Laudna know how beautiful she is. The chiding voice inside her head had already shifted over the months before the market in Jrusar, moving from “she’s your best friend, Imogen” to “don’t ruin this, Imogen” to “it’s not the time, Imogen.” (She doesn’t think about the days when the voice had been nothing but a raging, screaming thing. She’d answered its call. She’d gotten her back.) Now, the voice says only, “Show her.”

So she does. She’s back in Laudna’s space quickly, hands gentle but sure as they make a home on her waist, and she catches her eye seriously, holds it.

“No, baby, I don’t think there is.” When Laudna’s smile wobbles into place, the quirk of her lips small but genuine, Imogen flexes her fingers and presses her own lips to the skin of Laudna’s neck, letting her tongue tease skin as she says, “Wanna show you how much I admire you later, if you want.” She pulls back with a graze of her teeth, and Laudna brings her hands around Imogen’s shoulders and kisses her with purpose, mumbling, “Yes, please,” as she winds her hands up into Imogen’s hair.

It’s then that she remembers the state of it, hissing as Laudna’s fingers get caught in a tangle. They’re gone instantly, as is the heat of the moment, Laudna’s cool palms cupping her cheeks as she apologizes and checks for injury, eyes roaming over Imogen’s scalp.

“I’m sorry, darling. Are you…” Fingers move back to her hair then, gently exploring, and Laudna bites her lip. “Oh dear. It’s my fault.”

Imogen doesn’t shake her head, doesn’t want to dislodge the hand still on her cheek, but she says, dismissive, “Nah. Just a long day. Quick comb and I’ll be right as rain.”

The purse of her lips tells Imogen exactly what she thinks of that explanation.

“It really is no big deal.” She turns her head to kiss gray skin, the smallest tang of ichor on her lips as she licks them distractedly and fights the urge to go back for more.

“Can I…would you mind if I…” Gentle black nails trace the skin of her temple as she tucks a lock of hair, blessedly free of knots, behind her ear. “Would you like help brushing it out?” She adds hastily, before Imogen even has a chance to breathe out her obvious and immediate yes. “I understand if not. After all, it is my fault it’s like this in the first place.” Her mouth is pulled tight at the corners, eyes squinted in worry, and Imogen places a kiss at the corner of one, stretched onto her toes to reach.

“Thanks. That would be great.”

Laudna is, of course, gentler than Imogen would ever be with herself. She produces some herbs from somewhere, busying herself at the basin before she returns. They’re far enough away from the others that she doesn’t think much before she takes off the circlet, sitting it gently on the table near the bed and sighing into the sound of Laudna’s thoughts, the musical hum of them.

“I could work around it, darling.”

It’s nice, hearing you. If you don’t mind.

Laudna’s smile reaches across her face, delighted, and Imogen feels it, stomach flipping at the surge of affection. I love having you here. Stay as long as you’d like.

She kisses her then, chaste with the barrier of their smiles, before situating herself on the floor. As it turns out, it’s too fucking cold, so Imogen reclines, propped between Laudna’s knees on the bed, which is much better anyway. The angle is a little awkward but they mess around with a few pillows and blankets until it works, and then Laudna’s hands are in her hair, gently working whatever she made through tangles.

“Smells good.”

Laudna hums, pleased. “Rosemary.”

“Mmm.”

She gets lost for a bit, in the feel of Laudna’s fingers on her scalp, the rhythm of the brush, the lilt of her thoughts. She lets them wash over her, beautiful but fleeting, and avoids processing details as much as she can.

Laudna is so gentle with Imogen, whispered apologies with every knot, occasional internal rebukes loud enough to break through the general flow of her thoughts. Imogen soothes those as best she can, stopping the brush to plant a kiss on Laudna’s wrist, a none of that, darlin’ paired with the press of her lips. It seems to work, mostly, thoughts of gratitude that Imogen doesn’t deserve but doesn’t challenge for the moment replacing the self-criticism.

Imogen wonders, not for the first time, what Laudna’s life would’ve been like if she’d been given all the love she deserved right from the start. She thinks of a little girl who never learned to braid, lonely and strange and kinder than anyone deserved. Beautiful and familiar.

Imogen can’t help her, but she can love Laudna. She will love Laudna.

“You know,” she says, eyes closed and as casually as she can, “I could teach you how to braid. If you’re interested.”

The rhythm of the brush stops just for a moment before it continues, Laudna’s voice, small, answering, “I think I’d like that. Thank you.”

She reaches back for a hand, kisses knuckles and fingertips until Laudna is giggling and then she presses her mouth to palm, to deep purple veins on a fragile and perfect inner wrist.

“My pleasure, darlin’,” she says as she tilts her head back to catch deep black eyes. “I think you’ll look real pretty with a braid.”

Laudna blushes, catches Imogen’s fingers and brings them to her own mouth, drops a cool kiss to the back of her hand. Imogen closes her eyes again as Laudna resumes brushing and relaxes into the bed beneath her.

#critical role #imodna #imodna fic #imogen temult #laudna #southern gothic

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goldenseresinretriever · 4 months

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You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 3

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw, blindsided by a team he trusted like family has been traded to the San Diego Dogfighters. Across the country from the place he calls home, Bradley feels lost and betrayed. Not to mention the familiar faces and ghosts from his past that he now has to face every day at work. Bradley’s caught between wanting to show his former team the mistake they made in double-crossing him and wondering if it’s time to hang up his skates after one final season. You’re living your dream as the PR representative for the Dogfighters. When Coach Maverick made a bid to bring his godson to the team, you hadn’t batted an eye. Bradley was a good teammate, and a good player. Unfortunately, the Bradley that shows up in San Diego is nothing like your research suggested. He’s moody, irritable, aggressive, and angry, throwing a wrench in all your careful planning. What’s caused such a drastic change in him? And can you figure out how to help him before he makes a mistake you can’t fix?

Chapter CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, dead parents, mentions of major character death, physical violence, blood probably, angst, age gap (28 and 38), enemies to lovers, suggestive language, hockey inaccuracies etc. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: This one’s a heavy one, y’all 😶

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

Bradley Bradshaw’s going to pay for this. You glare at your reflection in the mirror, tentatively poking at the discolored and swollen skin on your jaw where Bradley’s fist connected last night. You wince slightly at the pain. You’ll probably have Bugs look at it once you get to work. You glance down at the tube of concealer in your hand, torn between covering up the mark for the sake of your dignity and leaving it exposed to send a message to Bradley. You err on the side of leaving it be as you get ready for your day. You can’t help but wonder if the lavender suit you’re wearing today mixes well with the color on your jaw.

By the time you make it to work, your injury is far from your mind, that is until you pass through the training room on your way to the office and Mickey stops you instantly, his usually carefree smile falling away into barely-concealed fury. “Zam, what happened to your face?” He reaches a gentle hand to skim the bruised skin and you wince slightly at the pain that radiates from the contact. “It wasn’t that guy was it?” The guy in question is a stranger on a dating app that Mickey insisted you give a shot to in an effort to diversify your life beyond work. You shake your head.

“No no, that’s later this week.” He nods, his concern not fading as he scrutinizes your jaw and you’re touched by the fierce protectiveness from your best friend. You wouldn’t expect any less.

“Zam, what the fuck?” Jake comes over now, taking your face gently in his hands and inspecting the bruise. “Who did this to you?”

You hesitate, not wanting to cause a scene. You hadn’t meant to cause a scene like this, not considering how it would look to everyone else not involved. You consider lying but as you look into Jake’s green eyes, you see them dancing with concern and fury, the sheer protectiveness in them, directed at you of all people and it makes your heart squeeze. A few months ago Jake was reserved, hiding in a shell of himself until Bugs pulled him out of it and you’ve watched him grow back into his normal self, full of love and protectiveness that extends to everyone around him, you included.

He and Mickey are still waiting for your answer so you draw your eyes away from Jake’s, avoiding either of their gazes as you murmur, “Bradley…” and you feel Jake’s fingers tighten involuntarily on your cheeks. When you gaze back at him, there’s fury in his eyes.

“Bradley did this?” His voice is ice cold and you suppress a shudder as your eyes flick to Mickey’s matching expression.

“Bradley did what? Fuck, Zam, what happened to you?” Javy joins the three of you and you watch his eyes widen in surprise when he sees the bruise on your jaw. You jerk your chin from Jake’s grasp, suddenly self-conscious about the amount of attention you’re drawing.

“It’s not what you think!” You blurt. “He wasn’t aiming at me, I just stepped in front of him on instinct and I didn’t really think it through and yeah, I got hit.”

“When did this even happen?” Mickey asks brows tight in confusion.

“Last night, Cyclone asked me to pick him up from a bar after the paparazzi found him. He was drunk off his ass and fighting with these three other guys.”

“You should have called one of us to go with you,” Jake says firmly, crossing his arms across his chest in full captain mode. You roll your eyes giving him a tired shrug.

“I didn’t want to bother you. Plus this is my job, remember?”

“The press stuff, yes, but I thought we established that the babysitting was mine.” You return his worried smile with a tired one of your own, nodding in acquiescence.

“I’m gonna have Bugs look at it but I’m sure it’s fine.” Jake nods, satisfied to leave you in her care. You excuse yourself from the boys and head to Bugs’s office to get checked out.

~~~~~

Bugs gives you the all-clear and confirms that it’s just a nasty bruise and nothing to worry about so you go about your regular work for about an hour or two until the door to your office bursts open, hitting the walls and rattling your shelves of tchotchkes. You look up from your work to see Bradley Bradshaw in your doorway, seething. You don’t get paid enough for this.

“You just left my Bronco in that parking lot?! It got fucking towed!” He snaps, stamping across the room to leer over where you’re sitting. You scowl up at him.

“Boo fucking hoo, Bradshaw. If you’re going to go out and get plastered, maybe you shouldn’t drive or at least arrange someone to drive you home.” Normally you’d be poised, and calm, and you definitely wouldn’t be swearing but Bradley sends every bit of your self-control out the nearest window. “Instead I have to come and drag your sorry ass home.”

“No one asked you to do that!”

“They did, actually. Cyclone texted me because you were causing a scene! TMZ published an article, Bradshaw! TM-FUCKING-Z!”

“That’s not my problem.” He scoffs, his face still red as he growls at you.

“Well, your beloved Bronco getting towed isn’t mine.” You growl back, crossing your arms across your chest defensively. “And by the way, if you want to avoid the press, maybe get a less conspicuous ride.” His eyes flash and his open palms meet the surface of your desk in a noise so loud and startling that you flinch back, instinctively, fear running through you before you see the flicker in Bradley’s eyes cutting through the blind rage and he removes his hands instantly, backing up a couple of steps. His shoulders are still rising and falling in anger but he’s forcibly reeling himself in.

Then you watch the confusion spread across his face as he actually takes a good look at you and you feel the urge to squirm under the intensity of his whisky gaze. His brow furrows as he asks, voice softer. “What happened to your face?” You blink up at him, dumbstruck.

“So you don’t remember hitting it?” You ask, the venom in your voice falling short of what you’d intended at the confused concern in his eyes.

“I hit you?!” His voice is full of shock and something else, maybe a hint of regret.

“Well more accurately you were trying to hit another guy and I got in the way because we don’t really need to add battery to the laundry list of problems you’ve been causing.”

“Fuck.” He rasps and you shrug, trying to appear nonchalant even as you’re feeling all kinds of confused by this new Bradley that you’ve never seen. “I’m sorry.”

Now you really have seen it all. Bradley Bradshaw just apologized to you.

“It’s fine, it’s not exactly your fault. I wasn’t thinking.” You’re actively uncomfortable now, scrambling for your mask or your anger, anything to cover up this vulnerable feeling, the way he’s looking at you. Like you’re a wounded animal, a wrong he’s trying to right, like you’re human. You hate it. “Maybe we stop with the bar fights, whaddya say, big guy?” You hate how awkward you sound but you don’t have time to dwell on it as the storm clouds roll back through Bradley’s eyes.

“I told you to stay out of it, Honey.” His voice is hard, the Bradley you’ve just seen disappearing so quickly that you’re not even sure it was there in the first place.

“I told you, no can do, Bradshaw. You keep this up and it’s going to get ugly.”

He tilts his head slightly at the bite in your tone before he smirks. “I think it already has, Honey.” You watch his eyes flick down to your jaw and you clench it, ignoring the pain that flares through the taut skin. The twinkle in his eyes is new and it makes anger lick at your stomach. Before, he was just lashing out taking his anger on you because you were conveniently there, caught in the crossfire, but this? This is casually cruel and aimed right for the kill and you have a zero-tolerance policy for that.

“If you want to quit, Bradshaw then just fucking quit.” Your voice is ice cold as you glare daggers back into rolling brown seas that warn “there be dragons.” If he wants to be cruel, you’re more than capable of meeting him halfway. “There’s a thousand other players waiting for someone to give them their shot if you’re so intent on wasting yours.”

He leans in then, his voice low and rumbling, calm and collected despite the flush of his cheeks. The wildness in his eyes tames for a second, the eye of the storm, as he delivers the kill shot. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” When he says your name you feel a chill run down your spine. It’s been years since someone other than your father called you by it. Ever since you joined the world of hockey, it’s always been Zamboni or Zam, even amongst your colleagues and professional relations. That’s how everyone knows you. “Quitting? Wasting your shot? You’re speaking from experience, right?” Each question punches the air from your lungs as you cower against the back of your chair, nowhere to run as Bradley pries you open like he’s manually pulling the nails out of the coffin in your mind, one by one. “Nothing to say, Honey? That’s what I thought.” He leans back and goes to leave, only pausing in the doorway to look back at where you’re frozen. “Like I said, stay out of it if you know what’s good for you, Honey.”

When the door closes behind him, you try your best to take a shaking breath but it’s like he’s pinned the air in your lungs and it can’t move. Your fingers scramble for your phone, shaking so hard that you can barely unlock the screen and click the contact you need most as your body shuts down. The panic attack pulls you fully into its grasp as you listen to the sound of the line ringing, praying that he picks up. When you finally hear the voice it’s like a light at the end of the tunnel that you’ve lost yourself in. You can’t form the words, but you know he’ll know. He’ll come. He knows what you need.

