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bimbobaggins69 · 1 year

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Heavy metal parking lot

eddie munson x metal head fem!reader

summary: the last thing you ever expected was to hit it off with a cute guy at a Judas Priest concert, but stranger things have happened.

warnings: smut ahead, 18+ mdni, all porn almost no plot, no use of y/n, use of pet names (baby, princess, pretty girl etc.), smoking the devils lettuce, queer!eddie, reader has nipple piercings, dom/sub dynamics, some degradation (but eddie is still a simp), oral (m receiving), unprotected rough p in v sex (this is fantasy, pls don’t have unprotected sex with strangers), anal play (f receiving).

notes: just a dirty little one shot. Sorry, there will not be a part two. Thank you to my loves: @corrodedcorpses @take-everything-you-can & @stwritings for beta reading <3 also, blame @bettyfrommars & @xxhellfiregirlxx for me posting this filth on our holy day.

wc: 3.1k

This was a stupid idea, stupid, stupid.

But here you are driving to the market square arena, an hour away from home, dead in the middle of a scorching summer, alone.

You had this elaborate plan for months, ever since you had bought your tickets. You and your best friend Abbee were supposed to meet up at your house, get ready together, go grab some fuel and head to the show a little early to hang out in the parking lot. That unfortunately is not what ended up happening. You got ready…alone, got food…alone and now you’re making the trip…alone.

You can’t be mad at your friend, she did have a very valid excuse as to why she was unable to make it. You couldn’t help but to kick yourself for never being brave enough to put yourself out there and make new friends, but maybe that would change, maybe you would meet some cool people at the show, some Judas Priest fans seemed like the perfect place to start.

The parking lot was jam packed, men and women in all their Judas Priest or Dokken gear, huge banners held out by adoring fans, beer cans littering the lot as weed and cigarette smoke fog the air.

You finally find parking, lucky for you it seems to be the last vacant spot left, squeezed tight between a red Camaro and a brown van.

Better than nothing.

As you exit your black Honda accord, your eyes flit around the lot, taking in your surroundings as you breathe in the second hand smoke.

“Hey, sick shirt.” A gruff voice towards your left calls out. You look around for a second before your eyes finally land on the owner of the van that's parked beside you.

His brown wavy hair gets hit by a gust of wind, as if he’s some hot character in one of those movies that the protagonist is in love with. You definitely couldn’t deny his hotness.

His defenders of the faith shirt clung to his body like a second skin, tight dark blue jeans with a chain adorned his lower half along with white reeboks.

He had a joint perched between his two fingers as his eyes so boldly roamed your figure.

“Thanks,” you acknowledge, as you look down at your ‘hell bent for leather’ cropped tee, and then back up to meet his mischievous smirk. “Yours is sick, too.” You offer in a small but cheerful voice.

“You wanna come smoke with me, pretty girl?” He offers as the mischievous smile grows, like the grinch who stole Christmas.

“Uhh, sure why not?” You shrug, making your way over to the van and taking a seat on the red carpeted floor, your leather mini skirt now hiked up around the very tops of your thighs while your knee high boots hang out the side, resting on the asphalt below you.

“I’m Eddie.” He declares while holding out a heavily ringed hand, you stare it down ogling between his tattoos, black nail polish and badass rings before placing your smaller appendage in his, you firmly shake it with a smile as you tell him your name.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” He chuckles before handing you the dwindling joint.

You take a hit while you let your eyes wander around the inside of his van, a small mattress set up with a colorful quilt and two fluffy pillows.

Various magazines of the adult variety scrawled out haphazardly on the floor, a six pack of coors lite sits on the arm rest between the two front seats, breaking the law plays out through the speakers.

Though he’s not the only one, various Judas Priest songs could be heard throughout the stadium's parking lot.

You take another small hit, passing back the now roach sized spliff. Eddie tries to get one more hit out of it, before throwing it to the ground and stepping on it with the toe of his white sneaker.

You begin to stand up with the thought that you may be overstaying your welcome, until Eddie puts a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“You don’t have to go.” The shy look on his face is the total antithesis of his cocky demeanor when he’d first waved you over.

“Oh, okay. I just didn’t want to bother or keep you from anything.” Your response is sheepish and the butterflies in your belly begin fluttering about.

“No baby, you're not keeping me from anything.” He beams.

That damn nickname pulls you in like a moth to a flame.

As you and Eddie grow better acquainted, you realize he has a great sense of humor with an eccentric personality.

You also quickly realize you want him.

Right here in the back of his van.

You scoot your bottom back, making your way into the wagon. The action causes your skirt to roll up further along your thighs, giving Eddie the perfect glimpse of your black panties.

You swing your feet inside and hoist yourself up on your knees, as graceful as possible. Waddling over like a penguin to fling yourself onto the mattress that had your mind wandering.

“Mmm, this is comfy.” You sigh with a smile, as your body burrows deeper into the off white sheets below you.

Eddie stands just outside the door, eyes unable to leave your backside as you cuddle up on his mattress. ‘Was this his lucky day?’ This shit never happens to him, well at least not with women anyway. He had better luck with men.

Thank you Judas Priest, Eddie silently prays to the sky before making his way inside the vehicle to join you.

“Mind if I lay down?” He mumbles, surprising you with his close proximity.

You turn, catching onto the puppy dog eyes he’s giving you; and what you would give to have them looking down at you while he’s working your body to sweet, sweet release.

“No, of course not.” You giggle, the sound makes Eddie twitch in his pants.

He was a sweet boy, you wanted him to fucking ruin you.

You turn to face him, head resting on your palm as you pat the spot beside you.

The sly smirk returns as he lays down on the mattress, mirroring your exact position.

“Shows gonna start in an hour.” He whispers, scooting in closer towards you, the warmth radiating off of his skin is sending your body into a frenzy.

“Mm, so we have enough time?” You sweetly whisper back.

“Enough time for what? Hmm?” Your bodies continue to gravitate together, a pull so strong it was like you were both attached to magnets.

“For this..” you breathily huff before straddling Eddie’s waist, the groan that escapes him makes your eyes roll back, as you begin to grind down on his growing erection.

“Fuck” Eddie hisses as his hands fall to your waist, now controlling your movements and pulling you in deeper.

“That’s exactly what I intend on doing.” The air gets caught in your throat as a small laugh leaves your lips, your clit catching on rough denim fabric, Eddie swears every time you giggle it’s like an angel gets its wings. It’s sweet and soft, just like you.

You lean in closer, soft plump lips meeting yours in a tangle of tongues, it’s hot and desperate as you are for each other.

Eddie moans into your mouth as your movements get more daring, practically bouncing on his clothed lap. His eyes quickly flicker to your tits as they jiggle with each bounce, it’s clear you’re not wearing a bra, and the idea makes Eddie’s mouth water and his cock stiffen. It feels the hardest it's been since he took a dick in his ass for the very first time. He needs to be inside you and he hopes you're willing to give him that, he’ll do anything for it, at this moment. He feels like a desperate idiot; but he is, he really is so fucking desperate for you.

You immediately notice the way Eddie’s eyes have been trained on the perky slopes of your breasts, with an ever growing smirk you take the hem and hike the shirt up and over your head to be discarded on the red carpet of his van.

“Holy shit!” Eddie practically pants, like a dog who’s out of water.

His decorated hands move up from your hips as they begin to tweak at your nipples, nimble fingers rubbing over the double balled jewelry that sits on each hardened peak.

“Fuck, such pretty tits!” He groans “and they’re pierced, Jesus.” Eddie was enthralled, absolutely fucking enthralled by you.

You lean down, planting soft kisses to Eddie’s long, beautiful neck, leaving behind remenits of your red lipstick and spit soaked bruises.

“Mmm…” he hums as you suck and bite at a spot under his ear lobe.

“Please, fuck me.” You breathily murmur into his ear, before you lift yourself back up using his pecs as leverage, eyes meeting his as you gauge his reaction to your plea.

“You sure, baby?” He whispers before leaving a sloppy kiss to your jaw.

“I’m so sure, please Eddie.” The way you moan his name as you beg for him creates something feral inside of Eddie, his eyes now glazed over into something dark, his jaw tightens as he grabs two rough handfuls of your ass, that are now exposed while your skirt sits carelessly on your lower back.

His right hand slowly glides up your body and into your hair, quickly tightening his fingers around the strands at the base of your neck.

“You want my cock, princess?” He challenges through his teeth.

“Yes, mmhmm, so bad!” You insist with a shout, having your hair pulled has always made you drip between your legs.

“Then go on.. take my cock out, you cock hungry little slut.” He growls as his fingers wrap tighter around your hair before quickly pulling his hand away, he gives your ass one hard spank before he’s back to grabbing at the meat.

You make quick work of his handcuff belt, unbuttoning and swiftly pulling down the zipper before dipping your thumbs into the waistband of both his boxers and jeans and peeling them off, leaving both garments to sit around the tops of his knees.

The sight you’re met with causes you to gasp, he has to be at least 9 inches, it was red and throbbing, wetness from his precum already saturating the mushroom tip.

“Like what you see, baby?” He brags with a smirk that could make Satan himself shiver.

“You’re so pretty, every part of you.” You admit as you lick your bottom lip, with hunger in your eyes.

Eddie wraps a ringed hand around the base of his cock, vulgarly slapping the air with it,

“Where do you want it, huh sweetheart?” His grunt made more slick pool from your needy cunt.

Showing is better than telling, so you plant your knees between his thighs, bringing your face mere inches from his pulsing hard sex.

“Holy fuck, are you gonna—” his eyes roll back as your tongue glides up the underside of his cock, before wrapping your lips around his tip. “No girl has ever given me head.” He huffs while throwing his head back.

You let go of his cock with a wet pop, “no one’s ever sucked your dick before?” You scrunch your face up in confusion, there’s no way he’s never been treated to some head, that would be a travesty.

“I have, j-just not by a-a women.” He stutters out in embarrassment, as his face flushes a bright red that travels down his neck.

It takes you a second to understand what he means, “oh” was all you said, before shrugging and getting back to work on his tip.

He smiles down at you, pulling all of your hair out of your face and holding it together in a makeshift ponytail as he gently guides your head up and down on him, until you’re taking him deeper, so deep your nose is now brushing against the curly hairs at his base, you swallow his tip down before you begin rapidly moving and twisting your head as if a women possessed.

“Oh my— whoa, fuck baby!” He keens into the stuffy air of the van, “your mouth feels so fucking good!” He begins rapidly pumping his hips up, fucking your throat as spit strings fall to his balls, you reach a hand out and begin massaging them, making him growl in pleasure.

“Okay baby, okay angel please, please stop.” Eddie whimpers as he pulls you off of his cock, the spit on your lips remains connected to Eddie’s tip.

He rubs over the messy swollen flesh with the pad of his thumb, as he hums in satisfaction.

“All fours, now.” He commands before shifting up and onto his knees, you crawl further up the mattress, finally laying your head against the sheets that were now dampened by his back, you arch your ass up while making sure your stomach was equally lowered, the position causing your ass to stick out more for him.

“Good girl.” He praised before giving your ass another harsh slap. “Let’s get these off of you.” Eddie slides your black thong over your butt and down your legs, slowly pulling them off from around your feet.

He throws your panties towards the front of the driver's seat, the black fabric lands perfectly on his dashboard. “M’keepin’ those.” He chuckles.

You’re so lost in desire, that someone could’ve told you Rob Halford himself was out signing autographs and you wouldn’t have bat an eyelash or made any attempts to move.

“Fuck, look at these pretty holes.” Eddie groans while running the tips of his fingers from your clit up towards your asshole. “You like getting all of your holes filled, princess?” He smirks at the way your body reacts to him and how loud you moan at his words.

Your ‘yes’ is muffled by the mattress, Eddie’s having none of it.

SLAP!

“Speak up!” He grumbles, before taking both cheeks roughly in his hands and spreading them.

“Yes! I love it!” Your wail has Eddie’s smirk growing more devilish

“I know you do.” He mocks as his middle finger teases your entrance, he causes your body to writhe and groan in desperation by slipping just the tip of his finger in and out of your aching hole.

Finally after all of his teasing, he slips his full finger inside, pumping in and out at a splitting speed.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He gasps while resting his head on your backside as he still works you with his finger, finally slipping another one in and scissoring them in an attempt to stretch you out.