~~~~~

You weren’t always Zamboni. In the grand scheme of things, you’ve spent more of your life not being her. However, you’ve locked as much of that time as you could up in a dark corner of your mind. It had been eight years since you’d become Zamboni not necessarily to escape that part of yourself but rather as a direct effect of the alienation that had come with losing that part of yourself. Only one person other than your father truly knew what had happened that turned your world upside down and sent you running from your past. Mickey Garcia had saved you, giving you something to live for that ended up creating the person that you are now.

Hockey was something that you and your mother whispered about in the middle of the night while she told you fantastic stories about her youth at the height of her career. She’d been an Olympic figure skater. She had medals and trophies filling glass cases in your home to prove it but above all the fortune and glory, she loved the sport. She loved being on the ice and had passed down that love to you. You remember her bringing you with her to the local rinks, and watching her move with such grace and poise while you teetered around at the edge of the rink, still finding your footing at such a young age.

You’d grown up, though, and you were every bit your mother’s daughter from the way you looked to the way you skated. When you were on the ice there was nothing you couldn’t do, no move you couldn’t master, just a matter of how many hours you spent on it. Your mother’s Olympic fame opened doors to rinks much later than they should have been, and even when those closed for the night, you’d spend even more hours on the frozen lake behind your house, perfecting every turn and jump.

By the time you were off to college at the University of Wisconsin, you were pretty much a shoo-in for the Olympics. The only reason you hadn’t already competed in one yet was that your mother was indignant that you fully enjoyed your life as a child before being thrust into the international spotlight. It didn’t stop you from topping various other competitions, however, and when you went to college on a figure skating scholarship, you were chomping at the bit to kickstart your Olympic career, however, the next Olympics wouldn’t be for another two years.

You spent every spare moment at the university’s rink, staying late after official practices. The biggest source of your irritation was the University of Wisconsin’s ice hockey team. They shared the rink with the figure skaters and conveniently seemed to have practice whenever you wanted to use the ice. You had complained loudly to your mom over the phone when she gave you a suggestion that would change your life for the better. Even if they weren’t figure skaters, you could learn a thing or two from watching the hockey players move on the ice, so that’s what you did. If they had practice when you wanted to use the ice, you’d plant yourself in the stands and watch them skate. As soon as the ice was cleaned after practice you’d lace up your skates and start applying what you’d observed and you had to hand it to your mom, you were learning new things by watching them. That’s how you met Mickey Garcia. Well, not exactly. One night you were stuck on a particular turn and had been practicing it for so long that you’d lost track of time, the lack of windows in the rink creating a liminal space. The main lights had since been turned on with only the rink lights remaining. You were so focused on what you were doing that it didn’t occur to you to worry about getting locked into the rink that is until your work was interrupted.

“Hey, are you supposed to be in here?” The voice broke through your concentration and you turned to see a familiar face looking back at you from the edge of the rink. You recognized the guy as one of the hockey players even though he was just wearing a hoodie and sweats.

“Are you?” You shot back, placing your hands on your hips.

“No, that’s the point.” He said with a rueful grin and a shrug. “I left a binder in the locker room on accident so I got the captain’s keys to let me in. How were you planning to get out?”

“The doors aren’t locked.”

“They are at 1 am.” When you gaped at him as you realized the time he laughed. “Listen, I need to study but I don’t really care where so I can do it here until you’re ready to leave and then I can lock up behind us.” And that’s how you met Mickey Garcia.

You started going to his games and he started coming to your competitions. Some nights he’d give you pointers about your skating and some nights you’d do your best to tend the goal or scrimmage with him if he needed the extra practice. Slowly you became a regular amongst his teammates as well, as Mickey invited you to watch practices up class and even skate with them during warmups. He had you point out certain techniques they could apply to their movement.

Two years flew by and suddenly Olympic qualifiers were almost upon you. You were busier than ever and you spent night after night late at the rink to practice your routine with Mickey to keep you company. Even you knew it was only a matter of showing up on the day for you to qualify, it didn’t keep you from spending every waking moment skating.

By that logic, it wasn’t a surprise that you were skating when you got the call. It was Thanksgiving break. You’d turned down your parents’ incessant invitations to come home for the break, afraid to surrender any time you could spend practicing. You don’t remember much about the day looking back but you don’t want to. You only remember answering the call, expecting to hear your father asking you to reconsider coming home once again. Instead, you only heard his sobs. Your mother had an unexpected heart attack. She died instantly. There was nothing they could do to save her. And you could have been there. You should have been there. You couldn’t remember the last thing she had said to you. You’d talked to her just last night and yet you couldn’t remember.

It wasn’t that you blamed yourself per se, but after that day you could never bring yourself to step on the ice. The Olympic qualifiers came and went as you were frozen in that moment when you’d gotten the phone call. It hadn’t been easy to thaw and return to your life, and in many ways you never truly did, but Mickey had held your hand every step of the way as he brought you to his practices, his games, and slowly you’d come back. You took a leave of absence from school for a semester as you decided what to do next as your skates hung in the back of your closet for good. Figure skating had been your whole life so finding something new seemed daunting and boundless.

~~~~~

You’re shaking and curled in your chair, teetering close to falling to the floor but too frozen to right yourself when Mickey finds you. His arms go around you instantly, grounding you with his touch as you try your best to grasp onto the beat of his heart. He’s saying words into your ear, doing his best to break you out of this state but you don’t hear them. All you can hear is your father’s screams from that day eight years ago. They bounce around your head and get louder and louder until you realize that they aren’t. That’s the sound of you screaming. Your wordless pain has found a voice and it’s heartbreaking as you fall apart in Mickey’s arms. Absently you hear the sound of footsteps drawn by the sound of your screams. Your voice breaks from strain. You’re all screamed out and your breath still feels trapped in your lungs as you heave against Mickey and his words are slowly audible. You hear the gentle reassurances and feel his hands stroking your hair and back, the repetitive motion soothing your shakes until you’re simply still, lying in his arms.

“What was she screaming about?” You hear Bradley’s voice and feel Mickey’s body stiffen against yours protectively.

“What the fuck did you say to her?” His voice is pure fury, leaving him in a growl you’ve never heard from him. You’ve seen a lot of Mickey Garcia’s various sides, but you’ve never seen him really, truly angry until now.

“Me? Nothing.”

“You fucking liar, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY TO HER?!” Mickey’s shouting and you shudder at the vitriol in his voice as he screams at Bradley. You barely register more footsteps approaching over the commotion.

“She accused me of giving up and I told her she’d know a lot about that given that she just up and quit skating-” Then Mickey’s moving and you think you call out after him as he grabs Bradley by the collar and slams him into the wall. It only really works because the taller man is so startled by Mickey’s sudden attack.

“She didn’t up and quit skating!” Mickey growls into Bradley’s face as you watch his fist swing, connecting with Bradley’s nose, hard as he shouts. “HER MOM DIED, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” You could hear a pin drop or maybe that’s just the sound of Bradley’s blood hitting the tile floor as it drips from his nose until Jake’s pulling Mickey off of Bradley, his face a mask of quiet fury. Javy’s behind him, his eyes on where you’re still curled up in your chair, your cheeks soaked with tears. They’re not the ones you’re watching though. Your eyes are locked onto Bradley’s whisky ones. There’s something unreadable in them but amidst all that you see as much as you feel the regret. Regret and something else. It almost feels like he’s reaching for you with his eyes. You don’t get a chance to read him, however as Dare’s voice, full of fury cuts through the room.

“Bradshaw, go home, you’re done for the day.” Her jaw is set and her eyes are flashing with something unreadable as she jerks her chin to indicate that he should leave now. He nods silently, giving you one last lingering look before he leaves. Mickey is breathing heavily in Jake’s grasp, Bradley’s blood on his knuckles. Dare turns to him, giving him a sympathetic look. “Mickey, let’s chat in my office. Jake, Javy, walk him over.” Jake nods and he and Javy lead Mickey out. Mickey shoots you a look and you mouth thank you to him and he just gives you a grim look as he nods.

“Zam, are you alright?” You don’t notice her come up to you and while she stays respectfully on the other side of your desk, giving you space, you can see the concern in her eyes.

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly. You’re still shaken up. It’s been a long time since you’ve had a panic attack and you’re almost unfamiliar with what to do afterwards. “I’m going to call Bugs over and she can take you home for the day, how does that sound?” Mickey once told you that the greatest strength you can get is from leaning on your friends and right now you know that’s what you need so you leave your pride on the floor and nod. You can’t battle without an army and Bradley Bradshaw just declared war.

A/N: Do you ever look at Bradley Bradshaw and wonder what is going on inside his head? For the first time ever in the SDD, next chapter (yes, a MAIN CHAPTER) will be from Bradley’s POV 👀

#you catch more bees with honey // sdd #ycmbwh // sdd #san diego dogfighters #san diego dogfighters au #san diego dogfighters hockey au #Bradley Bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster Bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster x you #tgm hockey au #top gun maverick hockey au #TGM #top gun maverick

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britcision · 5 months

Text

So I made it 4 years without being struck down by AO3 Author Curse! But here we are. I’ll spare y’all the details but let’s just say “fuck this year” and leave it there. We’ve had the requisite Third Bad Thing and I will burn the universe down if it goes for a fourth

What this means for y’all, of course, is that there’s been a long ass break between last chapter and this one! Aaaaand this one is being broken in half because it is Longer Than Tumblr Allows

(And they’ve lessened how many paragraph breaks you get cuz this one is only about 9.5k and it made me add it in thirds, woe is me)

So, as usual, links to the first chapter, last chapter, and the link to the AO3 version is I think in BOTH, so if you can’t find it from there I can’t help you 😁

First Chapter:

Last Chapter:

And just a little recap where last we left off:

Bruce has gone to the Watchtower to debrief the Justice League about Amity Park and the Anti Ecto Acts, and been told that Jason has left the land of the living! But like, on purpose

Jason and Danny have gone to visit Frostbite and learned that they are ghost-bonded, which you should take seriously like being ghost-married, and that Jason is gonna pop out Pitty in a couple more days/weeks and have to emotionally raise a ghost-baby

Tucker, Tim, and Conner are all playing video games and hiding out from the Amity Parker/Bat Chat for Tim and Tucker’s mutual stalking ways, which Sam blew wide open by sharing Timblr, as punishment for Tucker not telling her they were all alive

(Danny’s off the hook cuz Tucker was haunting his phone with soundtracks for half the day)

And Damian’s off being Sketchy And Mysterious

————————

Well You Did Get Down On One Knee (part 1)

The evening was beginning to draw in, the sun getting low over Gotham city. Between her patrol the night before, helping Signal out with a case, and then that brief group heart attack about Jason, it had already been a really long day.

Spoiler cracked her neck a couple times and sighed, then sunk into the shadow behind a gargoyle.

It was smaller than usual… and occupied. Robin glowered up at her, leaping up to sit on the gargoyle’s head instead. He looked for all the world like he wanted to hiss at her like a cranky cat, which diffused all of Spoiler’s tension (but would only make his worse if she mentioned it. Maybe tomorrow).

Sighing philosophically she settled back against the base of the gargoyle, tipping her head back to see him.

“Hey… what are you doing out so early? Usually you lot wait until sundown to swing from the shadows,” she pointed out (rather fairly, she thought). Totally ignoring that she was 1000% usually one of “you lot”.

Robin just scowled disdainfully down at her, then twisted his head away to glare at the city instead.

“As if I needed any more reason to be out than you do,” he sniffed archly.

Spoiler grinned, puffing herself up. She did have an answer for this one, and, being generous or not, winding Robin up was always a treat.

“Hey, I was actually requested today. Signal needed a second pair of eyes on the back door of a bust. Didn’t see you there,” she added innocently, a brow rising.

It was technically possible that Robin could have suited up and left the manor in between Bruce’s message and Tim’s response. Spoiler wouldn’t put money on it though.

He’d have had to be on his way down already, and while they could all change quickly, there were no rushed or sloppy patches to her experienced eye.

His hair was even neatly slicked back into the traditional Robin spikes, one every Robin but her and Duke had used during their time as the baby bird.

Nah, he’d not rushed out in a panic, even if he was still more tense than he should have been. Every line of the kid was tight with… Spoiler cocked her head thoughtfully.

Frustration?

Definitely not unusual, Damian didn’t have Dick’s temper but he’d spent pretty much all of his first few years in Gotham unbearably frustrated with them all. It had just been a while since she’d seen it so… visibly.

And for all Steph was a gleeful little shit and loved poking at trouble, she wasn’t cruel. There was no point in pushing Robin if he was already on edge.

So she shrugged nonchalantly and looked forward instead, reaching back over her head to pat him gently on the foot. He didn’t dodge, which only cemented her decision.

“‘Course, no rule against taking a daylight run if you’re in the mood. See anything interesting?” She asked innocently.

Kid wouldn’t admit it if he had been worrying.

Silence reigned for another long moment, and then Robin huffed and dropped down to the rooftop beside her, folding himself back into the sharper shadow the waning daylight provided.

“No.” Short and sweet, unlike the kid himself.

But he also hadn’t left, and Spoiler was gonna call that a win.

“Will you be out tonight too?” She asked instead of pushing, reminding herself yet again; he’d open up in his own time.

Hypothetically.

Robin made a soft, disgusted noise, glowering at the smog filled sky. Probably even in the right direction for the Watchtower.

“I intend to be. Someone must keep an eye on things,” he grumbled, and Spoiler made an effort not to take it personally.

B had been majorly distracted with all this Amity Park business, not even breathing down their necks about the usual nightly reports. The rogues hadn’t exactly noticed yet, but the goons had.

The big Bat himself not making an appearance for a couple of nights usually attracted some comment, and an up-til-now entirely Bat-free new year?

The guys she’d helped Signal grab today had been muttering about it right until they ran into her arms. Fists.

They’d mentioned not seeing Stabby Robin either though.

Which she might as well also mention.

“Weren’t you out last night too? I saw your gear missing when I dropped by at the end of the night,” she added when he tensed again, hands wedged in her utility belt. “Didn’t hear you on comms though.”

And that was more than just rude; it was bad protocol, and Robin, for all his other faults, respected the strictness of protocol. Not being chatty was one thing, but if you were out on the town you had to call in.

He stayed silent, not looking at her. Spoiler decided he could use just a little nudge. Totally not because she was getting impatient. And nosy.

“Y’know unless you went out tech free I can just ask Oracle,” she pointed out gently, giving his shoulder a gentle bump.

It got him to glower up at her anyway.

“I was not on patrol,” he grumbled, whites of his mask narrowed before returning his glare to the city at large, “like I am not today.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Spoiler flipped a mental coin. Figured why not; they were already doing well.

Kid must be on the verge of having to, dread the thought, ask for help.

“And what would you be doing out and about if not patrolling…” she began, then stopped when a piece clicked suddenly into place.

Robin, Damian, was about as social as a feral cat. And about as friendly with anyone who got close to those he considered his.

Right now, Danny Fenton and his friends had more than half the family utterly wound up. All except Bruce in a good way, Spoiler was the first to admit, but Robin wouldn’t see it like that.

The only trick was, how to word the question.

Spoiler liked blunt. It made her stand out from the bats, who all played way too much mental and emotional chicken to be healthy. She’d always been more of a bird that way.

“Wouldn’t have anything to do with Hood’s little disappearance today, would it?” She asked instead, grinning broadly when Robin twitched.

Hit the nail on the head.

From the scowl he shot her he knew it too, and looked away quickly enough that he knew there was no taking it back. He folded his arms across his chest and sulked and fuck he was just adorable.

She’d bet anything Dick used to pout exactly like that.

Still, she tempered the grin down to a slight smile. Dropped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently and letting go when he pulled away.

“Worried me too. Were you close enough to see anything?” Because yeah, if Robin was already at least on his way into uniform before the message arrived?

Spoiler would put easy, easy money on him having been already tailing Jason and Danny around. Last night too, probably. She and Cass had left early to take the night shift, leaving Tim and Damian with the Amity Parkers.

Damian had one hell of a dose of his father’s paranoia, and Steph considered it a solemn duty to teach him about personal boundaries to keep him from turning out just like the old bat.

Just a little friendly stalking from the rooftops didn’t really count though. Not between family.

Robin had tensed right up again too, but when she didn’t push the contact or needle at him he slowly relaxed back down. Scowled at her feet instead of his own.

“No,” he admitted bitterly, both at definitely having been busted and probably at having nothing to report, “Todd… Hood spoke to the magician. They argued, he went back inside Freeze’s place and did not reappear when his tracker went through the roof and into the sky.”

Spoiler blinked, mildly surprised.

“Hood was wearing a tracker? Didn’t think he was in the mood.”

“He wasn’t,” Robin corrected with a derisive sniff.

And… yeah, they were gonna have to do a little more work on that whole “boundaries” thing. Although the odds of Hood not noticing that he’d been tagged were lower than Robin probably thought. Keeping a tag on him that he didn’t want there?

Nah. She may not exactly trust Jason, but that was how she knew how good he was at finding and disabling rogue trackers. And sure, Damian was better than her at some things, but if Cass couldn’t sneak a tracker onto Red Hood no one could.

Kinda cute that Jason let the little guy think he’d successfully bugged him.

At least the constant mild stalking was just standard for the family.

Shaking her head, she gave him a gentle nudge with her elbow.

“That’s rough. Flying’s cheating,” she commiserated with a sly look to the sky.

She’d heard a super cross Oracle’s radar. Conner, almost certainly if Robin was still out alone.

Too bad he’d not thought to call his own Superboy, though taking flight himself wouldn’t have helped if dimensional travel followed.

Robin made another disgusted little tut, then pushed off the gargoyle and stormed away. Spoiler watched him go for a moment, then shrugged.

“Hey, go get some sleep if you’re coming back out tonight,” she called after him. Grinned when he flipped her off without turning.

If he’d been off stalking Jason and Danny two days in a row, he’d need some rest.

“And don’t forget your report,” she teased and actually laughed when he raised his other hand to flip her off with both before leaping off the edge of the roof, swinging back towards the bat cave.

Stephanie Brown had never been prouder in her life than the first day Damian had said “fuck” in front of his dad. Far be it from her to demand anyone transform into a social butterfly, but she personally was pretty damn sure that nothing was gonna help Damian out of his “raised by assassins” shell than learning some good old fashioned swearwords.

And a little teenaged rebellion. The proudest day was totally gonna be when he finally told his grandfather to fuck off (or any suitable equivalent; Steph wasn’t choosy).

Leaning back into the gargoyle’s shadow, Spoiler surveyed the city below. Technically, she’d been out as long as Damian had; if she wanted to be out tonight she’d need a quick nap too.

Or, more fun, she could nip back to the manor, kidnap Cass, and they could find and bully Tim and Tucker in person. Yeah, that was gonna be it.

Jason was feeling good, really. Actually a little surprised at how good, considering.

That crunchy little ecto-ice chip had been better than a gallon of coffee, filling him with energy like he’d actually gotten a full night’s sleep. (Not that he knew much about how that actually felt, at least not when not recovering from serious injury.)

He hadn’t actually felt this good since the night Danny slept over, which had been the night before last. Didn’t sound all that impressive, except that it had been the best he’d felt in half a decade.

Maybe the full decade. For all Robin made him magic, skipping sleep to fight crime had done a number on him in his teens. If he’d been as willing as Dickie and Tim to slack on his schoolwork, maybe…