He hasn’t even fucked you, yet you’re still an incoherent mess as slobber begins to pool on the sheets below your face.

His head starts to slowly move closer to where you’re spread, you gasp and wiggle when you feel his wet tongue slowly lick over your puckered hole.

“Oh fuck!” You blubber, the action making you clench around Eddie’s fingers.

“Mm, oh you like getting your asshole licked?” He scoffs in a teasing tone “it feels good, doesn’t it?”

All you can do is nod and sob into his cheap cologne smelling sheets.

Slowly slipping his fingers out as he moves in closer, replacing his digits with his throbbing cock.

“You ready, princess?” He surveys as he runs his calloused hands up and down your back, gently rubbing at your soft skin.

“Mmhm, I’m ready.” You consent while lifting your head to get a good look at him as he slides into you.

His tip begins breaching your entrance as your eyes remain locked on each other, you and Eddie’s brows are both furrowed and jaws slack as he pushes in deeper.

“Oh, fuck!” Eddie growls as he continues to stretch you out. If he were to die in this very moment, he would die a happy man, the way your pussy is squeezing and choking him; he’s fucked tight assholes, but never a pussy this tight and he thinks it might be his new favorite thing, the way you get so effortlessly wet and the ridges on your walls that stimulate his cock so sensationally. The weed makes his mind go to some weird places; maybe I found some kind of holy grail pussy? He shakes his head of the weird thoughts beginning to plague his mind.

“Yes, right there!” Your screeching brings him back down to this dimension, making him drive deeper and pound harder into you, hitting that spongy spot over and over until you’re shaking underneath him, knees almost buckling at the intense pleasure that is now conquering your body. His fingers are pressed so deep into the skin of your upper thighs, that you’re positive they’ll be bruised by tomorrow.

“Right there?” Eddie mockingly smirks as he hits it over and over with his tip, “that your spot, baby?”

Your “mmhmm” comes out so whiny and desperate, he knew you were close and so was he but he needed to see you fall apart first.

Eddie quickly brings his thumb up to his lips, the calloused finger dipping into his mouth as he sucks, getting it all nice and wet before you feel it prodding your unused hole, he begins thrusting faster as his digit reaches the second knuckle. “Oh my god, you have the tightest fucking holes.” He sounds so out of breath and fucked out by this point, his loud groans, filthy words and extra finger are making you reach that peak of toe curling completion at a hurdling speed.

“I’m gonna cum.” You whine as you begin to back up into his thrusts, making his cock and finger hit deeper depths.

“Yes, cum for me baby.” He urges as he’s on the precipice of his own high.

“Yes, yes…” you babble as your body tenses, uncontrollably shaking as you come undone, Eddie’s thumb continues to work your asshole, while he fucks you through the most intense orgasm you’ll probably ever have.

“I-I’m coming baby, fuck!” Eddie shouts before he pulls himself out of your tight heat, hand maniacally working his cock until his warm seed spurts into your stretched out asshole.

“Holy shit!” He groans while his body falls over yours, you both begin to laugh until you hear someone pound their fist on the side of the van.

“Hey, Eddie—” you gasp at the disturbance, eyes going wide when you catch a glance at the metalhead, “the show's about to start man, everyone’s lining up at the door!” The raspy masculine voice calls out again, before you’re left in silence.

You and Eddie begin frantically getting dressed in hopes to get a good spot in line.

Once out into the fresh summer air, Eddie throws his arm around your shoulders, “you wanna watch the show with us, princess?” He proposes with a sweet grin, while lighting a cigarette.

You were right, a Judas Priest concert was the perfect place to make new friends.

taglist:

@michellecrusher @ali-r3n @crybabyddl @definitelynotecho @ajkamins @daniellabrandt @bl4ckt00thgr1n

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #eddie munson fic

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nickeverdeen · 5 months

Note

heya! can i request a HC for umbrella academy?

where five has a crush on reader but shes an airhead and doesnt figure it out, BUT, allison and viktor know so one day they catch five staring at reader and they point it out which leads to five getting embarrassed and looking away hella fast- idk where im going with this.... pretty much loverboy five with a crush on airhead reader 😭

thank u, stay hydrated!!

Hope you’ll like it! Please tell me if I wrote something wrong as I’m not really sure how an airheads usually act. Anyways I tried my best and I hope you’ll like it, love you 🫶💚

Five = blue text

Allison = pink text

Viktor = purple text

————————————————————

Five Hargreeves crushing on an airhead fem!reader

When Five first started interacting with you he started warming up towards you pretty quickly

You became friends or well… that’s what you considered him as he prefered to keep it as allies

Obviously that didn’t work

You on the other hand were just really glad that you got a friend

Despite his logical thinking, Five can’t help but be intrigued by your carefree and whimsical nature

It’s like small a mystery even he can’t solve

Five, being used to dealing with complex problems, is often baffled by the your scattered thoughts and blindness towards people who were trying to flirt with you

That is also one of the things he kidna also likes about you

It is pretty amusing to him

Five, in his own peculiar way, becomes protective of you

Yet you brush it off thinking it’s just him being protective towards you like towards his family

Being an airhead means that you also have an insight of some things

So when Five notices he starts to appreciate the unique perspective you bring to the team/family

Five, used to precision sometimes gets frustrated by the your forgetfulness and blindness

However, he can’t stay mad for long when you flash an innocent smile or do something adorably clumsy

Slowly Five secretly goes out of his way to make your life a bit easier

Like leaving helpful notes or subtly manipulating time to prevent minor mishaps

Five’s siblings were truly confused by his newfound interest, especially considering yours and his differences

Especially Allison and Viktor

They couldn’t put a finger on what he sees in the airhead considering he’s usually cold towards people like that but they were secretly amused by it

Klaus of course started teasing him about it

Five made sure not to snap at someome whenever you were around which made it better for Klaus

Despite the differences, there was a silent understanding between Five and you

Sometimes he even takes you to travel in time even if it would be only a few minutes

Mostly so he could hold your hand

He is much nicer towards you than towards others

Which leads Allison to talk to Viktor about this

A small speculations between the two siblings start

Seeing Five’s behaivor towards you made them believe that he may like you more than a friend

Viktor being Viktor had some doubts

Five stole a few glances at you during breakfeast when he was sitting across from you who is talking to Klaus

Your smile and carefree behaivor even in the morning is adorable

Viktor’s doubts are washed away when he and Allison catch Five staring at you

They decide to confort him about it silently so you wouldn’t notice

“You know if you’ll take a picture of her you can stare at it longer”

Five, caught off guard, quickly looks away, attempting to hide his embarrassment

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about”

Five, ever the stoic and composed one, quickly denies having any interest in the airhead

He brushes off their teasing, insisting that he was merely lost in thought

Allison since that day is the one teasing him about it while Viktor is the supportive one

He has been there with Sissy-

They make lighthearted jokes, causing Five to squirm uncomfortably as he continues to deny any romantic interest towards you

At which he fails terribly

Five, feeling the pressure, resorts to awkward deflections and changing the topic

To for example mission-related matters or starts analyzing some concepts, attempting to get rid of the attention from his personal life

The more you hang out with him the harder it is for him to hide his feelings

I mean you’re amazing

Despite his hiding, Five continues to steal glances at you, unable to completely hide his feelings

Of course Allison and Viktor exchange amused glances, silently acknowledging the obvious

It was driving Five crazy

Allison and Viktor, still determined to get Five to admit his crush, offer playful advice on expressing his feelings

They suggest subtle gestures or dropping hints, causing Five to groan in exasperation

“Come on Five, I’ve been there you just have to come clean”

“I am not in love with her!”

Despite the denial and embarrassment, there are moments when Five can’t help but smile when thinking about the airhead

Your smile, adorable behaivor, those eyes, that carefree and funny personality…

Shit, he has to confess before any other guy will do it

Five has Viktor’s and Allison’s support, he knows he’ll have to do it

Inside he feels like the 13 year old boy he looks like

Ready to confess his feelings towards you he fixes his tie and goes into the kitchen where you are…

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✨And the rest is up to your imagination✨

#request #headcanons #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves #five hargreaves x you #five hargreeves tua #airheads #five hargreeves having crush

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tickle-bugs · 11 months

Text

But You Were Mine

Summary: Still hung up on the fit of Bruce’s body against his, Clark attempts the oldest possible ritual: getting to know his pseudo-sweetheart. Too bad Bruce Wayne is the most unknowable man on Earth. Sequel to Chase the Memory of it Still.

Yet again, blame @fickle-tiction for this. Doing a midnight post and run so I don’t have to look at this in the morning lol. Also warning for mild barely even lukewarm makeouts. Probably tamer than Part 1 lol.

Also also: the beginning scene with Clark and Lois works best if you imagine that Lois doesn’t know that Bruce is Batman but suspects him, all while thinking Clark doesn’t know that Bruce is Batman. So she’s trying to protect him from being lied to and Clark is like ‘but Lois I love him’

“Clark Joseph Kent, you’re a grade-A idiot.” Lois thwaps the back of his head with a rolled-up newspaper.

“I know,” Clark groans into the surface of Lois’s desk. She thwaps him again.

“So, let me get this straight.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “You somehow conned your way into a fake relationship with Bruce Wayne of all people, and now you have feelings for him?”

“I’ve always had feelings for him,” He mumbles, suddenly feeling very small in his seat. When he looks up at her, she’s glaring at him. Ah, he’s in trouble.

“You don’t know him.” She spreads her hands on the surface of her desk, knocking aside a few Daily Planet pens. He picks them up and puts them back.

“Yes I do.” Clark frowns.

“He’s an airhead playboy with zero priorities. You deserve someone who’ll be honest—“

“Oh? Like Selina?”

Lois gets very quiet. Her stare pierces like a fine needle through his throat. A few battered emotions flicker over her face, leaving in their wake a rare and unguarded Lois. Then, quicker than the cat that stole her heart, her face resigns into something sharp and deadly.

“I’m sorry.” He circles the desk and pulls her into a hug. After a begrudging glare, she tips her head into his chest. They inhale and exhale together—a routine they’ve shared for years. She relaxes into him.

“No, you’re right.” She chuckles. “I fell for a thief. That’s on me.”

“And I spent the night with the one guy I shouldn’t have. We can’t all be perfect.” Clark elbows her, looking for a smile. Lois’s eyes blow wide and she starts spluttering.

“You hooked up with him?” She thankfully keeps to a hissing whisper, but he can tell she wants to shout. He contemplates flying around the Earth fast enough to undo the moment, but she’s gripping his shirt tight enough to stop him.

“Well, okay, we kissed a bunch but it didn’t go further—“

“Oh god, we’re both hopeless.” She groans into her hands.

“No, not hopeless. We can both have what we want. I’ll call Bruce if, and only if, you call Selina.” He pulls her hands away from her face. She huffs and smiles.

“This optimism thing is going to bite you in the ass. How do you think you’re gonna maintain a relationship with someone who doesn’t know that you, uh, work two jobs?” She casts a weary glance towards the office door and drops her voice even lower.

“He gets me, Lois.” It’s all he can say. It’s the truth.

“Alright.” She brushes a thumb over his cheek. “Then get to know him at least. Find out if he’s the kind of guy worth being around.”

“I know he's worth it. That’s not ever in question.” Clark can’t help but smile a little as he thinks of Bruce. “It’s an internal thing. He sees me. I see him. We don’t have to pretend with each other. It’s…just us.”

Her keen eyes scan every inch of his face, even as he trails off.

“You should tell him.” She squeezes his arm.

“What? No. Absolutely not. I only said that because I know you won’t call her. C’mon, you’re supposed to be the voice of reason here.” He squints at her. She flicks him in the forehead.

“Okay, well the ‘voice of reason’ thinks you should say something before you lose this…somehow healthy-sounding relationship you have. With Bruce Wayne, of all people,” She mutters that last part, but Clark both hears and ignores it.

“We’re friends and it’s good. Really good. He trusts me at least a little. I don’t want him to think I have ulterior motives. If I could read him at all, figure out what he wants…but I can’t. I can’t lose him.”

“This isn’t the healthiest advice, but…start a list. Treat him like a case. What are some things that draw you to him? Things he hides? Things he shows only to you? If it makes you do that dopey giggle thing you do, he’s probably worth it.” She leans against the edge of her desk and crosses her arm.

“I don’t do a giggle…thing,” he mumbles, but his face is already heating up an incriminating amount.

“It’s cute. He’ll probably like it.” She tweaks his nose. He swats her hand away, but his spirits are far lighter.

His phone buzzes and he checks it as discreetly as possible.

B: Free this afternoon?

Clark smiles.

C: On my way. :)

“I’ve gotta go.” He stands and shrugs on his suit jacket.

“Boyfriend awaits?” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“Bye, Lois.” He rolls his eyes.

“Tell him I’d love to do an exclusive with him.” She snickers.

“I’ll tell him that when you call Selina.” He smirks. She gasps her way into laughter, her face blooming pink. Her hand comes up to play with a diamond necklace sitting on her collarbone--a cat-shaped pendant he’s never seen her wear before--and shakes her head fondly.

“I will after you kiss your playboy. Again.” She raises her eyebrow. Checkmate.

“Bye, Lois,” He says a little louder. She playfully shoos him from her office. He kisses her cheek.

Clark can only smile when he hears her phone ringing and the faint “Hey, kitty” through the glass.

….

It’s apt that Gotham is as dark and segmented as its protector, Clark thinks, because he’s never in his life met anyone as fragmented as Bruce Wayne. Everyone in the League is broken in some way, battered by traumas that still threaten to crush them, but Bruce is markedly...different. He covers the cracks in his soul with masks. For every unveiling, six more facades lay below it.

The reporter in him finds a dark fascination with it. The lost Kryptonian in him finds it…depressing. The human in him is currently bouncing on his heels in the lobby of Wayne Tower until Bruce finally meets him downstairs.

Bruce glides off of one of the elevators and nods at a few hushed executives who scurry in behind him. He must come off so effortless to them—not a hair out of place, a new suit and coat every day, but Clark can see the exhaustion clouding his eyes. Bruce Wayne is put together. Bruce is tired.

“You seem eager.” Bruce gives him a practiced small smile as they fall into step.

“I’m having the slowest of slow days. This was a much needed adventure.” Clark stretches his spine. It gives a loud, much needed crack. He’s just a little too big for his chair at the Planet and it’s starting to take its toll.

“We’re just walking down the street,” Bruce chuckles. He bumps the doors to the building open and Clark darts out. A light flurry of snow twirls through the air as they start their walk. He catches a snowflake on his tongue before he can think better of it. Bruce’s smile grows a little wider.

“So? Every trip away from my desk is an adventure. C’mon, I know a spot.” Clark nods to the side and they hang a left, passing under a train overpass.

“You know a spot in Gotham?” Bruce raises a brow.

“I get around.” Clark grins.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

They end up at a patisserie on the East side, a small family-run shop that deserves far more business than it gets. Clark can smell the wonders within from a good mile away.

Months ago, when he was helping Lois write a scathing exposé on Wayne Enterprises, this spot had served him well. Nothing better than a building full of sweets and a decent wifi connection to get you through betraying a good friend. Shredding that article was easily the best decision of Clark’s life, especially since Lois’s pivot towards flaying Lexcorp alive won her an award.

He buys them both coffee—black for Bruce, vanilla for himself—and sets about the intricate ritual of sweetening his coffee to perfection. This is normalcy. Normalcy is good.

“This is the only part of Gotham I like.” Clark steals little peeks at Bruce, waiting for him to inevitably make fun of him, but his eyes are elsewhere.

A refrigerated display tower of macarons stands proudly next to the register, boasting all sorts of delicious surprises. The splash of color is welcome among the somewhat dreary day outside.

“Hm?” Bruce’s gaze struggles to find its way back to Clark.

“You seem distracted.” Clark pops the stirring straw into his mouth and pulls the remaining coffee out with a little slurp. He pops the lid onto his cup much slower than necessary. The first time you crush a cup of boiling liquid in public tends to change you, after all. He’s grown since then.

“Heavy work day.” For a man so difficult to read, Bruce has never clearly been more full of shit. He doesn’t even try to look away from the cookie display.

“Do you…want a macaron?” Clark doesn’t bother trying to stifle his amusement.

“What? No.” Bruce withdraws slightly.

“What’s your favorite? My treat.” Clark jerks a thumb towards the display.

“Money isn’t the problem.” Bruce scoffs, but not unkindly. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. Clark tries to ignore the still-fading lovebite on Bruce’s neck that he left.

“Then what is?” Clark leans forward on his elbows. Surprise flickers across Bruce’s face for the slightest of moments.

“…I’ve never had one,” Bruce mumbles, shuffling a bit in his seat. Clark beams.

“First time for everything. C’mon.” Clark vigorously beckons him over to the line. Bruce trails behind with an endearing awkwardness that he’s learned to identify: slow steps, shifty eyes, and silence.

Clark takes his time to point out his favorite flavors and make a few recommendations, but he feels like he’s stumbling around in the dark. His sweet tooth is only rivaled by Diana’s—even then, their tastes match so closely that he’s a little lost with someone like Bruce.

Bruce stares deeply at him. Clark’s rambling stutters to a halt. He pulls on his collar a bit. Adjusts his glasses.

Bruce’s eyes seem so warm. Must be the light.

“If today was my last day to live and you had to give me a macaron, what would you choose?” Bruce leans close. His eyes are on the display, thank god, because Clark doesn’t know that he can handle more of that eye contact right about now.

“It amazes me that you’re so committed to the dark and brooding thing.” Clark rolls his eyes, and after some thought: “Raspberry.”

“Hm. Okay.” And that’s that. Bruce orders quickly and walks away with his prize, leaving Clark to scramble after him. They sit back down in their quiet little corner, the naturally-frosted window fogging slightly at their presence.

Bruce opens his box of macarons clinically, like he’s stripping it for parts. He takes one out and admires the color, gives it a little test squish, sniffs it. Clark watches the process with vested interest until Bruce pulls out another box and slides it towards him.

“What’s this?” Clark pulls the box close.

“Strawberry Cheesecake macarons. I saw you eyeing them when we came in.” Bruce pokes the box again, sliding them just a little more forward.

“I’m not subtle, am I?” Clark pushes his glasses up again. He cracks the box open and pops a cookie in his mouth. His eyelids flutter shut and he does a little dance in his chair.

“It’s one of your more endearing qualities.” Bruce quirks a small, smug smile.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Clark fake sniffles. The resulting eyeroll is incredibly satisfying.

Bruce takes a mouse-like nibble of the macaron, catching maybe an atom of cookie and filling between his teeth. He chews thoughtfully.

“So? Do we have a winner?” Clark rests his chin on his hand.

“I think so. You have good taste,” Bruce hums, taking another tentative bite of the macaron. A gentle, genuine smile peaks on his lips like a glimpse of the sun through storm clouds.

“That’s the second nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Clark swipes a macaron from Bruce’s box fast enough to send a small breeze fluttering between them.

“And it will never happen again.” Bruce peeks open one eye as he finishes his macaron.

Okay, bumping shredding that Wayne Enterprises article down to number two. This, Clark thinks, watching Bruce smile to himself, this is easily top of the list.

1 ) He likes raspberries.

It takes later in the week until they have a moment to truly spend a bit of time together. Criminal roundups never leave much personal time, and Clark’s hearing has him near-constantly running to save lives. But, on a quiet Wednesday night, he has a moment.

He loves visiting Wayne Manor. It’s been a while since he last swung by, but he adores the place. He could spend hours swooning over the architecture alone. It’s a beautiful place to disappear for a while, and he’s been doing that more and more lately.

He gets buzzed into the gates easy enough with a lie about taking the bus, and then he’s standing in the massive foyer and hanging up his coat by the door. The manor smells of old wood and citrus. Clark draws in a big breath of it.

He turns and jumps a bit when a flock of people are suddenly staring at him atop the stairs. Bruce’s kids, right. He knows Dick, Tim, and Jason. The others are still a bit fuzzy to him. They all leer from the landing like royalty watching a gladiator in the pit.

“Hey there.” He waves at the smallest and angriest of the bunch. This is Damien, he’s pretty sure.

“So you’re the new guy.” A blonde—Steph, he remembers her from the Christmas card—leans on the railing with her forearms.

“I wouldn’t mess with him, Steph. He’s tougher than he looks,” Dick murmurs out of the corner of his mouth, trying his best to be subtle. Clark gives him a friendly wave. He returns it.

“He looks like he wears a pocket protector. I could take him,” Steph whispers to Dick. Clark tries to rein in his expression so he doesn’t give himself away.

“I’m not sure we’ve met. I’m Clark. You’re all Bruce’s kids, right? It’s nice to meet you.” He tries to make himself look as friendly as possible. He gets a few waves, but mostly owlish stares. He sees where they get it from.

“Is your father home?” Clark sticks his hands in his pockets and tries to kill the silence.

“Bruce! Your boyfriend’s here!” Jason bellows. Clark bites his lip to hide his smile.

“Clark?” Bruce peeks around the corner, then shuffles quickly down the stairs.

“Hey. I, uh, had a few minutes. Just came by to see you before I went home.” Clark rubs the back of his neck with a smile, trying to kill the flutter in his chest.

“Bruce, say something,” Tim hisses, crouching behind the banister as if Clark can’t see him. Bruce startles, glares at him, and then gestures for Clark to follow him. As they pass, all of the kids watch him go, whispering in a building flurry that he doesn’t bother dissecting. He tells himself it’s because they deserve their privacy, but really…he’s nervous. Severely.

“I hope they didn’t make you uncomfortable. They can be a bit…eager.” Bruce’s smile is warm beneath the lights of the old manor.

“They’re wonderful. Terrifying, but wonderful.” Clark chuckles and bumps their shoulders together while they walk.

It’s these precious minutes that define their friendship more than anything. Clark tells Bruce all about his day, about his Lex Luthor exposé making the front page, about everything and nothing at all. He talks and Bruce listens, egging him on with gentle tilts of the head when he shyly falls into silence.

By the time they reach the gardens, it’s Clark’s turn to listen. Bruce tells him about the kids, occasionally stopping whenever he notices one lurking. He asks for his opinion on random scenarios. Clark can’t tell if they’re hypotheticals but he answers as truthfully as he can, chasing the little noises of appreciation that Bruce makes as he talks.

Not only are Bruce’s masks interchangeable, taking him from Bruce to Batman to Bruce Wayne, they’re also removable. Clark doesn’t know when he was bestowed with the honor of being with Just Bruce, but he’s immensely grateful for it.

“Good evening, Mr. Kent.” Alfred nods respectfully in his direction. “Master Bruce, you have a call from Mr. Fox. Line three, sir.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Bruce squeezes Clark’s shoulder. “You can wait here, if you’d like.”

“Am I allowed to touch anything?” Clark teases.

“Anything you want.” Bruce winks at him, completely straight-faced, and disappears into the corridors of the manor. Clark’s face grows embarrassingly hot and he reclines against the lip of the fountain.

He birdwatches as he waits, counting which of Bruce’s kids make normal, completely non-suspicious trips through his personal space. Dick’s the least sneaky of the bunch, but it lends him a genuine quality. He sits and chats with Clark for a few minutes, asking him about work and the like. He asks about his relationship with Bruce and Clark mumbles something non-committal, cheeks warm.

Bruce, uh, never put out that statement about them breaking up. Clark thinks he might be alright if it never gets published.

As the hours draw on, he catalogs where the other Robins like to hide. Tim and Damien have an affinity for hiding in the massive hedges surrounding the gardens, while Steph takes to watching from the windows. Cass is the hardest to spot but he catches her on the roof a few times, perched and enjoying the warm dusk breeze. He sees Jason with her once too.

If he’s learned anything from their father, it’s that staring is caring. Probably.

When Alfred fetches him hours later, he arrives at a scene he wants to burn permanently into his memory.

Bruce is seated at the beautiful. obnoxiously long table in the dining room. He’s got a knee hiked up on the chair, picking idly at the fabric of his pants. On the table, a black kitten rolls around and bats at a toy. It’s sweet and oddly domestic.

“Hey.” Bruce doesn’t turn.

“Hi. Who’s this?” Clark holds a hand out to the kitten and it drops its paw on top of his palm, mewing softly. The squeaky, deflating noise that leaves him is not one he’s proud of. It’s so sweet and small.