Yeah, no, Tim was the poster child for Do Not Emulate This Sleep Schedule.

What mattered was that even after running the docks down with Black Bat for more than half the night and then getting up to get Danny, Jason felt fucking great.

Even after three separate courses of Bruce’s bullshit, both directly and through the medium of John fucking Constantine. Not so long ago, Bruce would never even dare call him, much less try and set up a bat cave ambush. That… was probably technically a good sign?

Didn’t feel like one at the moment, but Jason actually felt almost good enough to be charitable with the old bat. A little emotionally wrung out, sure, but he felt lighter for… having whatever that had been. Like the stress that had been compacting his chest had finally eased.

Jason was self aware enough to admit he’d probably had more than one breakdown owed to him. Maybe not a “take to the bed”, “trip to the sea” full Victorian lady meltdown, but he’d had a whole baby dropped on him. Except somehow worse.

He damn well deserved that freak out, and now that it was over and he’d been given what kinda felt like the ghost equivalent of speed… He felt like his brain was finally working again.

Which… meant he was fully processing that his fucking soul was vibrating in time with Danny’s. And every other ghost could just. Tell.

That was gonna make fight club… actually, Jason had no idea what the fuck it was gonna make fight club. By all accounts Danny being the Ghost King hadn’t made any of them less likely to throw down with him.

If anything, Danny had warned Jason that him being a “young” ghost would make the others more eager to fight. It was a kind of play, bonding and teaching the new baby their powers.

Sounded fucking terrifying by all accounts and Jason was just glad he had Danny to explain it to him, since apparently full ghosts just… knew it wasn’t serious. Even baby ghosts came into existence recognising the game.

Halfas didn’t.

Whiiiich meant that all the “playful” threats of dismemberment had sounded pretty fucking real to Danny, back when he’d been a baby ghost and had half the Zone flocking to “play” with him.

Pitty let out a rumbly little growl, like a sulking dog and Jason hid a snicker. Yeah, he’d also be kicking their asses that little bit harder for that given half a chance.

Actually, if they kept holding fight club, Pitty could take a chunk out of them itself.

That thought got him a contented little purr, which was weird enough that Jason was going to focus back in on Frostbite’s broader explanation. Which… he should have been doing anyway. At least this part wasn’t solely for his benefit though.

“In the sense that you have tied yourselves together, it may be somewhat like a marriage… however, it is a very different relationship. In a true love-union, your signatures would beat in time,” the yeti explained, gesturing once more to the screen.

Jason’s blob continued to pulse and blur a fraction of a beat behind Danny’s. Definitely not quite in time.

This was a relief. Yup. And Jason’s cheeks definitely weren’t any warmer than they’d been a minute ago, before he knew that, again, his fucking soul was echoing Danny’s.

Frostbite gave his tablet a couple more taps, and a pulsing blue line linked the images on the screen.

“In your case, young knight, your allegiance is marked in both your resonance and in your aura, which now carries a link to your King. In this way, even if the Great One is not beside you, all ghosts will know that you are the chosen protector of their King. His status is what defines your role as a knight, instead of a more casual bond.”

“No one’s king yet,” Danny protested, folding his arms and leaning into Jason’s side. Letting a little more of his weight rest on him.

Jason leaned in too, frowning from the screen to Frostbite.

“And all the other ghosts can just… see this?” He asked, not really sure what he was hoping to be told.

Frostbite switched from giving Danny a fond smile back to Jason, nodding brightly.

“Oh yes. Ectoplasm is very easily influenced by emotion, and bonds can form quite quickly. I presume you took an oath?” He asked, eyes sparkling in a way that made Jason pretty damn sure he’d met Clockwork.

Which, now that he thought about it…

Jason huffed out another deep breath, running a hand through his hair. As much as John Fucking Constantine specifically could ride a cactus straight to Hell… the guy mighta had the faintest inkling of a point about one thing.

“Yeah… about that.” He pulled a face, gaze tracking away from the others and down to the floor.

Would they think he was a dumbass too? Danny had been there when Clockwork made the offer and he’d been pretty against it, but Jason had thought he understood why.

It hadn’t sounded anything like Constantine’s claims of what he’d signed up for.

In the end, it was easier to address the question to Frostbite’s large hairy toes.

“I, uh… I made an oath to Clockwork, but do I have… a contract or something? The asshole magician I mentioned earlier was going on and on about eternal fucking servitude bullshit but it’d be nice to have something to shove in his face,” he added quickly, arm slipping back and almost around Danny (but with his hand still firmly on the table).

He didn’t need to wait to feel the guilt in Danny’s aura to head it off.

Jason wasn’t having second thoughts. He wasn’t sorry for what he’d signed up for, and when it came right down to it…

He didn’t think people could lie through their auras. Even when he was trying to project something like “I’m fine” and he wasn’t, he was pretty sure Danny could tell.

He could sure as hell tell when Danny was bluffing through his, which had happened maybe once total.

He trusted Danny. He trusted Frostbite. He even mostly trusted Clockwork, because for all the guy had been a little sketchy, Jason had felt his sincerity. How deeply he cared for Danny.

Keeping Danny safe forever didn’t sound like eternal servitude. Eternal babysitting, maybe, if Danny was being a pain in the ass, but he’d never top Damian at his most bratty.

Jason woulda been trying to protect Danny anyway. As far as he knew, knighthood just made that easier.

Which was another reason he’d like a look at his contract. You didn’t make it onto the streets as Robin without learning to read for loopholes, hidden clauses, and fine print. He may have already signed on the dotted line, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find some wiggle room.

Danny, about to say something either apologetic or self deprecating, huffed out a breath as Jason’s arm slipped around him. Winded up giving him a half smile instead.

“Yeah… that’s a good point. I still need to find out if I can fire your ass.”

“Still didn’t hire me,” Jason pointed out archly, bumping his arm to knock Danny forwards a little.

The other halfa huffed a laugh this time and bumped him back.

“Yeah, and I gotta work out how to hire you so I can then immediately fire you,” he shot back.

Frostbite cut them both off with a raised hand, though he still looked fondly amused. Like they were cute little kids or something stupid.

“You will have to discuss this with Clockwork directly, young knight, but I do not believe a knighthood typically comes with a contract. It is a duty one is granted, and one that may be rescinded if you fail, but it is not a deal,” he explained patiently.

Jason’s brows furrowed a little, but at least he could feel Danny’s confusion-puzzled-not sure beside him too. He wasn’t the only one who wasn’t quite sure what that meant.

Maybe he shoulda looked a little more into magic shit while he was with the League of Assassins. That would have been the time, especially if the Lazarus Pits were the just grunged ectoplasm.

“It kinda sounded like a deal when he offered it,” he said almost as a question, glancing back at Danny for confirmation.

Danny nodded. So it wasn’t just Jason.

“He gave me a cool magic gun in exchange for keeping Danny hale and hearty. Protecting him in the living and Infinite realms,” Jason added in case the wording counted, more sure as he remembered some of the reasons.

Fuck, had that only been a week ago? It felt like it’d been a whole year.

Frostbite gave them a neutral shrug, inclining his head.

“As I said, you will need to ask Clockwork directly. All I can tell you is that it is not innate to the position; a knighthood is not usually something bought and sold,” he explained patiently.

Danny hummed an agreement, cheek resting on Jason’s shoulder again.

“It’s normally all ghost-to-ghost too, so is there a way we can check if the halfa thing has changed it?” He asked Frostbite, leaning against the table too and totally not actually putting his arm around Jason back.

Jason felt a little more tension leech back out of him. Which raised another good point, actually.

“And not related or anything, but if you gave me a buncha those ice crystals could I just chew them to get the ecto for…” he hesitated, waving his free hand at his general chest area again.

Honestly, given half a chance he’d love to get a bowl full and try and pop the pit out in one go… it’d probably be easier to train from outside his body where it wouldn’t immediately know he was so full of shit… his own aura notwithstanding.

Yeah, he was still a little worried about being anyone’s emotional guide, but if he could just get the damn thing out in the world… maybe it could have other guides too.

“To answer the simpler question first, young knight, unfortunately the energized ectoplasm is only a short term boost and will not affect either of your cores. I will provide you with a small supply to assist your emotional control whilst you stabilize, if you wish?” Frostbite offered gently, a slight smile on his face.

Jason hesitated, considering things for a moment, then nodded. Sure, it wasn’t a solid “yes here is the answer to all your problems Jason just smack it in”, but it was a concrete solution to what had actually been worrying him.

Having another one of those weird “episodes”. He’d still be waiting to get Pitty all the way out, but at least he had a backup plan until then. He could pop an ecto-crystal each morning, get some energy, and worry less about night patrols.

Shit, he’d have more energy than he’d had since he died. The others were gonna be jealous as hell, but it wasn’t like they could steal and take his ghost meds. Probably.

Jason… wasn’t quite ready to think about the panic attack itself. He felt fine now, way better, and it wasn’t like it was the first he’d had.

Just…

Just the first that he remembered. That his heart started racing, his head rushing, ears filled with rushing static and the world hadn’t just melted into a green haze of blood and violence.

His early training with the League of Assassins had involved a lot of losing himself to the Pit. He’d wake up days later, body aching with exertions he couldn’t remember, and be told how many he’d killed.

Good news: no fear of that either, apparently. Pitty wasn’t pulling for control anymore, so the green haze was all Jason’s own.

Joy.

He had a nasty feeling that Danny would notice him spiralling from anywhere in Gotham. And probably ditch class to come check on him.

Like Hell. Jason’d fucking call Harley first, put himself through some breathing exercises or whatever, he did not need an emotional support Ghost King.

He gave Frostbite a quick nod, a small smile forming almost without thinking about it. The yeti was just… so caring and helpful. Not exactly something Jason had a wealth of experience with. He’d probably be a great example for Pitty.

Frostbite returned the smile, making a quick note on his tablet.

“And of course, your ghostly parent or a mentor should also be able to assist you. Spending time with those who are important to you, especially a comforting figure will help both your control and your core formation,” the yeti added in a slightly pointed way, like he’d read Jason’s mind, and Jason had to stifle a laugh.

Frostbite might be an eight foot tall hairy yeti, but he’d get along with Alfred like a house on fire… he was even as stubborn about not using their names as Alfred was about nicknames.

And when Jason thought about someone comforting, the beacon of emotional maturity and constraint… it could only be Alfred. He was more grandparent than parent, but certainly the only mentor Jason still looked up to. And a paragon of control besides.

Alfred could help him with Pitty. Model a little actual emotional restraint and control for the both of them. The only question was if Jason could just be up front and ask him, possibly revealing the secret early, or if he’d have to come up with an excuse for them to hang out.

Stupid thought. Jason knew damn well he could just walk into the kitchen and Alfred would be more than happy to spend time together. He wouldn’t need a ruse; he wouldn’t even need an excuse.

The knowledge settled warm and soft and happy inside him, until his brain caught up with his ears and stopped him short.

Wait.

“Ghost parent?” He asked cautiously, looking from Frostbite to Danny again. Danny pulled a face but Frostbite beat him to the punch.

“Ah, yes. We did not discuss that last time either. Your ghost parent, young knight, is the second strongest bond a young ghost can have. They are the ghost who welcomes you into the Infinite Realms, who will guide your steps and protect you until your own haunt has formed.”

Brows furrowing, Jason twisted to frown more directly at Danny, not quite sure if he was looking for confirmation or asking a question of his own.

Cuz, y’know, other than the whole “protecting until his haunt formed” (and Jason certainly didn’t need protecting), that sounded a lot like what Danny had been doing. Which would totally make it weird if Jason was a knight to his own ghost-dad.

Clearly following the same lines, Danny raised both hands and shook his head, almost but not quite stepping out of reach.

“Oh no, it’s not me. You’ve had a ghost parent long before I came along,” he said emphatically, the sudden panic on his face making Jason feel better about his own response to surprise parenthood.

He magnanimously decided not to tease Danny about it, turning instead to give Frostbite a questioning look.

“Should I know who my ghost parent is? Who gets to decide?” He asked cautiously. He’d never met another ghost before Danny, but he had this awful sinking feeling that Ra’s al Ghul might have more to do with the realms than just the pits, and he was the closest proxy. Even Tallia would be better. Maybe even Bruce.

Reading his tension, Frostbite clapped a massive furry hand on Jason’s shoulder, smile and aura both full of comfort-reassurance-calm.

“Normally yes young knight, though yours is a special case. Usually when a young ghost first finds its way to the realms, one of the first ghosts they encounter will take them under their wing. It is an honour to care for a young ghost, and a halfa even more so,” he explained gently.

Beside Jason, Danny snorted loudly.

“Oh, yeah, they totally come running to play happy families. Super wholesome,” he grumbled, arms folded as he leaned back into Jason’s weight.

Honestly, Jason could kinda spot common threads between what Frostbite just said and what Danny had told him about Fight Club; the play fighting was supposed to be about sharing powers, right? Just, y’know, between people with shit verbal communication to actually check in that everyone was on the same page.

The yeti sighed fondly, his hand moving from Jason’s shoulder to rest proudly on Danny’s. Given the width of Danny’s shoulders respective to the hand, the last two fingers were back on Jason’s other shoulder.

“Again, Great One, your circumstances were also exceptional. You did not explore the Ghost Zone until after you had established yourself to many as a competent fighter and protector of your haunt, which along with certain… adventures led most to believe you were far older than you are,” Frostbite explained patiently, with just the faintest hint that they’d been through this before.

Danny rolled his eyes and shot Jason double finger guns.

“Yyyyup, which is why I don’t have to deal with any of this “ghost parent” business,” he agreed brightly, tipping Jason a smirk, “get good.”

Jason flipped him off, but there was something… not in his aura, Frostbite’s was still very carefully toned back all calm medical professional, but in the creasing of the yeti’s eyes. Now, ghost yetis were definitely a new species and Batman drilled them all on the dangers of extrapolating body language on new species, but Jason had done his time on alien planets.

Something in the change, something in the shift, a little quirk of the brow Jason had noted when the yeti was amused. There was something funny here, and it wasn’t Danny’s quip.

Putting his suspicions aside for now, Jason settled on the more pressing matter.

“So who is my ghost parent? When do I get to meet them?” He asked cautiously, still not entirely convinced he hadn’t accidentally imprinted on Ra’s or Tallia. Cuz he hadn’t been in the Zone before Danny either.

Danny himself, much less concerned, waved a hand vaguely.

“Oh, we’ll deal with that on the way home. Go do a proper meet and greet, that sort of thing,” he said nonchalantly, and Jason’s shoulders settled a little.

“They’re in the Zone then?” He prodded a little further, not fully willing to let the matter just drop. If he had to ghost-emancipate himself, he’d rather be ready sooner than later.

Danny grinned toothily at him.

“Usually. We’ll see if she’s around, but it might have to be another day. Gotta deal with our other list first, like if our whole halfa deal is gonna do anything to the knight thing, or your core coming in,” he added, looking expectantly at Frostbite.

Jason almost missed what he said next as his heart skipped a beat, a possibility he’d never even considered slamming home.

She.