“Nyx. She’s a stray. I give her food when I can.” Bruce scratches her head gently. Nyx purrs and lays down on the table, tucking her head into the attention. She’s a precious baby, is what she is. Clark has half a mind to take her home.

That is, until Bruce sneezes loud enough to send poor Nyx running. She flings herself off the table and into one of the manor’s seemingly endless corridors.

“Bless you.” Clark chuckles. Bruce pulls a face.

“Master Bruce.” Alfred hands him a box of tissues.

“I can hear you laughing, Alfred,” he sniffles, hair a bit ruffled from the sneeze. Clark purposefully averts his eyes.

“I would never, sir. Goodnight, Mr. Kent.” Alfred bows his head, sharing that mischievous glint in his eye.

“Goodnight, Alfred.” Clark grins, settling into the oversized chair beside Bruce.

2 ) He’s got a cat allergy, but he feeds the strays anyway. Bruce = cat person?

“Stop it.” Hearing the Batman voice and knowing it’s mostly because Bruce is annoyed is truly golden.

“Stop what?” Clark floats leisurely alongside Bruce, arms behind his head. Keeping pace with him isn’t hard--he’s fast for human standards, but not by Clark’s. He’s made it a habit anyways not to zip too far ahead as they’ve grown closer. It kills the banter.

“Look, all I’m saying is that if Batman started flying, criminals would absolutely take the week off. If I was a criminal and I thought Batman had suddenly gotten superpowers, I’d simply leave Gotham.” Clark flips upside down and hangs in front of Bruce, still drifting backwards in pace with him.

He can sense Bruce trying not to smile, but when he opens his mouth to tease, karma speaks instead. Clark smacks his head into the side of a building just as Bruce slips through a narrow space between it and its neighbor. Clark flies up over the building and catches up with Bruce again, scowling.

“I know you’re laughing.” Clark crosses his arms.

“Me? Never. Just thinking about how great it is to be grounded.” Bruce allows himself the tiniest of smirks, just enough to be infuriating, and it’s Clark’s turn to roll his eyes.

3 ) He restrains his emotions. Even the good ones.

Roaming the Hall of Justice late at night is a cultivated hobby of Clark’s. The best snacks hide in the dark, after all, and he knows that no one’s gonna come bother him about a missing bag of chips at this hour. He needs time to think and food to think with.

Clark’s feelings for Bruce could both span and fill an ocean. He doesn’t know when this happened. As far as he can remember, there’s always been this beacon of warmth in his chest guiding him to Bruce. Through every late night and early morning, through hopelessness and joy, Bruce is a constant. It’s too much to put on one person. Too risky.

The ‘l word’ pops into his head like a dark omen, and he skids to a halt. He glances around, listening for any league members skulking around. All he hears is his own thundering heartbeat.

Fuck. Fuck.

He makes his way into the kitchen past a snoring Arthur, pausing to snatch the jumbo bag of cheese puffs from his limp grasp. He slips quietly out into the hall, passing by the lounge, where Bruce and Diana are laughing—

Clark backpedals, nearly tripping over his own feet, but god it’s worth it. Bruce is clutching Diana’s shoulder and giggling, stuck in the loop of overwhelming laughter that follows an unyielding barrage of jokes.

They’re still suited up, probably fresh off a patrol, and Clark wonders how long they’ve been sitting here. A mountain of chocolates, the fancy ones, cover the surface of the table. Diana delicately sorts through and plucks the ones she wants from the pile as Bruce watches.

“Diana’s the new team comedian. None of you are funny.” Bruce recovers from his laughter, but the smile stays, and Clark makes an active effort to be normal about it. The delirium of another late night in a row must have gotten to him. That’s the only explanation.

“Barry will be devastated.” Clark chuckles. He leans in the doorframe and catches a cheese puff in his mouth.

“He will survive.” The sparkle in Diana’s eye has him wishing he had tuned into their conversation.

“If I had known y’all were partying in here, I would’ve come to hang out.” Clark crunches on another cheese puff, mostly to distract himself from the way Bruce’s eyes are sparkling. He didn’t know they could do that.

“There’s no reason you can’t party with us now.” Diana gestures to the seat next to Bruce.

Aw, what the hell? Eating junk food together couldn’t be much worse than doing it alone.

4 ) Bruce can laugh--he just has to be caught off-guard. He likes to laugh (?) (who doesn’t?)

“When you said you needed help, I thought you meant with translating.” Clark wanders into the room. The concrete is irritatingly cold on his feet.

Bruce types away wildly at a computer station with too many monitors. A pair of giant goggles on his head pull his hair out of his face. Clark leans over his shoulder to see what he’s doing, but the code flying across the screen is a nightmare.

At the opposite end of the room, a mechanical rig sits primed on a set of rails. In the center, a gnarly looking gun barrel stares out into an empty expanse.

“I’m trying to test new ammunition for the Batmobile, but my target system is down. Can’t reboot it.” Bruce clicks something else and the gun starts calibrating. A pathetic clicking sound picks up as targets struggle to ascend from the floor, twitching lifelessly in their compartments.

“Do you want help?”

“With coding?” Bruce turns with an expression just shy of condescending.

“God no. I am bulletproof, if you remember.” Clark sticks his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Doesn’t help. I need to study the impacts afterwards.” Bruce gestures to a massive chunk of concrete on a stand nearby. Clark hefts it into his arms with a quiet grunt.

“Just...keep up with the gun. I prefer my walls without bullet holes.” Bruce quickly turns away from him. Clark can hear his heartbeat pounding. He starts to ask, but the gun rig starts warming up and he sacrifices his curiosity.

“Alright. Whenever you’re ready.” Clark adjusts his stance to prep for the recoil. The machine whirrs and clicks as it loads itself with rounds. Bruce types in a few things on a nearby control panel and pulls the goggles down over his eyes.

The gun barrel spins and whines as it gains force. Clark hovers a few inches off the ground and tenses. He lines the concrete up with his chest, his eyes just clearing over top of it.

The machine fires quicker and lower than he anticipates.

A sharp zing zips up Clark’s side, then another, then another, and he drops the concrete, instead covering his smile while forcing himself to stay still. That’s certainly not his best idea--no block means no cover, which subsequently means getting pelted with another wave of bullets.

Clark crumples into a flurry of giggles before he can stop himself. He curls up as much as he can—partly to stop any new onslaughts, mostly to hide his reddening face. He’s been shot more than anything and it’s never bothered him. He didn’t know he could be ticklish to touch, let alone to goddamn bullets.

“Clark! Are you okay?” Bruce leaps over the gun rig and pulls the safety goggles up onto his head.

“Y-Yes. I’m fine. Your machine…thing packs a punch.” Clark clears his throat to stop the rogue snickers forming a conga line in his throat.

“I thought you were supposed to be bulletproof.” Bruce huffs, kicking the pieces of shattered brick out of the way. He swipes at Clark’s torso, probably trying to brush away the dust on him. Clark flinches under the touch and coughs over a laugh.

“I am. It just…felt…weird.” Clark snatches Bruce’s wrist a little too quickly. Bruce’s brow furrows and he leans close, eyes glued to Clark’s stomach with sheer worry. His face resolves into tense understanding. Clark lets his hand go.

“What? What?” He tries to catch Bruce’s gaze. There shouldn’t be anything wrong. He feels fine. Nothing pierced. Definitely not bleeding—he learned what that feels like and he hates it. But Bruce has an eye for things that Clark could never dream of noticing, and right now he’s staring like Clark already has a foot in the grave.

“Can’t believe you fell for that.” Bruce smirks. He pulls Clark close—hello—and kneads unhurried fingers into his stomach.

No one will ever believe him. Bruce Wayne is tickling him and no one will ever believe him.

“B-Bruce!” Clark strains out of Bruce’s grip as best as he can, trying not to break any useful bones, but his joints keep turning to jelly. His forehead collides with Bruce’s shoulder and he shimmies rather uselessly.

“This is very entertaining, in case you were wondering.” Bruce hums and starts pinching up Clark’s sides. His warm breath sends goosebumps flaring over his throat.

“I wasn’t!” It’s more of a squeak than words. Evil fingers manage to squeeze beneath his arms and Clark jumps directly into the air.

“Did you just fly away?” A genuine laugh floats out of Bruce, warm and a bit scratchy. Clark wishes he could hear more of that instead of his own dorky laughter ringing in his ears.

“Not on purpose—shut up!” Clark aims a half-hearted kick at Bruce’s shoulder. His face burns hotter than the sun and he hides in his hands.

Bruce grabs his ankle and tries to reel him in like a lost balloon. Clark almost falls for it until suddenly calloused hands are scritching along the bottom of his foot. He giggle-snorts. Kryptonite through the chest would be a mercy, at this point.

A hush falls over the room. Clark dares to peek through his fingers.

“Oh.” Bruce blinks, then the most wicked grin overtakes his face. “Do that again.”

“You’re the worst!” Clark pulls his leg towards his body and accidentally takes Bruce with it--who doesn’t seem the least bit bothered, by the way. Every time he lowers his leg, Bruce doesn’t let go.

“I don’t want to drop you!” Clark shrieks as if a bug is crawling on him, rather than a person.

“Then don’t.” Bruce squeezes his calf and Clark whines his way into a fit of cackles. His body trembles with the effort to not fly directly through the ceiling. The illusion of escape makes it so much worse, especially with Bruce’s fingers worming behind his knee.

“You coming down or am I gonna have to call the fire department?” Jesus, Bruce has a real talent for smirking out loud. Clark tries to shake him off without throwing him across the room. Bruce digs his fingers into Clark’s thigh like he’s climbing a tree and the resulting yelp has Clark resolving to flee the country.

“Y-You’re not building a great case as to why I should!” He flinches after a flurry of giggles and slams his head into the ceiling. Plaster and dust rain down on the two of them. Clark tries to cover the crater he left behind with his hands and a bashful smile.

“Alright, I’m done. I’d like to keep my ceiling in one piece.” Bruce pulls him down to Earth, only letting go when he’s sure that Clark won’t float away again.

“Ticklish Superman. Who knew?” Bruce scritches beneath Clark’s chin, just like at the gala all those weeks ago, and Clark shoves his chin down with a snort.

“No one, and I prefer it that way. Keep it quiet.” He can’t muster any severity in his voice and he’s not sure it would help if he could. The thought of Lois finding out--or worse, Diana--starts an inescapable loop of nervous smiles and a light fluttering in his chest.

“No promises.” Bruce smirks. “I hear Lois wants an exclusive. Maybe I’ll give her a call.”

“Don’t you dare. Bruce—“

He dials her office line, jogging towards the stairs. Clark shrieks and chases after him.

5 ) He’s mischievous. Deathly so.

…

After a long while of staring at his pitiful little list, Clark still finds himself restless. He has naught more than a skeleton, clinging scraps of Bruce’s infinite depths. The paper isn’t suited to contain him. He might actually know less than before.

Even as Bruce beats the shit out of him, he can’t think of anything else.

“Why don’t you let anyone get to know you?” Clark frowns at Bruce across the sparring mats. Bruce runs and leaps onto his shoulders, executing a flawless scissor grip. Clark raises his hand to support his back and Bruce swats him away.

“What?” Bruce grunts, bringing his elbows down onto Clark’s head. He barely notices.

“You’re always so stoic. You never let anyone see you happy.” Clark flips Bruce off his shoulders and down onto his back. He puts his hands on his hips and stares down at him.

“No, I never let anyone see me vulnerable. There’s a difference.” Bruce wraps his legs around Clark’s and takes him down, quickly rolling atop him. Within a second, Bruce unleashes a flurry of blows that, if Clark could feel more than dull impacts, he probably would fear.

“You’re allowed to be vulnerable in front of your friends, Bruce. That’s what makes them friends, not coworkers.” Clark catches his fists and holds them.

“I’ll pass along your suggestion. Are you going to fight back or should I go get Diana?” Bruce raises an eyebrow, breathing hard. Clark flips them both and pins Bruce down.

“I just think—stop wiggling—we should bond more, y’know? Know thy enemy, and all that.” Clark keeps pressing down until Bruce sighs and goes still in his grip. He knows he’s defeated. Smart man.

“That tends to apply to actual enemies, not coworkers.” Bruce sighs.

“Well, we’re more than that, aren’t we?” Clark presses, searching Bruce’s eyes. Bruce nods, looking all for the world like he might bolt from the room.

“Sooo, what’s your favorite color?” When Bruce is silent, Clark rolls his eyes and sits back. “Mine is yellow. Your turn.”

“…lavender.” Bruce eyes him warily. Clark helps him to his feet and they start the cycle again. The minute they stop fighting each other’s rhythm, they find a flawless sync.

“Nice! Okay, uh…favorite food?” Clark ducks under Bruce’s left hook and shoves him back.

“Alfred’s chicken noodle.” Bruce kicks Clark across the face and he lets himself go down. He brushes some of the dust off.

“That sounds nice.” He grins up at Bruce from the mat. The light haloes behind his head so beautifully.

“Yeah.” Bruce clears his throat. “And you…?” He pulls Clark to his feet and resets his stance.

“Can’t go wrong with a slice of fresh apple pie.” Clark sweeps forward with a wink.

Bruce shakes his head and snickers, then punches Clark hard enough in the ribs to crack his own knuckles.

…

Two sharp knocks on the doorframe announce Bruce before his voice does. Clark looks up from the dull light of his laptop.

“Got a second?” Bruce leans in the doorframe, cloaked in slight shadow. He’s dressed comfortably, surprisingly, in a soft t-shirt and sweatpants that hug him well. It makes Clark wanna pull him close.

“Always, yeah.” Clark sets his computer aside and sits up. Bruce leans against the edge of his desk and fishes something out of his pocket.

“Found some intel. I could use a fresh set of eyes on it.” The moon casts loving light across his eyes and jaw.

“Of course.” Clark sits up more.

“Found this nearby. I was hoping you could decipher it.” Bruce hands over a scrap of folded paper. Clark furrows his brow as he takes it, gingerly opening it up. He casts a curious glance at Bruce before he starts to read.

It’s his notes. His notes on Bruce. Shit.

He looks up slowly, horrified. Bruce smirks in full force, oozing mischief that Clark now knows is very much in character.

“Normally, I’m not a fan of being watched. Try to avoid it as much as I can.”

“You’re a hard man to read.” Clark clears his throat and folds the paper down to hide its contents further.

“Yet it seems you’ve cracked the code,” Bruce hums. Clark catches the faint glimmer of that old playboy spark. Bruce’s lips tilt into a devilish smirk.

“So, I’m right then? It’s important…for the record.” Clark scoots up against the headboard in an attempt to look casual. Bruce sits at the foot of the bed. Voluntarily. Clark stops breathing.

“I would say that parts are accurate.”

“Parts?” He clears his throat. Bruce snatches the paper from his grip. He starts murmuring as he skims the list.

“Let’s see…I like raspberries but I’m allergic.”

“You’re what?” The color drains from Clark’s face. Bruce shrugs.

“What else? Oh—I’m a dog person. I have a soft spot for cats.”

“Huh.”

“I am physically capable of laughter.” Bruce rolls his eyes.

“Proved that one already.” Clark smiles. Bruce scowls, then turns back to the paper. Clark remembers, in a terrible flash, the looping doodles of ‘Clark Kent-Wayne’ at the bottom of the page and chokes out a strangled scream.

He disintegrates the paper with a precise blast of heat vision. He feels a little bad for scorching the wall, but not that bad. The evidence is gone. Plausible deniability.

“Seriously?” He brushes the ash off his hands.

“I gotta keep my secrets.” Clark shrugs, but his face is incandescent with heat.

“What about that paper was so bad that it made Superman blush?” Bruce smirks.

“There is nothing on God’s green earth that you could do to make me tell you.” Clark grins from atop the high ground.

Bruce plucks his glasses off of his nose and sets them aside, careful not to touch the lenses. It’s a tender gesture for what is essentially a costume, but something in his heart flutters at the delicate care.

“Are you sure?” He leans close—close enough for Clark to catch a whiff of cologne and the intoxicating sparkle in his eye, close enough for Clark to lean in on instinct, and close enough for Bruce to wrap his hands around Clark’s waist like he’d been wishing he would since that stupid gala. Clark’s lips part.

“Okay, there might be a couple thi—“ Clark cuts himself off with a squeal, slamming his head into the headboard—the resulting crack speaks to a later promise of duct tape. As Bruce shoves his hands under his arms, Clark’s laughter bowls him over quicker than he can apologize.

“You are such a kid!” He throws his head back and cackles, curling into the tightest possible ball that his hulking form could take. Bruce leans over him.

“You have no grounds to call me that. You’re giggling.” Bruce raises an eyebrow,

“Because you’re t-tickling—” Clark regretfully finishes his sentence with a snort. Bruce lights up and chases the sound, relentlessly working his fingers into the grooves of his ribs. Clark hits his head again--there goes the rest of the headboard. And part of the wall.

Between the buzz of being touched by Bruce and being unused to this kind of touch, Clark melts into a haphazard pile of Superman with embarrassing speed. Bruce manages to work his fingers up further, right into his top rib, and he punches a hole directly into the nightstand, sending the lamp toppling over. Bruce relents then, passively assessing the damage while Clark drags in a deep breath.

“You really think it’s a good idea to tickle someone who could throw you into the sun?” Clark huffs, wobbling on a smile. Bruce smirks.

“Never said it was a good idea. Just an alluring one.”

“You find me alluring? Scandalous, Mr. Wayne.” Clark offers a teasing grin. Bruce’s brow crinkles with concern. He goes from fiddling with Clark’s waist to fiddling with his hands.

Bruce gets tactile when he’s stressed. Or when something’s on his mind.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Clark asks softly. He scoots just a bit closer.

“The day after the gala, I had Vicki write up a piece about you and I splitting. Like I promised. It was never published.”

“I noticed,” Clark says carefully, tracking every detail of Bruce’s face.

“I asked her not to.”

“Why?”

“I knew if the article went live, you would stop with the affection and the dates. I know it was only for appearances, but…I really enjoyed it. I wasn’t ready to let it go. I…care about you.” Bruce looks up at him, worry entrenched in the dips of his face. It slips to something resigned and neutral, a blank mask.

Clark smiles like a lunatic, covering his mouth to hide it. He contains the desperate urge to take a lap around the manor. Months, years, of pining bloom into sweet possibility within him. The weight of guilt sloughs off his shoulders. Bruce likes him.

“Y’know, for the smartest man in Gotham, you miss quite a lot.” Clark leans in and waits. Bruce’s eyes flick to Clark’s lips, and in a Batman-esque flash of motion, he swoops down and kisses him. Their bodies slot together almost magnetically. Clark flips them over and bears back down, swallowing Bruce’s gasp of surprise in his mouth.

In an insane way, kissing Bruce is like coming home.

He flings his arms around Clark’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer. Clark immediately, greedily, lets his lips travel along Bruce’s pulse point. He chases the memory of the gala, littering desperate bruises along the cologne-tinged skin. His hand lingers at the base of his throat, brushing reverent fingers as he marks every inch available to him.

Bruce yelps into a giggle, breaking them apart. Clark blinks, processing, then grins with unbridled power.

“This feels…counter-productive.” Bruce swallows, bobbing Clark’s hand. His skin is hot and red to the touch.

“Nice try. You already enabled me—that was your first mistake.” Clark tickles him everywhere he can reach, dodging elbows and headbutts. Bruce cackles from his core, stumbling through a few high-pitched syllables of protest as he twists. He works so hard to force his voice back into its usual octave that it cracks. Clark snickers.

“I am going to kill you,” Bruce growls, reaching back to return the favor. Clark slams his arm down on the mattress, caressing the back of his hand with immovable fingertips.

“Then this is a wonderful last night on Earth.” Clark nibbles on his earlobe. Bruce’s giggly scream and the ensuing threats on his life are music to Clark’s ears.

#my fics #ticklish!bruce wayne #ticklish!clark kent #bruce wayne #clark kent #superbat #dc #ALRIGHT the lois/selina thing came from somewhere ok bc i know its a teeny ship #tbh im not sure it even exists #but my lois is inspired by lena luthor from the cw supergirl series bc lesbianism + superman makes me happy #but i felt like if lois was into kara (which originally she was) clark would be working around the clock to get them together #which derailed the scene. so i put lois and selina together #wlw mlm solidarity clark and lois both being head over heels for their respective creatures of the night speaks to me #they're besties your honor #sorry this is not what i said i would post next but its what i finished off my pile so #also titles from better love by hozier bc that song is superbat to me

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cloudlessly-light · 1 month

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i need a hotchniss proposal fic if you will ever write one with or without smut! you write so well im sure it will be great whatever it is <3

A/N: Thank you Anon, that is so sweet of you! I hope you enjoy this little fluff!

Title: Darling, this is more than everything Summary: In the end, it’s nothing short of a miracle that Emily doesn’t figure out earlier that he’s carried the ring around for months. Word count: 3,6k Rating: General Warnings: None, it's all fluff

Aaron knew he wanted to marry Emily after only a few weeks of dating. It was strange, being so sure about another person. He had never been very trusting, and after Haley he never imagined falling in love again, let alone loving someone like he loved Emily.

It hit him out of nowhere one morning. She had gotten up earlier than him and he found her in the kitchen with Jack, talking to him with a smile so comforting that Aaron felt his heart ache with adoration for her. And that’s when he knew.

Of course, he didn’t say anything about it, they were just starting out, both of them still had walls and issues of their own to deal with, even as they built a life together.

“I’ve never loved anybody like I love you.”

The words make him stop, because they come out of nowhere and he looks at Emily who’s sitting on the couch with a book in her lap. She was usually never the one to be so straight forward with her feelings, still had trouble expressing them sometimes even after almost a year of dating.

She’s blushing, her teeth digging into her bottom lip, like she hadn’t expected the words herself. But he’s smiling, smiling so big she’s sure it must hurt his cheeks.

“I’ve never loved anybody like I love you either, sweetheart.” He tells her as he takes the book from her lap and places it on the coffee table. When he kisses her it’s with all the promises he still hasn’t told her out loud.

As they lay in bed later that night he finds himself wondering what kind of ring she’d want.

He doesn’t mention his plans to anyone, and yet he’s unsurprised that JJ figures it out first. She was more perceptive than people thought and she knew him well, probably better than most.

“Are you proposing to Emily?” She asks when they’re alone and packing up after a case and he catches the smile on her face.

“Why would you ask that?” He continues to stack pipers into piles to be put into boxes and JJ chuckles.

“Because when you look at her I swear you look like your hearts stops beating and because it’s been more than a year, and you already live together.” She stops when he looks at her with a heavy brow and a knowing look and she faulters for a second. “And maybe because I saw when you stole one of her rings from her dresser last week when we had dinner.”

There it was, he thought. He looks at her for another couple of seconds and then relaxes.

“Don’t tell anyone.” He can’t help the way he laughs at the way JJ’s whole face lights up in excitement.

“I won’t.” She looks back to where she sees Derek and Emily walk towards them and she hurriedly asks. “When?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” He says quietly and finishes up putting the last few stacks of papers into boxes when Emily walks into the small conference room they had been working in, Derek right behind her.

“You’re awfully slow today.” She teases and comes to stand next to him, her hand finding his. They were done with the case, could finally let go of Hotch and Prentiss for a moment to simply be themselves.

“If you had helped it would have gone faster.” He quips and she fakes annoyance, her eyebrows furrowing even as she’s biting the inside of her cheek to keep her smirk at bay.

“I’ll have you know we were doing very important things.”

“Mhm sure, like what?” JJ asks and when Emily looks at her best friend she’s sure she can see happiness on her face that she hasn’t seen in a while.

“Coffee breaks are important for the soul.” Derek answers for her and she throws a crumbled up piece of paper at him.

“Good job ‘not letting the boss know we’re slacking off’, Morgan.” When she’s met with Derek’s laugh and Aaron’s heavy browed frown she shrugs and bats her eyelashes.

“It’s a good thing I love you.” He mutters she grins winningly.

He finds the ring he wants a couple of months later. It’s simple, a white gold band with a diamond that he knows Emily won’t find to be too much but is still a decent carat. He’s walking out of the jewelry store, the box still in his hand when he collides with somebody out of nowhere.

“Oh, excuse me- Hotch?” Derek looks at him in surprise. “Sorry I didn’t see you. What are you doing here?”

“I had some errands-” He starts but he can already see the other man look at the store he just walked out of, eyes soon finding the box in his hand, and he stops trying to explain as Derek grins.