Someone dead, if they were in the Ghost Zone.

Someone who’d claimed him as her son long ago, guided him as best she could. Someone he’d never expected to see again, not even having died and returned to life himself.

No chance, he told himself quickly, hurriedly refocusing on the conversation at hand. About his bond with Danny, about their shared fucked biology, about his whole undead future.

There was no point dredging up the past until he actually knew.

Frostbite was back in his familiar role of teacher, that same proud/warm/fond smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as he looked at Danny.

“For your bond, Great One, I am not sure what I would even test for. The young knight presently has no ghost form, yet the bond is present exactly as if he had. I am afraid we have no records of former halfas, so any problems which occurred before are long lost.”

The yeti gave the tablet another few careful claw strokes, pulling up lines and lines of scrolling numbers and data beside each of their silhouettes on the wall screen. Forcing himself to the present, Jason scanned them quickly.

Unsurprisingly, he couldn’t actually make heads or tails of it; ghost vitals couldn’t really include things like heartbeat, blood oxygenation, or anything they’d test for in the med bay.

Not until Bruce found out about all this crap anyway - Jason wouldn’t put it past him to try and buy out everything the Far Frozen had in his latest snit of paranoia. The second he got over his “oh no Jason is going somewhere I can’t supervise him”, obviously.

Frostbite clearly knew what it all meant though, highlighting a couple of different areas where Danny’s numbers were very different from Jason’s and giving him that reassuring smile.

“After your first transformation I would expect some of these to change, and it is likely that any differences in your particular bond would show then as well. Your ghost form will of course be entirely ectoplasmic, so the bond will be more present than it is even now.”

That snapped Jason from his internal flailing, and he grimaced at the reminder.

Because… yeah. They’d talked a lot about his first transformation, he and Danny. But the only thing Danny hadn’t really known was when to expect it.

“Yeah… about that. I know the basics, inversion of my moment of death crap, I’ll be able to change it eventually, yadda yadda,” and that was its own sword of Damacles hanging with the mistletoe, “but… when will it happen? Like, will it just… happen? Or will I… yeah.”

Even wording the question made him feel like the whole thing was just too complicated. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to ask; what to look for? Would there be symptoms? Would he just un-die again in the street?

Luckily Frostbite seemed much more comfortable, hitting a few buttons on his tablet. Jason’s scan took over the full screen once more, zoomed in on the two orbs in his chest.

They were pulsing too, growing brighter and dimmer along with the more defined throb of the ectoplasm. Which was actually when he noticed that both cores were throbbing, so… was Pitty also a knight?

That was going on the list of questions for Clockwork like, yesterday. If he could get it its own little fear gun…

“As you can see, your core is still fuzzy around the edges and incompletely formed; once these edges have smoothed out, you will hypothetically be able to transform at any time,” Frostbite explained, blissfully aware of Jason’s new train of thought.

Probably for the best. Jason reluctantly refocused on the screen, tabling the idea of Sir Pitty for now. Nice to have something actually positive to look forward to.

He didn’t really remember seeing much of the screen during his last appointment, but he had seen the perfect sphere of Danny’s core, and his looked… well, like Frostbite said, smaller and kinda fuzzy. Like a ball of dough after it started sticking to your hands and losing its shape.

He frowned and nodded, looking back to Frostbite and then glancing around at Danny.

“So not until the next appointment, probably? Will it just… happen out of nowhere? Or will I need to trigger it?” It kinda helped, narrowing the scope. Dealing with it one step at a time.

Danny gave a helpless shrug.

“My powers started activating randomly, but I didn’t actually transform until I was in danger. Not like, life threatening danger,” he added with a roll of his eyes, like he’d heard Pitty’s growl… or maybe Jason had echoed it. “It was just Lunch Lady, she was never gonna really hurt us. She just made a mess and tried to feed everyone meat.”

Jason privately added Lunch Lady to his “asses to kick” list. On principle.

Frostbite gave a thoughtful nod, a large hand clapping down on Jason’s shoulder a lot harder than he’d probably intended. He didn’t flinch, but before his pit-growth-spurt it might have knocked him over.

“We can experiment more once your core is complete here in the Zone, and I would recommend waiting until Pitty has been expelled, if possible. Of course, any other changes in your knighthood bond will likely make themselves known with your first change as well,” the yeti mused, quite pleased with the idea.

Jason hesitated before agreeing, worry twisting through him again before he tamped it back down.

He wasn’t that scared little boy anymore; not inside. Besides, the bond was already firmly in place.

His soul was resonating a pace behind Danny’s.

It wasn’t like that little trip back to the moment of his death was gonna make Danny suddenly reject him.

The poor guy was probably stuck with Jason for life anyway at this point, which for a pair of halfas meant pretty much forever.

There was not a single thing on Earth or the Watchtower that he wanted less than to stop and talk to John Fucking Constantine and Diana after the meeting.

To be completely fair, Constantine clearly didn’t want to have that conversation any more either; Bruce had not been wrong about how well the magician would take the news that the United States had declared war on an entire dimension.

He was visibly green, had actually ground an unlit cigarette into a grainy mess against the table in lieu of lighting up, and looked about ready to lick up the tobacco.

Diana did not look happy either, but she never had. Her face was as stony and grave as Bruce had ever seen it, concern writ large even as she caught his eye.

The sure knowledge that her lasso would follow if he tried to leave was the only thing that kept him from ignoring her.

But since the only thing he wanted in the world at this moment was to have his son in his arms, and there was no chance of that happening until they were in the same dimension once more…

Bruce shot a quick, questioning look at Clark as the traitor made his way to the exit along with the rest of the Justice League. The Kryptonian at least had the grace to look a little guilty as he shook his head, stepping quickly out the door.

Wonder Woman hadn’t specifically told everyone else to get the fuck out. She had simply molded herself into an immovable force, concluded the meeting, and instructed Bruce alone to remain and discuss these… complications.

Bruce considered making an argument for Superman’s inclusion. They were the original three, and they’d probably need at least his and Aquaman’s help to handle the diplomatic situation.

Possibly the Oa, and Bruce was quite sure Green Lantern wasn’t looking forward to that possibility any more than he was. Hal Jordan talked a good game, always far too flippant, but he’d been pale enough by the end of the lecture that his suit made him look frankly unwell.

Unpleasant times would be in all of their futures it seemed. It was no real comfort as he slipped into a seat across from Wonder Woman and the slumped form of John Constantine.

The magician didn’t even look up, but clearly noticed.

“Didn’t fuckin’ think anyone’d fuck this up worse’n you, Bats,” he groaned, face still pressed into the table.

Bruce grunted, uninterested in his judgement.

“There are new complications we should focus on.” A vain hope, and one Diana instantly crushed.

“One that makes the contents of our discussion all the more vital,” she corrected sharply, piercing blue eyes narrowed as she watched his face. “It seems we have already caused unintentional offence.”

Which was an extremely light way to phrase the declared genocide, but Bruce didn’t bother arguing that position. Not when Constantine would do it for him.

But the mage just let out a long, hearty groan.

“Offence. Yeah. Maybe if we saw off the United States and toss it through a portal the rest of us will be fine,” he snarked, raising his head just enough to bang it off the table. Repeatedly.

By the third bang Diana gripped the back of his head, holding him in place against the table.

“Whatever the situation,” she growled, her tone daring either of them to comment, “we must deal with it as it is. You believe we would have noticed any countermeasures from the former Ghost King?”

She released her grip a moment later, and Constantine rolled his head just enough to glare at her through one eye.

“Pariah Dark? Sister, it wouldn’ta been a single town bein’ pulled off the map. We’d have lost the continent, and probably the world. You wouldn’t miss it,” he added with a bitter laugh, clearly considering banging his head off the table again.

Diana placed a hand on the table. Constantine set his head back down gently.

“And the new king?” She prodded, all icy control.

Bruce had to admit, even he felt calmer watching her.

He knew all the follies and foibles of gods, had no delusions about the limits of her power. He also knew her strengths. Her wisdom. Her ability to cut through complex issues with sword or words.

Whatever he missed, she was removed enough from this mess to catch.

Constantine shrugged, still not rising.

“No fuckin’ clue. All I know is they’re better’n Pariah, which is the lowest damn bar I ever saw. They call them Balance, and we’re not gonna fuckin’ like when the scales come due.”

Bruce’s brows furrowed. What could be a sufficient counterweight for demanding a whole people be hunted and experimented on until extinction?

The dead always vastly outnumbered the living.

Diana cut across his thoughts, her tone as sharp as her blade.

“So you believe we’d notice.”

Constantine sighed heavily and flopped back in his seat hard enough that he nearly toppled over. Diana steadied the chair with one hand, eyebrow rising archly.

Constantine stopped flailing, went to fold his arms, and instead stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Probably’d be pretty hard to miss too,” he agreed gruffly. Diana nodded, having received the answer she wanted, and interlaced her fingers.

“Then we have time to rectify matters before word reaches his ears.” She paused, brow furrowing as she recounted John’s words. “Do we not know if the King is a man?”

Constantine shrugged again, pulling something unidentifiable from his pocket before hastily shoving it back in, coming out again with a lighter. He spun it between his fingers, eyes fixed on the metal lid.

“Nah. “King” is just a loose translation to living tongues, for what yer used to. Easier to say than “Supreme High Ruler, Core of the Realms”. Not even likely that they were ever human; not even the Ancients could take Pariah solo to take the crown, so a human ghost wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Huffing out a mighty breath, Constantine looked from the lighter to Bruce, his gaze somehow immeasurably more tired. Bruce had imagined that talking about Amity Park made the man look ancient.

He looked haggard enough to be an ancient ghost himself now.

Raising his other hand, he began counting off points on his fingers.

“We know they’re young. Everything agrees on that. Could be any time in the past few centuries, but it’s still a timeline. We know they’re tougher’n Hell and all its demons put together, cuz they put Pariah down single handed. Had to to get the throne. Might not have Ended him, the Casket of Eternal Slumber’s not turned up looking for a new occupant.”

The magician stared at his two fingers for a moment, then sighed and raised a third.

“And we know ghosts like them. They’re less scared, though most of ‘em never knew shit about Pariah. Didn’t even react to him waking, which had to happen for the change in power. That or it all went down too fast for the shockwaves to reach us here; not bloody likely. Wouldn’t take more than a day, and ghosts fight for decades on a whim.”

He hesitated for a moment, considering that last finger. Finally he sighed and shook his head.

“Can’t rule it out though. Pariah waking up’d be as much an emergency for them as it’d be for us, putting his ass back down is an all hands on deck situation on either side of the veil. If this new king is Balance, Pariah’d be their opposite,” he finished gruffly, glaring at all three digits before stuffing both hands into his pockets.

Bruce nodded, drawing a deep, calming breath in through his nose and then out through his mouth. Even this much discussion had something itching in the back of his mind, a building tension that he had to Get Away.

He was in control of it though. Could tell the difference between his own unease and the burning ember of the oath.

Turn and run right away his ass. Magic could never hold out against cool, calm logic.

“And this new king, Balance, has stamped a damn mark on Jason.”

And his breath hitched.

Sharp, white hot panic flared behind his eyes, every muscle clenching with the effort of not leaping straight from the table. The only reason he didn’t was because he had no idea where to go.

What would he even do? Run to Jason’s side? The boy was in another dimension, far beyond Bruce’s reach.

Again.

He was losing Jason again. Losing him to this Ghost King, this Balance, this-

Diana’s hand clamped firmly over his, the amazon’s grip immovable steel. Bruce felt his bones grinding together before he even noticed he’d stopped breathing, before he managed to look up enough to meet her eyes.

Stern, determined, brilliant blue locked with his. Her grip tightened a little further, the ribbing on his gloves creaking with the pressure.

She wouldn’t break them… probably. They were designed to hold up against any of the supers the League dealt with. Prolonged contact was another thing entirely though.

His attention now locked on her face, Bruce managed a deep breath in along with her. Held it when she did. Let it out.

She didn’t release him for another few repetitions, until he was breathing mostly on his own again. Then she returned her attention to Constantine.

“What.” It wasn’t aggressive. Just a completely flat, completely toneless statement.

Constantine gave her an entirely hopeless smile, pulling his hands from his pockets to give her jazz hands.

“And that’s what he’s not ready to hear yet. Your boy, Jason, Red Hood, has gotten himself personally warded by the Ghost King. He’s the next thing to invulnerable right now,” he added bitterly, as if that made any of it better.

An icy hand clenched in Bruce’s chest again, but he forced himself to still. To breathe through it. To not turn and run, run until he found his child and tore him away from whatever influence had him.

The Ghost King had a hold of Jason. Jason who’d all but ordered Bruce to let him go.

“And Jason must have been in direct contact with the King to receive these wards?” Diana asked sharply, and Bruce’s head snapped back to her.

It was a good question. Important, obvious, there was a connection there that he should be making, but he couldn’t think. His head was spinning, heart pounding, and every shadow seemed black as pitch.

Constantine grunted an agreement, shooting Bruce an almost sympathetic look.

Could. Could this be the oath? Not his own instinctive, natural panic?

Bruce couldn’t tell, he’d been so afraid for so long, ever since he held Jason’s broken body in his arms. Ever since he buried his son.

It felt the same. But he had mastered that fear long ago, so this would not control him now. He had to be better.

Frowning at Diana, he leaned forward.

“Explain.” She’d probably assumed that he’d made the same connection. He probably should have.

There was just a brief flash of surprise on her face before her expression softened, her hand gentling over his.

“Jason was the one who told you of these Anti Ecto Acts, was he not?” She asked pointedly, a dark brow arching delicately.

Bruce about managed a grunt of agreement, his jaw clenched too tightly to speak. She waited a moment longer, watching his face, and then sighed.

“Then is it not likely that either he has told Balance of these Acts, or that Balance was the one that told him?”

Constantine jerked and got halfway through a bellowed curse before she cut him off with a glare. Her tone brooked no argument as she continued with a firm, frosted patience.

“Jason is a principled young man, even if not of the exact principles you prefer. Either he has warned you because he believes we have time to fix this, or because the King would prefer we handle it,” she said bluntly.

It sounded so simple, put like that. Far too simple. Bruce shook his head, leaning in.

“We can’t know for sure-”

“Batman.” There was nothing harsh in her tone. Nothing so overtly aggressive as the glare she kept giving Constantine. Just a calm, cool statement that sucked the air from his lungs.

The weight of her own mantle, the Amazon princess who would one day be Queen. Not his friend Diana; Wonder Woman.

Once she was sure he wouldn’t continue, she fixed him with a sapphire stare.

“Do you believe Jason Todd would condone the end of the world?” She asked simply, and that at least was that plain.

“No.” It didn’t even require thought; whatever he feared ever since his son took his first life, Bruce knew that.

Jason was fundamentally a good boy. So kind, so giving, ironically he had been the most well adjusted boy Bruce had ever given the mantle to.

Which was what made what he’d become so painful. It was everything he never should have been.

Wonder Woman nodded as if that solved all the rest.

“And yet you called the meeting, not him. He has known for several days already and did nothing to alert any of us. Therefore, he does not believe this is an urgent threat.”

It sounded good, and Bruce almost believed it before Constantine snorted.

“Yeah, great, except the kid has no fuckin’ clue what he’s dealing with. Didn’t even know he’d been fuckin’ marked or that sellin’ his fuckin’ service was the dumbest fuckin’ thing he coulda done,” he grumbled and Bruce’s heart fell.

Wonder Woman was not so easily swayed. She raised an eyebrow slowly at the magician.

“And could those protective marks have been placed on Jason against his will?” She asked pointedly, like she knew the first thing about magic.

Constantine hesitated. Frowned a little, thinking hard. Finally he threw both hands in the air and leaned back in his chair, scrubbing them down his face.

“Technically, yes, alright? But I can’t think of a damn reason why they’d bother. Like I told the old Bat, it’s technically a good thing; I couldn’t even get a basic diagnostic spell off, he’s completely fuckin’ magic proof an’ anythin’ that can read that ward will run like fuck.”

Something in Bruce’s chest flickered hopefully. Wonder Woman nodded firmly, then redirected her stare to him.

“Then until we have reason not to, we assume that Jason Todd has control of this situation. He has assigned us to deal with these Acts, either before his king discovers them or on their behalf. You, Batman, will defer to his experience along with that of our experts,” she declared with all the ringing command she was capable of.

It chafed. And yet… he could hear the echo of Harley’s words in her voice.

What if Jason was wrong? It was the kind of thing he always thought about, the kind of thing he couldn’t stop thinking about. The kind of thing that had the Batman able to stand and go toe to toe with gods.

But what if Jason was right? What if Harley, Diana, Constantine were right, and his usual measures would spell disaster?

He had a dozen contingency plans that any member of the League could use to take him down. He was painfully aware that the first one, the one he’d already shown to Superman and Wonder Woman, only had two words in it.

Diana’s Judgement.

She hadn’t technically invoked it yet. Had never bothered asking exactly what he meant by it; she wasn’t one to back down from hard subjects, which meant she’d also never bothered hiding how little she thought of his contingency plans.

His League-specific ones, anyway. She liked the ones he had for the rogues and various end of the world crises.

It meant moments like this, where she would give him her honest, simple judgement and reign him in.

(Technically it also meant that he trusted her to decide when she needed to snap his neck, but Martian Manhunter always looked at him with disappointment when he thought about that side too much.)

Looking back to her face, he managed to meet her eyes and nod once. It went against every instinct he had, every year of experience and loss, but…

If he couldn’t do things he didn’t like, he’d never have become Batman.

Head spinning with a plethora of new information, bag of ecto candies in hand, Jason deliberately slowed down to let Danny precede him out of Frostbite’s office.

That little suspicion had been growing, kindling the more they discussed halfa anatomy and bonds, and honestly? Yes, he had been using it as an excuse to think about something other than his own problems.

Danny seemed not to notice, disappearing past the doorway as Jason looked up at Frostbite. Figured fuck it; he didn’t know how much time he had. Best be blunt.

“You’re Danny’s ghost parent, aren’t you?” He asked, knowing from the yeti’s face as he did that he was right.

The way it froze for just a moment, eyes flicking to the door Danny had just left through. Then the smile that spread, knowing and secretive as he bent down for the first time to put his face on Jason’s level.

“He takes such pleasure in believing he does not have one; the Great One values his independence highly, and his history with parental figures is… complex. It can be our secret, yes?” The yeti winked.

Jason hesitated for a moment, thinking back to all he knew about Danny’s home life. It wasn’t actually all that much; Danny probably actually knew more about Jason’s, after the last week.

That wasn’t just a rarity, it was practically unheard of for any of the former Robins, and Jason knew exactly how Dick and Harley would react to that information.

They’d accuse him of growth. Gross. They couldn’t be told.

And yeah, maybe Jason had a bit of a personal understanding of why Danny wouldn’t want an overabundance of parental figures around. Their situations weren’t exactly the same, not really, but Jason knew enough verses of the song.

All teen heroes tended to have certain things in common, the biggest of which was whatever parental figure they had failing to protect them. Failing to keep them from the darkness, forcing a kid to take on a mantle and burdens that they never should have.

He’d wanted to pound Bruce’s bones to pulp for putting another kid in his cape. Wound up nearly pounding Tim’s instead, however the pit and Tallia had twisted things to make that seem like the same thing.

And Danny hadn’t just picked up the mantle of Teen Hero. He’d picked up a crown, a whole realm of responsibilities and rulership over the dead.

Personally, Jason thought Danny was missing out on an easy dodge of king duties by not finding his ghost parent; Clockwork was his regent but still apparently bothered him for work.

A parent ruling until the child was of age was behind most of the most brutal regicides in any monarchic system; the dead had to know about it.

But that’d mean Clockwork bothering Frostbite at all hours, possibly. Or Clockwork finding new excuses to keep checking on a crown prince Jason had already seen was a handful.

Yeah, he could see why no one really challenged Danny’s assertion that he didn’t have a ghost parent.

Jason spared a moment wondering about his own again.

He knew better than to hope, he really did. Catherine Todd deserved much better than an afterlife of watching over his many mistakes. If there was any justice to death, she’d moved straight past the realms and into the most perfect of paradises.

He liked to think she’d be proud of him. Of the work he’d done, the good he’d spread through the Alley even if it was on the end of a gun.

So long as it wasn’t any form of al Ghul whatsoever, Jason was pretty sure he could handle any other ghost parent the multiverse could throw at him.

Danny’s head poked back around the corner, grinning in a very worried way between the two of them.

“Everything okay back here?” He asked with some of the worst overhyped cheer Jason had ever heard.

Alright, maybe Danny would actually also have been a problem for ghost parent. Because Jason thought he was hot. Because he was an awful mother hen even as a friend.

Jason raised his bag of ecto candies.

“Just checking how many of these I can safely have in a day,” he said innocently, and kinda hoped Danny didn’t actually feel the wash of Frostbite’s approval as the yeti straightened.

That would give the game away.

“They are not a substitute for sleep or nutrition for your human form,” Frostbite told him, as if that was what they’d been talking about.

Jason sighed heavily, doing his best impression of Tim being handed decaf.

“Listen, a guy can hope?”

“Oh you’re not gonna win that one,” Danny snickered, brightening with the distraction and all but skipping in to take Jason’s arm, “let’s scram before he gets the powerpoints.”

Frostbite gave them a cheerful wave on the way out the door, and Jason managed a mostly sincere smile as Danny began regaling him on some of his teenaged attempts to persuade Frostbite to let him give up sleep for finals week.

Yeah, he might add the Fenton parents to the butt-kicking list. Below the ghosts, obviously, for whom butt-kicking was a social courtesy.

But, y’know. If he ever got the chance to have a quiet word about taking care of your damn kids.

———————

And here we have Part 1! Imma just yeet it up so you can all get started while I edit Part 2, because again, this is a Girthy One without an easier breakpoint 👀

I’ll still try and get Part 2 done tonight, but I’ve kept y’all waiting long enough

Tag List: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof f @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778 8 @why-must-i-be-like-this @tkiesai i @greenpyrowolf @frivolous-pastel @honeysuckletook @adorkable1291

Part Two:

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #danny fenton dead and loving it #chapter 17 i bet #well you did get down on one knee #dead on main ship #danny x jason #slowest burn we burn so slow it looks like rust

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sunshinescribes · 7 months

Text

Tomorrow

Pairing: Donquixote “Corazón” Rosinante x Fem!Reader (can be read as gender neutral!)

Rating: NONE

Summary: Rosinante is no fool, no matter what his brother or the family might think. He knows pain when he sees it, and he hates that he’s the cause of yours.

Warnings: ANGST, established relationship, fluff, comfort (I just wanted to write something bittersweet y’all), Pre-Rosinante and Law

You know you don’t have much time.

It slips by far too fast, precious hours reduced to what feels like mere minutes when Rosinante is with you.

You try to cherish them, to swallow the plea that wants to crawl up your throat in the silent hours when you’re wrapped in his arms. You try to find solace in the fact that he’s safe. For another hour, he’s safe from his brother—from the world that despises his celestial blood.

Here with you, he can let down his shield and smile as if tomorrow might not be his last. It’s a small comfort, but it’s enough to stop you from being selfish.

You want him to stay.

You always want him to stay.

It’s torture—months spent without him. Your world stands still, grows so quiet that all you hear is the beat of your heart ringing in your ears, ticking away like a timebomb. You wait for the explosion, for the day that Rosinante doesn’t come back, and you finally shatter.

But today isn’t that day, so you cling to him a little tighter. Speak to him a little softer.

You know that kindness is not something Rosinante finds in his brother nor the company that he keeps. He tends to his bleeding heart well and masks himself in silence so as not to draw their attention to his true motives. It’s a dangerous game, one you’re terrified he'll lose.

Rosinante had told you what Doflamingo did to their father—an ill-fated, tender-hearted man whom his oldest son could not forgive. The image of Rosinante at the end of his brother’s gun has haunted you ever since.

"You’re shaking."

Amber eyes stare down at you, concern clear in them as they take you in.

You hadn’t noticed your hands trembling against him or the subtle shake of your chest. You don’t even notice the tears turning your vision blurry until they fall.

"I’m fine," you lie, but it does nothing to assuage his worry. He cradles your jaw in his hand, tilting your head upward as he uses his other hand to wipe away your tears—he knows.

Rosinante is no fool, no matter what his brother or the family might think. He knows pain when he sees it, and he hates that he’s the cause of yours. Rosinante would stop coming back if he knew which was less cruel—letting you go or staying with you for as long as he’s able, even if he can’t promise you tomorrow, or the next day, or the next.

He can put on a good act, though, for your sake.

"Don’t worry about me sweetheart," Rosinante grins, sitting up in bed. His blonde curls are disheveled, making him look gentle and boyish and so different from the man he calls brother. "Those fools don’t suspect anything. It won’t be long now before we catch them."

You try to smile. You want to believe him. You know he’s doing everything right—everything he possibly can. It’s Doflamingo who worries you the most. He won’t spare his baby brother if he finds out, and you know Rosinante won’t fight him.

"My act has them completely foole—" Rosinante's voice trails off as he tips over the edge of the bed, falling to the ground with a soft thud.

You laugh lightly despite yourself, crawling over to the edge to glance down at him. Rosinante stares up at you with his lips caught in a soft grin.

"See? I fooled you too."

You snort and roll your eyes as he shifts to his knees. Even while on the floor, his height is imposing, forcing you to sit up just so he doesn’t dwarf you.

"There’s that smile," he sighs, leaning close enough that you feel his breath fan over your lips. "Still the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen…"

Your heart flutters as his lips find yours. His kiss is tender, a soft declaration of love as he holds you close. Rosinante never rushes. Never takes more than he needs.

Your nature is different.

You thread your fingers through his golden tresses, pulling him closer. You tilt your head, kissing him with a kind of desperation that leaves you both breathless when you pull away.

"I…don’t want to lose you, Rosi."

You don’t look at Rosinante as the words pass your lips, barely above a whisper.

You hear the wind blowing outside your window and the crickets chirping to the pale moon. You are both so still, frozen in a moment that feels like eternity.

Rosinante stirs suddenly. He reaches for your trembling hands, bringing them close to his lips. Your eyes finally lift to his as he brushes his lips across your knuckles tenderly, trying to soothe the ache in your soul.

"Okay," he says. Then again, and again, and again.

Each kiss is an oath, a declaration that he has every intention of returning to you.

"Just a little while more," he promises.

You nod. You let the promise settle in your heart, allowing yourself to be hopeful.

Rosinante shuffles back into bed with little grace, drawing you close once more. You lean into his warmth and listen to the soft patter of his tender heart. You try to fight sleep—try to hold on to him for as long as you can. You know when you wake up in the morning, he will be gone, back to doing the bidding of his older brother.

Rosinante whispers something you can’t quite make out as fatigue finally finds you, and you sink further and further way.

At least you dream a pleasant, calm dream of a tomorrow where he stays.

#sunny.fic #donquixote rosinante x reader #corazon x reader #corazon x you #rosinante x reader #x reader

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chattahoochiecoochie · 1 year

Text

Audience

Summary: A girlfriend wakes up in bed with her boyfriend(s), and an audience.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Exhibitionism / Excessive Roughness / Voyeurism

A/N: For starters, I strictly watch college football so this whole AFC nonsense is beyond my understanding. If it doesn’t involve an SEC school, I’m not watching. Second off, y’all don’t even want to know how long I sat at my desk looking like a lunatic trying to figure out the physical bit of it all. Madness. If you hate it, I’m innocent. If you love it, I’m gods gift to you. Anyways, find the rest here.

It’s warm when you wake up, a mix of sunlight and body heat radiating over the bed. Sam is already awake on your left, sitting with a water glass in one hand and his phone in the other. With a leg tangled between yours and a hand on your stomach, Joe is on your right, still snoring faintly, the tiniest little sound bleeding out as his chest rises and falls.

Slipping out of his reach, you curl against Sam’s waist, burying your head against his thigh—taking the covers with you to shield yourself from the sun that’s slipping through a gap in the curtains. For half a second, you miss your own bed and the fact that you wake up to windows facing the west most days.

A heavy breath passes through your nose, and you can feel Sam shift beside you. If he’s noticed you’re awake, he doesn’t say anything outright. There’s a shuffle above you, the sound of glass meeting wood as he sets his water down on the nightstand. Soon after, there's a rustle of bed sheets and then a hand on the back of your skull, fingers tangled in your hair. You sigh subconsciously at the sensation, forgetting the thought of your own bed entirely. The attention that's paid to you in this one is worth being woken up by the sun. Smiling softly against his waist, you nuzzle your nose into his boxers.

“Baby?” His voice is low and tentative, sending a warm tingle down your spine. You move against him, letting the duvet slip down from where you’ve been holding it.

The movement answers for you, and slowly but surely, his hand falls from your head as he slides his calloused palm beneath your shirt and over your skin until he lands on the spot between your shoulder blades. Clipped nails scrap against your spine, short up and down motions until you shiver beneath his hand.

With heavy eyes and an arm keeping the pillowy cotton of the comforter at bay, you peek up at him, blinking slowly through the sunlight. He’s looking at you, phone forgotten in his lap. Blue eyes red-rimmed, face slack and tired. It makes you wonder how long he’s been up. It's not unusual for him to be up before you and Joe, often falling victim to his internal clock. But he deserved to sleep in today—with last night’s game and subsequent win—they both deserved a day or two in bed if they wanted it.