“So it’s finally time huh?” He beams, his warm hand landing on his shoulder as he squeezes it. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you.” He smiles at him and puts the box in his inside pocket.

“Come on, let me buy you a drink to celebrate.”

Even if Aaron had wanted to object, he knew there wasn’t a point.

He wants to propose the moment he has the ring, but he also wants to make it special. So he waits, and in that time Spencer figures it out. Aaron knew he’d never really understand the youngest man of their team’s brain, how he notices patterns and changes so easily.

But one night he knocks on his office door, a look of uncertainty on his face and Aaron immediately stops writing.

“Are you alright Reid?” He asks as Spencer closes the door carefully behind him.

“Yes. I just, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

He motions for him to sit down and he straightens in his chair but he stays quiet and waits for whatever Spencer needs to say.

“JJ is my best friend.” He starts and it only makes Aaron confused. “But before Doyle, before Paris, Emily was the one I trusted more than anyone. She never judged me.”

“If this is about us not telling you about faking her death-” He starts but is quickly cut off by the younger man.

“No. No it’s not that.” Spencer straightens slightly in his chair, his eyes meeting Aaron’s darker ones. “I trust her with everything, and I know she trusts you with everything, including her heart.”

“Reid-” He starts again but he’s interrupted again.

“When you propose, you have to be sure. About her, about your relationship.” He says and he sees the way Aaron looks at him in surprise, eyebrows knitted together.

“Have I done something that makes you think I’m not?” He finally asks and Spencer shakes his head.

“No, and I know you make each other happy, probably happier than I’ve ever seen either of you. But just… be sure.” He sits for another few seconds before nodding and then stands.

“I am.” Aaron stands too and walks around the desk. To Spencer’s surprise, Aaron pulls him into a hug. “Thank you for looking out for her.” He says before letting go and he sees the other man relax, a small smile on his face.

Spencer starts to walk toward the door but he’s stopped by the sound of Aaron voice.

“How did you know?” He asks a mix of disbelief and amusement on his face.

“I just did.”

The night he had planned to propose the first time, they’re called away on a case last minute and the disappointment he feels is close to overbearing. Emily notices the moment his face drops after the phone call.

“Are you alright, honey?” She takes his hand over the table they’re sitting at, not even halfway through their main course yet.

“Yeah, but we gotta go, we have a case and it can’t wait until the morning.” He squeezes her hand and musters a smile that he hopes seems genuine.

“You know that’s not why I’m asking.” She stands up and lets him help her with her jacket.

“I just wanted a night with you.” He kisses her softly and then grabs his own coat. “We have to go.”

Dave knows something is wrong almost as quickly as Emily did. Not that he should be surprised, the older man had always been exceptional at reading him. He doesn’t say anything until they’re flying back three days later. It had been three excruciating days, barely any sleep and they were still too late to save a family from the torment of losing a child. So the moment they take off they’re all resting, getting some much-needed sleep. Everyone except Dave and Aaron.

“Want to tell me what’s been bothering you?” Dave sets two glasses of scotch down at the table and then sits across from him at the two-person table in the corner.

“We lost a child and the unsub committed suicide.” He mutters dryly and Dave tilts his head slightly to the side.

“Yeah, it’s a huge loss. But that isn’t what’s been on your mind.” He takes a sip of the amber liquid in his glass, his ice clinking slightly as he does. When Aaron just shakes his head, the older man sighs, but he won’t give up. Then he catches how dark eyes move through the cabin, no doubt seeking out Emily who’s sleeping next to JJ at the four-person table. “So it’s about Emily?”

“Dave, not now.” He tries arguing but he knows the other man well and when all he’s met with is a look of exasperation he sighs heavily. When Dave had a feeling something was wrong, he never could let it go, a trait of his that was annoying as well as comforting. With that thought in mind, Aaron looked around to see if everyone was still asleep and realized that everyone on the plane already knew, except Dave and Emily. “I was going to propose, but we got called in.”

“Oh.” Is all he says and the close to nonchalant attitude makes Aaron slightly irritated. “Then you’ll just try again.”

“How long have you known?” He asks and when Dave leans forward over the table, a kind smile on his face, Aaron takes a sip of his drink.

“That you’ve bought the ring already? Just found that out. That you’ll marry her someday? Since long before you got together.” He raises his glass in a cheers and then drinks the rest of his scotch.

Aaron realizes that since the whole team already knows, that he should tell Penelope as well, it was only fair. The only problem was, the bubbly blonde couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. So he doesn’t tell her for another few weeks, not until he’s planned the proposal in every detail.

“I’m going to propose to Emily tomorrow night.” He tells her in her office and he’s never been happier that the room was close to soundproof when Penelope screams in excitement.

“Oh my gosh! This is so freaking exciting! Where? How? Tell me everything! Do you have the ring? Oh oh can I see it?” She rambles and Aaron can’t help but to laugh because her enthusiasm was always contagious, but especially today.

“I’m taking her out to dinner at her favorite restaurant, and then after dinner we’ll walk over to the Watergate hotel and have a drink on their rooftop bar, and there with a view of the Potomac I’ll ask her.” He pulls out the ring and while Penelope had been clapping and gasping, she goes silent when she sees the ring.

“This is beautiful. She will love it.” She smiles, tears in her eyes and Aaron finds himself wondering how she’s capable of such genuine joy for the people around her.

“Thank you.” He has barely put the ring back in his pocket before she pulls him into a tight hug.

“I’m so happy for you.”

Emily knows something is up the moment she wakes up. It was a Saturday and they had the weekend off, and yet, Aaron was already out of bed. She hears him in the kitchen, and as she walks towards the clattering of plates she smells coffee and French toast.

“What’s this?” She asks with a smile as she watches the spread of fresh fruit and jams on the table.

“We made you breakfast.” Jack smiles, carrying glasses to the table.

“I see that, what’s the occasion?” She ruffles his hair as he walks by and then goes to stand next to Aaron who’s putting the toast up on plates.

“No occasion, we just thought we’d show you some appreciation today.” He kisses her temple and then she pulls him into a kiss that makes Jack look away in embarrassment.

“You’re planning something.” She smiles against his lips but he shakes his head no. “Liar.”

The morning is spent together as a family and as the day goes on, Aaron finds himself getting more excited, as well as nervous. After breakfast, Jack headed over to his friend’s house, where he would be spending the night, and Aaron took the opportunity to show Emily just how much he loved her.

They spent the day together, just enjoying each other and relaxing until Emily needed to start getting ready to go out. While she was showering, he placed the bouquet of flowers he had bought her on the bed and then cleaned up around the apartment until he too, needed to get ready.

She had tried to get it out of him all day, had even bribed Jack with comic books but the 9-year-old had refused with a toothy grin. When she gets out of the shower she sees the flowers, huge red roses with a small card attached that she’s careful to pick up.

I love you, now and forever.

As she reads the words she feels her stomach knotting in excitement. They hadn’t talked much about marriage, not in any detail at least, because it was unspoken between them that they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. She didn’t need the ring or a wedding, but as she reread the note, she realized that she wanted it. Suddenly this day made sense. She smells the roses, a smile on her face that she can’t seem to control.

The smile doesn’t leave her face even as she gets dressed, choosing a dark blue dress she knows Aaron loves and then does her make up. When she comes out of their bedroom he’s already waiting for her.

“These are beautiful.” She tells him and holds the flowers up before moving to the kitchen to put them in water.

“Not as beautiful as you. But nothing is.” He hugs her from behind, his lips lingering against her neck and she shivers from his proximity.

“You’re so cheesy.” She turns her head enough to kiss him and he hums into it.

“Only sometimes.” He lets go of her and takes her hand. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

The food is amazing, it always was and Emily enjoyed every second of it. They talked easily, they always had and in between bites of steak and sips of wine they enjoyed spending time together. It had been a while since they had a whole day to just be together, to enjoy each other.

“It was so good.” She sighs happily as they walk hand in hand after dinner. The streets were busy, a Saturday night never dull in DC and Aaron keeps her close as they make their way toward the hotel.

“It really was.” He smiled and let go of her hand, only to wrap his arm around her shoulders. “Are you cold?”

“No, I’m perfect.” She smiled and let him lead the way. Once they were in the elevator she pulled him into a kiss. “This whole day has been incredible.”

“Good.” He stamped another kiss to her lips just as the elevator doors opened and they were led to a table. They ordered their drinks and as Emily looked out at the view, he couldn’t help but to marvel at just of beautiful she was, how happy she made him.

And then it hit him.

Emily wouldn’t want something grand, she hated being the center of attention and saying yes with a bunch of people around them didn’t feel right. He had been so focused on getting the day perfect, that he forgot to think about what suited them. It’s a split-second decision, but as the glasses of champagne are placed in front of them, he knows he doesn’t want to propose like this. It didn’t feel right.

But it wouldn’t stop him from enjoying this night with her.

“Cheers, sweetheart.” He picks up his flute and waits until she has too. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She feels her cheek flush from excitement, she knew that any moment he would pull out a ring. But then it didn’t happen and as Aaron paid the bill a couple of hours later she was feeling embarrassed that she had even thought that he would propose.

She didn’t want to show her disappointment, didn’t want him to think that she hadn’t enjoyed their day or that she didn’t appreciate the effort he had put into it, because she did. Still, she was painfully reminded that her ring finger was empty when he took her hand as they waited for a cab.

“Are you okay sweetheart?” Aaron asked, she had gotten quieter, her smile seeming a little less bright as they were heading home.

“I’m alright, just a little tired I guess.” She leaned her head on his shoulder for a couple of seconds before a car rolled up and they got in.

“Are you sure?” He asked as they started to drive off and she nodded, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m sure honey.”

But her mood doesn’t go back to how happy she had been, in fact she seemed sad. It doesn’t take Aaron long to figure out why, he realized that she had probably figured out his plan sometime during the day and he refused to have their day end on anything else but a high.

“How about some tea?” He asked as they walk through the door and she nods.

“Yeah that sounds good, just let me get changed.” She quickly goes to change and remove her makeup and while she does, Aaron gets changed too and puts the kettle on. He pours the water once it’s done and grabs the tea bags. He sets the mugs down on the coffee table, then grabs a rose from the bouquet and places that and the ring box next to her mug. She comes out just as he sits down, face free of makeup, her hair in a messy ponytail and of his shirts on her body.

“Thank you.” She mumbles and takes the mug as she sits close to him, her hand resting on his thigh.

“You’re welcome sweetheart.” He smiles at how she doesn’t see it at first, is actually surprised at just how long it takes her to notice the box on the table in front of her. But when she does, her whole body tenses.

“Is that…?” She looks from the box to him and back and slowly reaches for it. When she opens the box it still takes her a couple of seconds before she gasps. “Aaron are you kidding me?!” She starts to laugh, unable to control it in the midst of everything she’s feeling. “I waited all night and you chose now to ask me?!”

“Yes,” He takes the box from her and takes the ring out as he faces her. “I had today planned out, but I realized that having this moment with you, alone, would be even more special than anything else.” When he looks into her eyes they’re shining with tears and he can feel his own emotions starting to get the best of him.

“Emily, will you marry me?” His voice shakes slightly, thick with emotions and she’s nodding before he’s even finished his sentence.

“Yes, of course I will.” She swallows down a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh and when he places the ring on her finger she barely waits until it’s on before she lunges herself at him, kissing him deeply.

“How do you think it’s going? Should we call them?” Penelope asks, close to vibrating in place as she sits next to Spencer on JJ’s couch.

“No, we are not calling them.” Dave stares the blonde down who pouts.

“What if she said no?” Derek teases and JJ immediately hits him on the shoulder hard enough for him to wince. “I was kidding, easy!

“They might not even tell us until Monday.” Spencer shrugs and then avoids the pillow Penelope throws at him.

“I made him promise to text-”

The sudden ding of five phones going off at the same time interrupts her and all of them quickly looks at their phones. The cheers around the room are almost loud enough to wake up Henry when they see the text message with the attached photo of Emily holding her hand up, showing off the ring.

Aaron: She said yes!