You smile softly at him, releasing the comforter altogether in favor of clinging to him. Winding an arm around his waist, you find the other side of his boxers and let yourself play with the band while he waits for you to get your bearings. He’s gentle with you in the mornings, they both are—whether you wake up in their bed or your own—keen on the way you take forever to come to.

“Morning, babygirl.” It’s raspy, said in the same low voice as before. You’re slow to respond, smiling softly at him as the words fall over you.

“Morning, champ.”

His mouth quirks at the nickname, lips curling into an easy smile as he draws his hand upwards, dragging on your spine to reach the base of your neck, tussling your hair until he’s caught in it.

“You sleep okay? Last night was a lot.” He’s earnest, eyes searching your face for an answer before you can even think to give one. The truth is, it’s the best night sleep you’ve had in a while.

Exhausted by the game and the revolving door of tweaked knees, you’d been unprepared for the whirlwind that came after the win. In an instant, they’d gone from third and goal to six points up, with the AFC north championship secured for a second year running. It was madness. The aftermath on the field, the cigars in the locker room amongst a swarm of press personnel. The partying afterward downtown, with fans on every corner.

By the time the three of you stumbled out of an Uber at nearly three in the morning, you could hardly keep your head up or your eyes open. You can pick out flashes of it—them giggling and screaming up the driveway, sudden hushed tones when you’d gotten through the door and into the dark. Someone had carried you up the stairs to bed. Someone else had undone your shoes and gotten you out of your dress. It was a blur, and the sheets had been so warm and so sweet—you’d been gone the moment your head hit the pillow.

You don’t tell him this, instead smiling to yourself as the image of him in the end zone, staring up at the scoreboard, crosses your mind. “I’m good. It was good.” You say, fingers playing across his abdomen. “I’m really proud of you.”

“Yeah?” He’s smirking softly at you, never one to shy away from praise. His success matters to him, and he’s eager to know if it matters to someone else, to you.

You watch with a tired smile as he slides down into the bed next to you, rolling onto his side to face you, smirk permanent on his lips when he’s finally at eye level. His brow is raised, daring you to praise him again. You do.

“Very. You are,” You pause momentarily, pretending to think hard about your next words. “The best defensive back I know.”

“So you know a lot then?” He plays at curiosity, feigning jealousy. You shrug at him, trying to seem playfully nonchalant.

“A few.”

“They’re not like,” He glances down at the mattress for a moment before looking up at you through his lashes, letting them flutter for dramatic effect. The effort makes you giggle. “Two-time AFC North champions, though, are they?”

“Well, lets see, there's Jeff, Trey, Joseph—”

“Okay, let me ask you this then.” He wiggles next to you, putting an arm over your waist as he gets even closer. “You’re not doing all this with any of them, right?”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“You know, waking up in their bed, in their jersey, looking all pretty with your hair a mess.”

You grin at him and shake your head quickly, blushing. “Nope. That’s all you.” You look down at your chest for a second, chin tucked as you inspect the jersey you’re wearing. Glancing back up at him, you smirk. “I think this is Joey’s though, if that matters.”

“I’ll get over it.” His mouth is over yours, the stubble on his chin scratching your skin as he kisses you. He’s softer than usual, dulled by the night before. The hand on your waist is steady, slipping slowly until he’s cupping your face and pressing you into your pillow, tongue sliding on your lip. You let him in, relaxed by his touch.

For a moment, you stay there, underneath him, feeling hazy. He’s easy on you, all smiles and playful bites. Smirking against him, you feel your jaw slacken when his teeth hit yours. He smiles at the contact, grinning against you. Nipping gently at you, his hand leaves your face, pulling what's left of the comforter off of you.

You shiver at the sudden change in temperature, clinging to him as he takes its place over your body. Leg draped over your thighs, he kisses you deeper, sighing when you make a sound under him. He’s sweeter this morning than he often is, gentle as his tongue sweeps over yours. Sweeter still when his hand ghosts over your chest, skimming your breast before landing on your hip, holding you steady when you writhe beneath him.

Arms around his neck, you roll into him, whimpering when your hip meets the heat growing between his legs. It’s searing, pouring off of him in slow, steady waves. You’re so close to him, but if you could just—

You stop short as the mattress dips on the other side of you. Sam goes still on you, watching closely from the corner of his eye as Joe squirms beneath the sheets beside you, shifting closer to you until an arm finds its way around your waist and he pulls his weight to your back, fingers splayed to clutch you tightly.

“Joey?” Asks Sam, peering over you with a brow quirked.

“Morning.” The blond has his face buried in your jersey, drawing shallow breaths against the fabric. He’s warm, the sleepy kind that’s soft and almost damp. He’s hardly awake, it seems, still heavy and rigid on the bed beside you.

“There’s the big guy. How you feeling, buddy?” Sam’s attention fractures and you move against him impatiently, mind clouded by the nerves that had just begun to wind in your stomach.

“That’s king in the north, to you.” You can feel him smile against you as he moves behind you, slipping the jersey off your shoulder to leave a kiss in its place.

“Woke up with an ego, huh?” The words are half lost when he kisses you again. Finally. Forehead against you, the tip of his nose brushing yours as he nuzzles against you, there’s a soft smirk playing on his lips when you peck at him, a whine in your throat.

“Something like that. Y’all in the middle of something, or?” Joe leans over your shoulder, resting his chin on your collarbone as Sam nips at your lips, taunting you every time you buck up against his weight.

“Sort of.” It's playful, Sam’s tone. Gentle and teasing, but guilt strikes you anyways, splitting the warmth between your legs like a knife when you glance back to see Joe looking curious.

It’s never been one without the other—ever. Your brow knits in sudden panic. “Did—we can—”

“—Go ahead, then. I’ll watch.” He says it plainly, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. He’ll watch.

Sam looks at you, a familiar glint in his blue eyes. “What’d you say, baby? You wanna give Joey a show?” Your lips part, an answer catching on your tongue. Yes, you want to say, but all you can manage is some sort of nervous squeak.

Understanding you in a way that only they can, the grin on Sam’s face stretches wide. Arm around you, he rolls onto his back, pulling you onto his bare chest. The tired sweetness from before is forgotten, replaced by all the aggression you know he’s capable of.

He’s heavy on you, everywhere all at once. Nails dig into the skin of your thigh before dragging deep scratches up your hip. Hand under your jersey, he’s got his palm on your breast, pressure mounting as he works his fingers over your flesh. It’s blinding—the swell of nerves that flash down your spine with every touch. You fumble next to him, knees weak and hands uncertain as you grasp at him.

He’s enormous compared to you and impossible to grasp at. Going for his waist, where you know you can at least hold the band of his boxers, you miss, skimming his front instead. You groan, lips parted as he kisses you hard—forcing the air out of your lungs as his hand finds your throat.

“Slower Sammy, let her catch up.” Behind you, Joe speaks up, gentle as ever. You’re suddenly aware of him once more, registering the dip in the mattress as he adjusts himself. On you, Sam’s slow to the take, grunting incoherently before finding some of the patience that comes so easily to Joe.

You gasp as his hand relaxes on your neck. Reaching again for the band of his boxers, and with more focus than before, you find the elastic, letting your fingers slip over it to touch the curve of his adonis belt. Sam makes a sound, bucking his hips into your hand. There’s a whine on his tongue when he kisses you next, lips pouting on yours. Hand over yours he pushes your fingers down, holding them over the fabric.

“Tell her what you want.” As if he has to. You can feel him in your hand, heavy and hard and waiting. Needing.

“Touch me.” His voice is raw, husky. You tremble against him, shaking hands tugging at the checkered cotton until he’s bare in your hand. Cradling your head, he’s light underneath you, watching through dark eyes as you touch him.

He shudders, twitching in your hand as his hips buck involuntarily. You glance up at him, blushing when you find his jaw slack, head dropped against the wall. Slowly, you feel him out, dragging your nails up his shaft, delighted when he trembles again. He’s in a plain state of agony, straining to trust you, to be patient.

“Like this?” Brushing your thumb across the head, you look back at Joe. Curious eyes finding his, you let your brow quirk, feigning innocence. He nods at you, mouth set in a tight line. Just like that.

Wrapping your fingers around him, you gently stroke him again before bringing your hand to your mouth. The sound you make is indecent, dribbling as you spit into your palm. Seconds later, you’re reaching for him again only to find his hand in your place, pulling hard.

Putting your hand under his, you do your best to follow his pace, stroking with him until his hand falls to the mattress, limp as he lets you take over. “That’s it. Don’t forget the rest of him, either, pretty girl.”

Beside you, Joe’s flat on his back, head turned to watch you as he rubs a palm over the front of his briefs. His eyes are heavy, voice thick when he speaks. He’s watching you alright, and liking it too.

You follow his instructions, looking over your shoulder at him as you let your nails drag over Sam’s balls, drawing out a loud groan when you roll them between your fingers. You forget them only a second later, pulling your fist back up his shaft as his body rotates into you. Brows knit together, you keep stroking, lip pulled between your teeth as you split your focus between the two of them.

“Baby…” Picking his head up, Sam looks down at your hand, patience waning. “Please.”

“Don’t be mean to him. Go on and use that pretty little mouth.” You glance back at him, shivering as a pulse runs down your legs. Put your mouth on him. Give Joey a show.

Shimmying down the mattress, you’ve got your eyes on Joe when your lips find Sam, tongue sliding over the tip to taste the fluid leaking from it. He’s warm and salty on your lips when you put your mouth over him. The weight of him, the feeling of their eyes on you—you’re drooling in an instant.

“Look at him.” Joe nods towards Sam, rubbing himself steady over his briefs as a stain starts to pool on the fabric. “Look at her Sammy, being so good.”

You can see him above you through your lashes, right hand clutching at his chest, left hand searching for something to hold. He’s got his eyes open, jaw slack. You fight a smirk, hollowing your cheeks instead before taking him deeper. He’s too big and too thick to take for so long, but you try anyway, gagging and drooling as you lose your breath.

“That’s a good girl. Go slow. In through your nose.” Joe’s steady beside you when you glance sideways at him. He’s nodding, baby blue eyes looking eagerly at you. “Hold her head, Sam.”

Moments later, his fingers are in your hair, gripping you tight as he holds you on himself, forcing you down further. He’s deep, pushing past what you can take, and you can feel tears pricking at your eyes. It’s so much at once—too much—and then he’s giving you slack, watching closely through heavy eyes as you cough and gag when his hips relax.

The motion repeats over and over again. Too deep, for too long, and then a second to yourself until tears are running down your face. You’re rubbing your thighs together, watching Joey with panicked eyes as he mouths off more instructions to Sammy. You can hear him, see him, but it’s too much to focus on him as you struggle to breathe.

“Touch.” You catch him saying. Touch what? “Touch him.”

You do, weak hand at the base of his shaft, fingers dragging over his balls as he bucks up into your mouth. His hand is tight in your hair, hips sharp as he thrusts himself into your mouth, meeting the back of your throat with a groan.

“Fuck, Joey. I can’t—” The hand on you goes limp, falling to the mattress as he spills into your mouth, pooling on your tongue until you can do little else but swallow and drool. It’s warm, familiar, and the finality of it makes you sigh heavily as you collapse onto his lap.

It’s quiet for a moment, save for Sam’s racing heartbeat and your own shaky breath. Joe’s somewhere close, looming next to you when you finally summon the strength to open your eyes. Your lips are tacky, and you swallow hard before licking at them, a shallow mewl slipping out when you taste what’s left behind.

Leaning up next to you, Joe’s reaching for you, wiping the drool from your chin with his thumb before bringing it to his lips. He sucks it off with a playful moan, trademark spark in his eyes. “You’re all tuckered out, huh?”

You mumble something that sounds like a yes, struggling to keep your eyes open, and he laughs softly, stroking your chin once more. “Sammy, what about you, big guy?”

“I’m good. I’m good. Where’s she at?” He’s breathing heavily, gasping in between sentences. A heavy hand swats your head, fingers grabbing at nothing before finding a bit of tangled hair to grasp at. He tugs at it, pulling gently at you like some sort of overgrown child. “Give her here.”

“You sure?”

“Please.” Lifting you with delicate hands, Joe helps you crawl up Sam’s lap until you’re resting on his abdomen, fingers playing across his ribs as you settle into him. He’s warm, damp with a faint sheen of sweat. Breathing deep, you press your nose against him. It’s musky, an indistinct powdery smell drowned out by something vaguely acidic. You’ll never be over it, the scent of them lingering on your skin, on the sheets, on the clothes they let you borrow.

A memory of the night before flashes through your mind—Joey’s slipping his jersey over your head in the locker room, grinning at you. You can still smell the nylon, the scent of sweat and pinewood that stayed on your mind all night long, standing in his place when he wasn’t at your side. You can smell it now, just barely there, if you focus hard enough.

You look up at the blond in question, eyes softening when you find his face. There's stubble on his chin and bags under his eyes, yet somehow he’s just as handsome as ever. Smiling, you reach for him, searching for a bit of skin to touch, for something to hold on to.

“I’m right here.” He says, taking your hand as he makes space for himself beside the two of you, head falling onto Sam’s shoulder. “I’m right here, pretty girl.”

A/N: I think its safe to say my niche is funny dialogue, but hey if you don’t get out of your depth you’ll never learn. That being said, it’s back to brocedes for now.

#i have digital blindness from staring at my laptop so long but whatever #its fine #I'm fine #its race week and i have a thousand things to do but its fine!!#chattahoochiecoochie writes #boyfriends!#joe burrow #sam hubbard #joe burrow x reader #sam hubbard x reader #joe burrow smut #sam hubbard smut #bengals smut #nfl smut #joe burrow fic #sam hubbard fic

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sparklingchan · 5 months

Text

The way I love you || Lee Minho (Stray Kids)

Pairing: Reader(fem.) X Lee Know

Word count : 4k+

Warnings : Sexual implications, making out, prostitution, mentions of alcohol, mentions of death, cuss words.

Genre : Romance, angst, royal AU, suggestive.

Description: He was a prince, bound by his duty. She was a harlot, longing for someone to love her truly. In stolen moments beneath the moonlit city, they dared to dream of a love meant to be.

A/N : HELLO MY TUMBLR FAM! I'm back again with the Royal fics haha. And this time it's my boi Lino<3 I hope y’all like this! It's one of my favorites!

And as I promised, I'll make a masterlist for all the Royal fics. Here is the link. Do check out the other fics in this series(the stories are not interrelated)!

Minho hates coming to the main market; he hates the sticky workers bumping into him, he hates the smell of burnt meat, he hates the sound of noisy instruments people play in the name of music.

The only things he does like about the market is the wine, and you.

"Here for y/n again, my Prince?" One of the courtesans-Taylor- asks him just as he enters the tavern. She wears the brightest of lipsticks and smells like jasmine.

"I'm here for the wine." He says, which is only half a lie.

"As you say, my prince," Taylor giggles, "Your y/n is on the third floor as always. She hasn't had any customers today."

He walks the flight of stairs without breaking sweat and knocks on your door, excitement bubbling inside him.

The door opens and he catches a whiff of your rose scented perfume.

"Well, hello there," you smile at him, "Long time, huh?"

He chuckles, "It's only been three days, y/n."

You pull him inside by his collar, shut the door behind him and immediately draw your mouth to his.

You'd missed him, clearly.

In your dark lit bedroom, many men entered everyday for the purpose of their pleasure. But Minho was the only who entered this room everyday only to please you.

"Excited, aren't we?" He asks you when you push him onto the bed and climb over him, "I missed you, y/n."

You kiss him again; this time with more force, more passion and a lot more tongue. He reciprocates your action with equal enthusiasm.