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotch x emily #aaron x emily #criminal minds fanfiction

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yuikomorii · 1 year

Note

Hey Admin! I just really love your mindset and analysis but based on your insta stories, mind telling us your unpopular opinions or confessions too?❣️

// Aww, thank you, I’m glad to hear that!! But I wasn’t expecting someone to ask for my unpopular confessions or opinions. :”)

Anyway, I’ll try to write some. Feel free to add your thoughts regarding this if you want to. <3

1. More than half of the fandom portrays Yui in such a different way from her canon version, whether if it’s positive or negative. In the routes she says or does something but so many people understand the total opposite that it appears as if they aren't paying attention to her.

2. Kino is one of the few characters who is naturally funny.

3. The superior rivalries are Koubaru and Shuma because they actually helped each other develop as characters and made the plot more interesting. Even if it sounds impossible, Kanato and Azusa have a better chance of getting along than Ayato and Ruki. From Ruki's perspective, Ayato is the man who stole everything he ever desired: Karl's "love" and Eve.

4. Laito has done many horrible things and is not the best brother, but he is not heartless, but rather mentally damaged. A part of him enjoys seeing others suffer, while another part feels bad for them.

5. You can’t be biased towards Ayato when you call him the most heroic Diaboy with the most likeable traits because those are facts. Rejet confirmed a bunch of times that Ayato is the main hero and a character “you can’t bring yourself to hate”. Even the Japanese fandom sometimes refers to him as “メインヒーロー.” He is supposed to be the most heroic love interest, that’s the role he was given.

6. Some OCs are more interesting than all the DL main cast characters and honestly their creators are more creative than Rejet writers.

7. People who complain about Yui being “too kind, too childish, too sweet” and lacking “attitude and self respect” in Ayato’s routes, are the most insensitive ones. Just say already that you like the pressure being put on Yui, making her solve your Diaboy’s problems and teach him how to love despite the fact she doesn’t know that either. Besides, she’s usually a kind and cheerful person, the only times she got an “attitude” are when she’s absolutely done with the bad behavior of the Diaboy. Also, Yui's version in Ayato's routes is the official one; it doesn't have to be your favorite, but if you don't like her there, you don't like the true Yui.

8. I like the fact Rejet learnt about Romanian history and made the Mukamis and Yui Romanians, but what Karl did to Romanians in one of the worst time periods, is beyond horrible.

9. We won’t ever get a new DL main game because LE ended their journey. However, I hope they make another AU or a fanservice one.

10. Yui deserved better, the Diaboys deserved better, the moms deserved better, Richter deserved better but not Karlheinz. He's an intriguing character, but he shouldn't be redeemed, which is fine because not every character requires it. Furthermore, he committed far too many atrocities against innocent people to merit a redemption arc.

#yui komori #ayato sakamaki #kanato sakamaki #laito sakamaki #shu sakamaki #reiji sakamaki #subaru sakamaki #ruki mukami #kou mukami #yuma mukami #azusa mukami #carla tsukinami #shin tsukinami #kino sakamaki #kino #diabolik lovers

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archiveikemen · 1 year

Text

'Secret In Your Heart' Collection Event: Elbert

I do not own any of the Ikemen Series content being uploaded on this blog, everything belongs to CYBIRD. Please support them by playing their games and buying stories. Not 100% accurate, expect mistakes.

read this before interacting with my posts

It was exactly when I started to miss the city of London.

Elbert invited me to go outside with him because I was feeling depressed.

The moment we went into the city, we realised that Elbert’s good looks were attracting too much attention.

I made use of my London street knowledge and got us away to an empty park.

…

Elbert: … I’m sorry. I’m not the best person to take you out into the city.

Kate: It’s alright. I’m glad you invited me, and this park is part of the city as well.

Kate: Gingerbread can be enjoyed like this too.

Elbert: … Does that taste good?

Kate: Yes. Absolutely!

While I was chewing, he suddenly grabbed my wrist and stole a bite of my gingerbread.

Elbert: … I think it’s delicious.

Kate: T-That’s nice…

I was startled by the sudden physical contact, and then I heard a rustling noise coming from the bushes—

Deranged Woman: W-Who are you… Sir Elbert can’t be with anyone else… he can’t be with anyone else…

Kate: … What.

Deranged Woman: He shouldn't be alone with a woman in a place like this—!

The deranged woman yelled as she took out a knife.

(I need to dodge—)

Before I could react, there was a splash of blood.

— It came from one of Elbert’s arms that were protecting me.

Kate: Sir Elbert…!?

Elbert: …

Elbert stared blankly at the wound.

His gaze slowly turned toward that woman.

She started shrieking and panicking, as if that had triggered her.

The police patrolling nearby were alerted, and they rushed to the scene and arrested that woman.

Meanwhile, blood continued dripping from Elbert’s arm.

Kate: Are you alright!? L-Let’s get you to the nearest hospital…!

Elbert: — I will not see a doctor.

Elbert grabbed me by the wrist and firmly refused to see a doctor.

His tone made me feel overpowered.

Elbert: … Let’s go back to the castle.

Kate: … Alright. Please, put pressure on the wound with a handkerchief at least…

…

Roger: Good news. There was a rather large amount of bleeding, but the wound wasn't deep. It should heal quickly without leaving a scar.

Elbert: … Thanks, Roger.

Kate: That’s good…

I finally felt relieved after watching Elbert have his wound treated from the side.

Kate: Um… can I ask a question?

Kate: Are members of Crown unable to see a doctor?

Roger: Nope. There’s no problem with him seeing the doctor as Earl El.

When Roger glanced at him, Elbert mumbled something in a way that sounded like he was telling a secret he was reluctant to.

Elbert: … I personally hate doctors.

Elbert: I know that hating someone for their job title is bad… but still…

Roger: He was extremely wary of me at first. Whenever I examined him, he would tremble like a frightened rabbit.

Elbert: … Sorry.

Roger: Let bygones be bygones.

(Why does he hate doctors…?)

Roger: It appears that the young lady is curious to know why.

Kate: Huh!?

(It’s true that I’m curious, but…)

– Flashback Start –

Elbert: — I will not see a doctor.

– Flashback End –

He knew it was wrong, and he even reflexively rejected seeing a doctor. That showed that the “hatred” came from deep within himself.

It must've been caused by a wound that was left on him in the past.

A wound much deeper than the one he just got on his arm from the knife attack.

Kate: It's true that I’m curious, but… you don't have to tell me.

Kate: … If you ever need someone to talk to, and you’re comfortable enough with me, I’ll gladly be your listening ear.

Elbert: …

Elbert: … Thanks.

…

Elbert: … It was my idea to take you all the way out to the city, and yet all I did was frighten you.

Kate: Don’t say that. It was me who brought us to the park.

Elbert: Shall we go to my secret place now? … It's a quiet place with no one around.

Kate: It’s… my pleasure, but is it really alright?

That place must be very precious to him.

Elbert: It is. If it’s you… I don’t mind.

I was surprised to see his slight smile.

My heart fluttered at the thought that there would come a day when we would share our secrets with each other.

#ikemen villains #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #otome #ikevil collection event #niki translates

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rosiahills22 · 1 year

Text

Notice me

Jake “hangman” seresin x Rosie Seresin

Disclaimer! This is my first time writing so be kind! Let me know what you think please! Comment, message, reblog! Thank you! Also no use of Y/N

Warnings: pregnancy, birth, post partum depression, arguing, slight suggestion at the end

If you told me 5 years ago I would be married to Jake Seresin and now have a beautiful baby girl together, I would never believe you. Here we are married for 3 years together for 5 with our beautiful daughter, Daisy Grace Seresin who just turned 6 weeks

They always tell you about the beautiful things of having a child. The first smiles, the giggles, warm bath time and reading stories, all the sweet newborn cuddles. Watching your husband be a girl dad. What they don’t tell you is becoming a mother can make you feel like you are not your own person anymore. They don’t tell you that you will feel lonely, the most alone you will ever feel. I never understood why moms got the baby blues when they just had such a blessing, but now I’m on the cruel end of it.

It’s not Jakes fault he doesn’t notice how distant I’ve become or how I’m in my head most days. He has work, and a new baby to think about. But…why can’t he see I’m silently drowning,questioning everything I’m doing. Am I enough? Not only for Daisy but for Jake as well. Am I holding her right, am I spending enough time with Jake? Has he noticed I still have 10 pounds of baby weight to lose? All these questions swirling in my mind 24/7 makes the little sleep I get difficult. And now we are hosting a BBQ for the dagger squad to spend more time together and get Daisy used to her little family.

The dagger squad and penny and mav all started to arrive at the Seresin house around 4:30pm. Phoenix and Penny helping Rosie out in the kitchen while fanboy stole Daisy from her bassinet in the kitchen. “Don’t drop my daughter Mickey” giving him a pointed look that should have come off playful but came off more anxiety ridden than anything. All fanboy did was nod and joined the men outside around the grill and picnic table.

“So Rosie, how is motherhood treating you?” Penny asked while chopping carrots for the salad. You swear she was giving you a sympathetic look, almost like she knows everything going on in your head.

“Oh it’s great penny, thank you” Rosie smiled, more of a grimace, making penny and phoenix frown.

“Well let’s these sides out the meat should be done any moment now” Rosie said

Penny and Phoenix shared a look but followed Rosie outside none the less. Penny mentally promised to watch Rosie tonight and see if she notices anything else a little off with the seresin wife.

As the girls joined the guys and Daisy outside she noticed Rooster now holding little Daisy making her happy as can be.

“There’s my pretty lady” Jake smiled, reaching an arm out towards Rosie. Rosie put the bowl of salad down and reached towards Jake wrapping her arms around him. “Here I am” barely a smile on the girls lips. Rooster, mav, payback and bob seemed to notice the low energy Rosie was giving but seemed to blame it on being a new mother.

“Well everyone, let’s eat!” Mav said.

Rosie took Daisy from Roosters arms and held her while she ate, a salad because those 10 pounds have been nagging her all day, mocking her. It’s a little hard with one arm and a wiggly baby but, she’s mom she has to take care of Daisy, well that’s what her mind says. Once Penny was done, she offered to take Daisy.

“Here Rosie I can take Daisy so you can finish”

“Oh no” Rosie started “that’s alright I’m done anyway”

“Rosie you just had some salad…you sure you’re full”

“Yeah..I had a good lunch and you know how hard baby weight it to lose” Rosie laughed trying to play it off. But everyone shared a little look with eachother. A look saying that was a little off for Rosie to say. Usually Rosie is very body positive. This comment goes right over Jakes head as he’s too busy trying to get Daisy to laugh in Rosie’s arms.

The rest of the night seems to go smoothly, atleast for Jake it does. Every once in awhile Rosie makes a degrading comment about herself that she laughs off or a “oh you know just mom stuff I guess”. Everyone seems to notice the sad eyes and distant smile in Rosie, everyone but her husband. The daggers all agree to stay a little bit and see if they can get Jake away long enough to ask if Rosie is alright.

Daisy let’s put a long yawn, “well I think it’s time for little ladies bedtime” Rosie says. “You want me to take her darlin’?” Jake says. “Oh no I’m gonna feed her to sleep tonight, seems a little hungry” Jake leans over and gives a goodnight kiss to Daisy on her forehead and the daggers all day their good nights.

Penny thinks now is the time. “Hey Jake is Rosie okay?” Jake gives a curious frowns “yeah..why?” Phoenix looks around and then at Jake and says “Well she was making comments about herself all night, not nice comments either and barely smiled all night.”

Jakes frowns deeply and says “Well…what..she just is tired…right?” Jake is now thinking back, really thinking and is starting to realize all the comments about her weight, needing constant reassurance she’s doing something right. Now Jake is noticing how she barely touches him, sleeps towards the edge of the bed, pushes him away subtly by saying she needs to pump or change daisy’s diaper. The giant sweaters in this San Diego heat.

Jake wants to punch himself now, how could he let his amazing wife think of herself as anything less than perfect. Jake starts to look around at everyone, all giving him sympathetic looks.

“How did I not see her hurting?” Jake starts, before he could spiral anymore Penny says “I think she has post partum depression, Jake, it’s very common, especially in first time moms” Jake just can’t believe his sunshine is having cloudy days. Rosie is the most amazing human, Jake thinks, she should be nothing but happy all the time, she deserves it.

“Doesn’t she have a 6 week appointment coming up soon?” Payback recalls to the group. “Uh..yeah it’s on Monday” Jake states. “Maybe she needs to bring up these doubts and feelings to the doctor.” Bob says “she’s hurting and she may need more help beyond what we can do” Bob finishes.