As the night grows colder and darker, you find yourself cuddling with the man under your quilt. The love bites on both of your bodies barely visible under the light of a single candle.

"I wonder what magic keeps me coming back for more everyday. " Minho says softly, his fingers playing with your hair.

"Oh, does the 'Perfect Prince' not want to be seen in a whore's bed? Does it embarrass him?" You ask, playfully.

His mouth twists into a smirk, "Never. Not even in a thousand years."

He kisses you again and again and again until the last candle dies out and the quilt finds its place in some corner of the floor.

"Taylor, it's too early to be bothering me with customers!" You yell first thing in the morning, still sleepy and still cold from the absence of Minho's body against you.

"Y/n, it's not a customer. I need to talk to you." She yells back, "Open the door."

Groaning, you push yourself towards the door.

"What is it?"

Her face lacks the usual cheerfulness. She looks grim. Sad, almost.

"Minho didn't wanna wake you up," she pulls an envelope from her pocket, "He asked me to give you this."

"Okay. I'll read it later." You mutter. It's not unusual for Minho to deliver love letters for you sometimes. What's so special about this one?

"Y/n, read it." Taylor says, "Now."

There's an underlying urgency in her words that she tries to mask but doesn't escape your notice.

You walk back to your bed and open the letter.

Hi, y/n.

This is probably the last time that I'm writing to you. I feel sick even just at the thought of being without you but I have to do my princely duties now.

I'm getting married to Princess Sophie soon. My father commands it.

Y/n, I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me someday. I really meant it when I said I loved you.

Minho.

Inside the half empty envelope are a few coins of gold.

He paid you. For sleeping with him. For the first time ever.

It's as if the air is forced out of your lungs. You find it hard to breathe, hard to keep your eyes open, hard to even comprehend Taylor's questions.

You're not even in that room anymore.

You are by the river at midnight, with Minho. He'd set up a fire and covered the both of you with a quilt while he sung a soft melody.

You are in the rain, shouting profanities at each other. That was the day when he first told you he loved you.

You are at the tavern's terrace, kissing him for the first time.

You are at the Royal Palace. That's the day he first sees you, bold and loud, not afraid to say 'no' to sleeping with his monstrous father.

You are at the main market, buying a new pair of earrings when an injured Prince shows up at the shop. That's when you first see him.

You only had one regret at present.

You never got to tell him how much you loved him.

"Y/n, I know you're grieving but you cannot refuse customers anymore. You know this is what brings food to your table!" Taylor wraps a shawl around your half naked frame, "You always knew Minho could not just leave the palace and come live with you in this brothel, didn't you?"

You'd had another episode today; screaming and punching a customer while he tried to take your clothes off.

That's three days in a row.

If Taylor hadn't been there, the boss would have killed you with his own bare hands.

"I know," you say, "But I just...can't. I cannot bring myself to accept the fact that he burnt down the past year to the worth of a few coins. I have no lust for gold. I have no desire for a family, especially when my own father sold me here. I only loved him and now, he's fucking gone."

Taylor rubs your shoulders gently.

"Y/n, I know. But you have to get yourself together or you will only hurt yourself." She replies, "For all I know, he could be already married now. Sticking his fucking tongue in Sophie's mouth."

You look up at her.

"What do you mean? His wedding is today?" You ask.

She nods, "The city has been decorated like never before."

You force yourself out of her embrace and rush towards your cupboard.

"What are you doing, y/n?" Taylor asks.

"Going to crash a royal wedding."

Minho has developed a habit of looking for your eyes everywhere he goes. It's not a good one, but he can't seem to get rid of this habit.

And on his wedding day, as he stands at the alter, holding his fiancé's hand while the priest talks about loving, cherishing and honoring Princess Sophie for life, he cannot stop himself from looking for you in the sea of people.

Rich and powerful people from all over the world are present in the hall but somewhere in between these people, he sees a glimpse of someone he knows. Too well, in fact.

"Y/n?" He whispers to himself, heart pounding against his chest.

"Minho, are you alright? Your hands are getting sweaty." Sophie whispers but he just shrugs, his eyes glued to you.

As were yours, to his.

You didn't think he'd notice you amongst the velvet clad aristocrats but he did. And you wish he hadn't.

The bride and groom exchange wine glasses and have a sip from it.

"If anyone has any objections to this holy matrimony, speak now. Or hold your peace forever." The priest announces and the room goes quiet.

Of course no one would object to this wedding.

No one except you.

Minho sees a single hand raised among the crowd.

"Yes, miss?" The priest says.

"How could the prince marry another woman when his child grows inside me? What about the seed that he left behind? If I choose to give birth to this child, will it be your successor, my prince?"

Minho feels the blood drain from his face.

"You! How dare you?" Minho screams at you, his heart breaking into a million pieces. He would never speak to you in this way, but he has to. To protect you from this mess you'd created, he must be harsh.

He is the prince and he will be safe but you, they wouldn't spare you.

"How dare you?" You yell back, eyes bloodshot, "Do you think a few coins could make up for what you did to me?"

"Quiet! You whore! Dare you to disrupt a royal wedding with false accusations?" The king-Minho's father finally speaks. "Guards! Take her to the guillotine and bedhead her!"

"Father, no! I will deal with this in my own way." Minho says, almost losing his calm. "Guards, take the woman to the dungeons."

Your tears roll down your cheeks and you quickly rub them off with your hand as the guards take you down to the dungeons. You're sure he's gonna get you killed.

You take one last glance at the man you love and smile at him.

So long, Minho.

The wedding is called off and Princess Sophie storms out of the wedding hall along with her father. Of course, Minho's father was furious.

"I will kill her. I will kill her with my bare hands!" The king slams his fist against the table, "She ruined everything! Everything!"

"Father, please calm down." Hyunjin-Minho's younger brother says. "We have to think of a way to make up with Princess Sophie and her family."

"He's right. Being angry won't solve our problem." Minho says, twirling the wine in his glass, a playful smile on his face.

The king glares at his eldest son, walks toward him and smashes the glass from his hands.

"How dare you sit in my room, relaxed as ever, while you've fucked up so bad?" He yells, " You slept with a common whore, impregnated her and I have to suffer for it?"

Minho wants to defend himself but he knows it's of no use when the king raises his fist in the air and punches right at Minho's nose.

Minho smells the blood before he sees it.

Hyunjin tries to stop the king and mouths at Minho, leave now.

Minho does as he is told.

That night, as he cleans the blood from his face, he finally let's himself relax a little.

Today was a blunder, a total disaster but at least he didn't have to marry some other woman. He couldn't imagine life with a woman he didn't love. He considered himself a coward for not fighting for you enough, which is why you were in prison. Nevertheless, he swears to himself that he will save you from this mess. It didn't matter what he had to do, he would make sure you're out of prison by tomorrow.

"You're a reckless idiot, y/n." He mutters to himself, "But you're my reckless idiot."

You've never seen Taylor look this sad before. Her eyes are bloodshot and the tip of her nose shines red.

"I told you," she says to you, handing you some food, "I told you not to do this. Now look what they've done! Minho has you locked up and you can be sentenced to death any minute!"

"Well, it was worth a shot, really." You say to her.

Taylor snickers at your words, "Also, are you really pregnant or did you make it up to get his attention?"

You chuckle, "Of course I'm not pregnant. I just thought it would add a bit spice to the drama."

"Fine. Whatever. Just do not die on me, y/n. I swear. You're my.." Taylor sucks in a deep breath, "You're my only family. Please."

You blink your tears away before Taylor even notices. You take a spoonful of the porridge she made and stuff it in your mouth so you'd forget about her words. You're too weak for this right now.

"Y/n, just promise me-" Taylor is interrupted by the prison guard.

"Prince Minho is here to see you."

Even the porridge in your mouth does not stop your heart from aching and your eyes from tearing up.

Why is he here?

"Your majesty." Taylor greets him with the basic courtesy. You, on the other hand are looking at everything but him.

"Taylor, may I have a word with y/n alone? My guards here will take you up to my room. I have something important to discuss with you as well."

Taylor nods with a word and follows his guard.

Now it's just you and him. In a jail cell. While your heart breaks knowing he will serve you with capital punishment.

Is it the heavens punishing a common whore like yourself for loving the prince?

Perhaps.

"Y/n, are you okay?" Minho says in a soft whisper. His voice is filled with concern but you cannot look at him. Absolutely not.

If you even as much glance at those eyes you'd fallen in love with, you know you might lose all your will power.

"Fine." You reply sternly, "What do you want?"

Minho sucks in a deep breath, "I wish I had more time to explain but it'll all make sense some day, okay? For now, just trust me."

He offers you a vile of clear liquid.

"It's not anything bad, I swear. Just trust me, please. " He puts it on your palm.

His touch sends shivers down your spine.

And just like that, he turns around and walks away.

You stare at the vile in your hands and for a split second, you wonder if he'd handed you some type of poison. You wish he did.

And when you open the vile and gulp down that bitter liquid, you pray to the gods that you never wake up again because that's when your body hits the ground.

Hyunjin is anxious from the moment he wakes up in the morning.

He's anxious while he has breakfast, he's anxious while he avoids the eyes of palace officials to sneak into the old quarters of his mother.

He's especially anxious when he sees you lying on the bed, lips pale and stiff.

"I hope this works for God's sake." He pulls out a vile of purple liquid from his pocket and carefully, pours it into your mouth.

He curses Minho for handing him with the scariest possible task ever.

And as he paces the room, waiting for the antidote to work, he prays to every God, every spirit, every deity he's ever heard of.

Within a few minutes, much to his relief, your eyes open.

You look at Hyunjin alarmingly.

"You..You're his brother." You say, almost as if accusing him of a crime, "Aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm Hyunjin." He seats at the foot of the bed, "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. But my head hurts real bad." You reply, "Where's Minho? That bastard gave me a bitter drink and disappeared!"

Hyunjin notices your hopeful gaze go from the ceiling of the room to his face and then to his outfit. The mourning outfit.

"Why are you in mourning? And why are you wearing that badge with a dove on it?" Your voice is alarmed and you immediately sit up.

You remember Minho had once told you that the dove badge worn by the Royal family implies a death of a member of the Royal bloodline.

"Is Minho okay?" Your words are almost a whisper.

"Well, y/n, it's a little complicated, I will be honest but if you come with me now and trust me on this-"

"Why the fuck does every keep on asking me to trust them? What is going on? Either let me die in peace or let me leave this palace! I cannot take this anymore. And, for the love of God, would you tell me if Minho is okay or not?"

"He's alive." Hyunjin sighs, " Everyone thinks he committed suicide last night. The city is mourning the death of their crown prince. "

You're confused, "But he's alive, right?"

Hyunjin manages a smile, "Yes, he's alive. He staged his death and is waiting for you by the river bank. "

You jump out of the bed at once, heart pounding against your chest.

"Take me to him, please."

The river bank is the most beautiful place in the city, filled with shops and tourists and traders and singers and life. It's beautiful. Unlike your room in the brothel, which was as lifeless as anything could get.

The only one who made that room lively was Minho.

Minho who taught you to play cards, Minho who once beat up a customer because he was harassing you, Minho who promised he'd give anything to get you out of that hell hole.

Minho who loved you.

Now, Minho stands by a boat, wearing a straw hat and gripping his sword tightly. Taylor stands beside him, a brown package in her hands.

And when Minho's eyes meet yours, you run to him as if he'd run away if you didn't, disappear into thin air, leaving you alone in that cold dark room once again.

And oh! Minho is so warm as he wraps you in his embrace. He's warm like the sun on the coldest winter morning, warm like a cup of tea, warm like a freshly baked cookie. He's warm and he's yours.

"What..what is going on?" You sob into his embrace, "Please, will you stay with me? Minho, please?"

Minho is crying too, which is surprising because you've never seen him cry. Upset maybe , but crying never.

Yet here he is crying like a newborn baby, crying because a part of him knows he's managed to save you somehow.

"I'm not leaving okay?" He says, still crying, caressing your cheeks, "We're gonna go far from this city. We're never coming back okay?"

You can only nod as Taylor gently pats your head.

"This is a farewell gift. From me." She smiles at you, handing you the package, "It's a wedding dress that I made. I hope you can wear it when the day comes."

And you're crying again. But this time, you're crying into Taylor's embrace. It's hard leaving behind someone who loved you like a sister.

"We'll write to you. We promise. As soon as we find a proper place to stay, we will write to you both. " Minho says, to Taylor and to his brother.

"Sorry for burdening you with this country. " Minho whispers when Hyunjin hugs him, "I hope you forgive me someday."

"Bullshit. Really, I've always wanted to kill you and get this crown for myself. You only made my job easier." Hyunjin jokes, patting Minho's back.

Minho chuckles. The boatman catches his eye and points to the sun.

"We should get going now, y/n. They'll be holding a prayer in the afternoon and we cannot risk anyone seeing us before we leave."

You nod, kissing Taylor's head softly, holding her gift close to your chest.

"Do visit us sometime." You say to both of them and they nod in unison.

Minho helps you on the boat and hands a few coins to the boatman.

The soft current of the river pushes your boat farther away from the shore, Taylor and Hyunjin wave goodbye to you. You feel horrible leaving behind the city of your birth. You feel empty and cold.

But Minho wraps his arms around you and the coldness vanishes. Minho is warm, and from now on, he's only yours.

4 years later.

"Your baby is fucking killing me, Minho." You groan as you get up from the sofa in your bakery.

You'd been sitting and munching on cookies for way too long perhaps.

"Hey, don't curse in front of the baby." He hushes you, caressing your bump. You feel the baby kick again.

You both laugh.

"Come on." He takes you by the hand and drags you to the sofa once again, ignoring all your protests.

Ever since you'd entered the seventh month of your pregnancy, Minho refused to let you do any work. And by any, you meant any work that involved physical activity.

In the mornings, he forced you to watch him sweep the floors whilst you made him breakfast. In the afternoons, he forced you to sit at the cash counter of your bakery and watch him bake stuff tirelessly while you interacted with the customers.

In the evening, he gives you snacks while he cleans up the bakery for tomorrow.

In the night, he holds you close while he whispers sweet nothings into your ears.

It was a routine but you'd come to love this routine.

You wouldn't trade it for the world.

"What are you thinking?" He pulls you closer and plants a kiss on your lips.

"Just something. " You reply, embarrassed.

"Tell me, love. What is it?"

And how could you ever say 'no' to him if he used that tone on you?

"Well, I was thinking," you mindlessly fiddle with his fingers, "Do you ever regret giving up the throne for me? I mean, you're royalty. And here you are washing dishes and baking cookies every day. You could have lived a lavish life, you know."

You sound sad, guilty even.

Minho chuckles at you. But doesn't say anything.

Instead, he pulls your face closer and kisses you. Passionately. Softly. Lovingly.

When he pulls away, you feel breathless.

"Does that answer your question?" His sincere eyes look into yours, his hands on your belly, "I wouldn't trade this for the world."

You pull him back in for a kiss because that's all you'd ever wanted to hear.

And because Minho is warm and he smells like cookies and he's yours.

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