“We will be by you guys through this all, babysitting, just sitting with Rosie if you need to be gone” Coyote starts “but you need to help Rosie realize she needs help too”

Jakes head feels like it’s spinning, like a bomb just dropped. But he needs to get it on straight and buckle up, because his wife is hurting and he needs to help her anyway he can.

“Talk to Rosie tonight and give us a call in the morning with anything we could do to help” Maverick says. “I think it’s time to call it a night everyone” Rooster states. The daggers all give Jake reassuring smiles and hugs and Penny reassured him again that it’s normal and he couldn’t have prevented this. Jake closes the front door and makes his way upstairs.

When he gets to their bedroom Rosie is combing through her wet hair, having just took a shower. “Hey, everyone leave? Sorry I didn’t come back down I just needed a shower” Rosie says. “Yeah they left, don’t worry, they send their love” Jake says.

Jake is now just starring at Rosie wondering how to bring this up with her. Rosie notices jakes starring and asks “…you okay?”. Jake just sighs and decides to bite the bullet, “Are you okay?”. Rosie looks around confused “yeah…why are you asking?”. Jake decides to just put it all out there. Rosie just gives Jake a confused smile.

“The others pointed it out to me tonight and I don’t know how I never noticed and I will beat myself up everyday for it but you’ve been distant and making mean comments about yourself” slowly the confused smile drops from Rosie’s face. Her mind is going crazy, the others noticed? Was I acting that weird? Maybe they notice I’m not that great too.

“Jake…I’m fine.” Rosie turns to the vanity to put lotion on her stomach, trying to get these stretch marks gone. She is so in her head she doesn’t even realize she’s rubbing her skin raw and tears are starting to line her eyes, Jake is trying to talk to her. “Honey!” Jake says loudly. Rosie finally snaps out of it and looks at Jake. Jake walks over to Rosie and grabs her hands.

“Baby what is wrong?” Jake says. Rosie just looks at him and all of a sudden feels like a dam burst in her chest and she just starts sobbing. Jake is quick to bring her to his chest cooing at her and telling her everything is ok.

“I don’t know what is happening to me!” Rosie cried “I feel sad and lonely all the time! It’s like I’m a stranger in my own body, I hate myself! I hate the stretch marks, I hate this fucking 10 pounds I can’t lose! My hair is ugly, I never sleep and I feel so horrible because I know I can be better for you and Daisy, you both deserve better than what I’m giving” Rosie is still clutching onto Jake for some sense of grounding. “ I just don’t know what to do, I can’t keep feeling like this, I can’t.”

Jake feels awful standing their holding his wife. Not noticing she was drowning in her own mind.

“Baby..baby look at me” Rosie looks up at Jake. “There’s my pretty girl” Jake gives a small smile. Rosie just stares at Jake.

“I’m so sorry baby, I’m sorry I didn’t see you hurting earlier. But I see you now and I’m going to do everything I can to help you see what I see.” Jake starts “wanna know what I see?” Jake says. Rosie just nods her head. “I see my entire world when I look at you, I see my gorgeous wife who has the most kind heart, I see those beautiful eyes that I could get lost in for hours, I see you being the best damn mother I have ever seen. I see you baby, you are so gorgeous to me, stretch marks and all, and those 10 pounds? Yeah that went straight to those hips I love to grab” Jake smirks, Rosie rolls her eyes fondly and gives a slight chuckle.

“There’s my girl, all I want to see is your smile, what can I do baby?” Jake says

“I don’t know…Jake I think I need help, like professional help” Rosie states. Jake looks at her with nothing but fondness and pride. She’s so strong Jake thinks.

“Okay baby we will talk with your doctor at your appointment on Monday, ok?” Jake says. “Sounds like a plan to me” Rosie says. Rosie looks over at Jake smirking. Jake looks at her with gleeful curiosity. “What are you smirking at?” Rosie looks at Jake and smiled innocently “you know I’ll probably be cleared for certain activities on Monday, but for now I think hugs and kisses will make me feel better till then”. Jake just smirks at his wife and says “Now I can definitely do that” Jake and Rosie lay in bed together all night holding eachother and laughing, kisses here and there. In their own peaceful quiet bliss.

Until Daisy felt left out and and starting crying over the baby monitor. “Duty calls” Jake says kissing her forehead. Rosie looks as Jake goes and gets Daisy, realizing she didn’t need to be alone in her mind, cause she has the best support team out there. She also set a reminder to thank the dagger squad. They sure are the best family.

MY FIRST STORY EVER! Remember to be kind! Feedback is always welcome! Comment, reblog and message and follow me! ❤️ thanks for reading!

#top gun #top gun maverick #hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin #hangman x you #jake hangman seresin #glen powell #hangman #top gun maverick hangman

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sequinsmile-x · 10 months

Text

Allegiance

It was nice to finally have someone who was on her side, someone who would always put her first.

A Young Hotchniss story with a twist.

Chapter 1 of 3

-x-

Hi friends

This is a gift for @sapphoe-sun. Just a gift for no reason at all, although I will take this chance to say thank for for always letting me send you absolutely bonkers ideas.

This idea got away from me massively, and was only supposed to be one chapter, but the fic just kept coming and here we are.

Chapter 2 is all but done, as is most of Chapter 3, so my intention is to post this fic on 3 consecutive days.

Note: the flashbacks to young Hotchniss are in italics.

-x-

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: Pregnancy, mommy issues, complicated mother/daughter relationship, canon typical behaviour (i.e. a man being a creep - not Aaron obviously)

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

June 1995

She’s fussing.

If anyone said it to her, she’d deny it vehemently, her eyebrows furrowed as she claimed she was fine. But as she looks in the mirror, running her hands over the material of her dress, smoothing it out for the fifth time in the last couple of minutes, she can admit to herself that she was fussing.

“You can’t tell.”

She turns to look at her boyfriend, unable to stop the smile that spreads across her face as she sees the way he’s looking at her, unfiltered adoration shining out for all the world to see. She looks back at her reflection, turning sideways so she can examine her profile again, and she focuses in on her lower belly, sure she can see a slight bump there. The slightest of hints of how her life was going to drastically change soon.

“Are you sure?” she asks, placing her hand on her stomach, “I don’t want her to figure it out tonight.”

Aaron smiles at her and walks towards her, stepping past boxes half packed with all of their things, their move to their new home only a couple of weeks away. He stands behind her, his arms wrapping around her as he pulls her back into him, the material of his tux jacket against her shoulder blades that had been left bare by her dress. He places his hand over hers on her stomach.

“I can tell,” he says, kissing her jawline and then her cheek, “But that’s because I’m intimately familiar with what you look like naked,” he smiles when she does, some of the tension in her body loosening, “But your mother won’t be able to tell.”

She nods and blows out a steady breath, her stomach flipping in a way that she knew was nerves instead of the ever-present nausea she’d grown used to over the last several weeks.

She’d fallen pregnant by accident. She and Aaron had always been careful, the summer in Rome that had changed her irrevocably always in the back of her mind, but it had happened anyway. A round of antibiotics for a chest infection she hadn’t been able to shift in early spring made her pill obsolete. Her initial reaction when she realised she was pregnant, standing in the bathroom she shared with her boyfriend, a positive test clutched in her hand, was to cry. The panic was familiar, sharp and painful as it stole her ability to breathe.

Aaron had found her curled up on the floor, his concern for her overriding everything else as he dropped the cleaning supplies he’d been holding to sit next to her, pulling her into his arms as he calmed her down even though he hadn’t known what was wrong. She’s sure she never loved him more than the moment she told him, his immediate reaction nothing short of kind and loving as he asked what she wanted to do, that he’d support her no matter what. He knew about Rome, about the choice she’d made then, and she knew he meant it. That if she decided to make the same choice now he’d hold her hand, that he’d see her through it.

It made all the difference. Knowing that she wasn’t alone in the responsibility of it this time. They’d talked about it for days and discussed their options at length. Different futures spread out in front of them as they decided which path to take. She knew she wanted children with him eventually, but had always thought it would be when her career was more established. When she wasn’t only a couple of years into her time at the FBI, her feet were not quite firmly on the ground yet. She knew Aaron felt the same, that whilst he was five years older than her and had been at the FBI longer, he’d never hidden that he wanted to have more time to get established first.

Ultimately, they decided whilst the timing was far from perfect, that they wanted this. That they wanted to start the family neither of them had ever really been a part of. Ever since then, she’d allowed herself to be excited by it. Overjoyed by the prospect of having a baby with the man she loved, the man who she had once told herself would be nothing more than a summer fling.

She wishes she could go back and talk to her 20-year-old self. That she could tell her that the new guy working her mother’s security clearances would end up being more than just fantastic sex that they’d sneak away for at any given opportunity. That he’d end up being her boyfriend, that they’d make the distance when she went back to college work, and they’d move in together shortly after she was done.

That they’d build a family together.

She knew he had a ring hidden away, he had never been able to keep much from her, but he also knew she wasn’t ready for that quite yet. The baby was already a big change, and whilst she knew she would marry Aaron one day, she didn’t think she could cope with too much at once. The instinct to run, to blow her life up and leave, if she felt too overwhelmed, still living just beneath the surface of her skin.

“She…” Emily trails off, blowing out a breath as she leans back, her head against his shoulder, “She won’t be happy.”

Elizabeth had never been fond of Emily’s relationship with Aaron. Not only because he had once worked for her, but she would claim it was because she didn’t want her daughter to settle down so young. Although, Emily was sure that if she’d fallen for someone her mother deemed appropriate, one of the many men she’d had paraded past her for years at events like the one they were going to tonight, there would be no issue.

“Well, that sounds like a her problem,” Aaron says, kissing her temple before he turns her and pulls her into his arms, his hands firm at her lower back, “We’re happy, that’s what counts.”

She smiles and nods, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, all thoughts of her mother briefly falling to the wayside, “Yeah,” she says, leaning forward and kissing him, tasting the joy on his lips, “We’re happy.”

___

January 2007

She’s woken up by tiny hands pressing into her face. She groans as she opens her eyes, blinking as she’s met by her two-year-old son’s face mere inches from hers, his warm breath skipping over her cheek.

“Hi Mama,” Oliver says, smiling widely at her, something she can’t help but return as she pulls him into a hug.

“Morning, Ollie,” she replies, kissing the top of his head as he settles into her embrace, both of them intent on starting their day like this, snuggled together in the big bed. She hears movement downstairs, the sound of breakfast being made and the beautiful chaos she now couldn’t imagine life without, “I think your sisters are helping Daddy make breakfast.”

“No pancakes,” he says, tilting his head to look up at her, his pout enough to make her smother a smile as she clears her throat.

“No, baby,” she says, pushing his messy dark hair from his face, his tiny features pinching into a frown that made him look even more like her husband than he usually does, “Pancakes are a weekend food,” she looks at the clock on the nightstand and sighs when she sees the time, well aware that it was time to get out of bed, and that was likely why Aaron had sent Oliver into their bedroom anyway. She sits up and keeps her toddler in her arms as she does so, well-practised after all of these years. Oliver wraps his arms around her neck and rests his head against her chest, happily settling on her hip as she stands and leaves the room, “Let’s go see what everyone else is doing, huh?”

She listens intently as Oliver chats to her as she heads downstairs, humming along at his, mostly nonsensical ramblings that only she, Aaron and the girls truly understood. She shares a smile with her husband as she walks into the kitchen, the sight of their daughters sitting at the breakfast bar warming her heart as it always did.

“Morning,” she says, smiling as Aaron leans in to kiss her, both of them chuckling as Ivy, their eldest, groans in disgust around a mouthful of her cereal.

“Gross,” the 12-year-old grumbles, “I’m trying to eat here.”

Emily smiles, never failing to get a kick out of winding up her daughter, “Your brother and sister don’t mind,” she says as she sits Oliver down in his chair, placing a plate of toast sliced into strips handed to her by Aaron in front of the little boy.

Ivy narrows her eyes at her mother, “That’s because Ollie is two, and Rosie thinks it’s cute,” she says, scrunching her nose up like she herself hadn’t once loved the fact her parents were so in love with each other back when she was her sister’s age.

Aaron had said from the very start that Ivy was her through and through. He’d said it moments after she was born, bright red and screaming, her dark hair plastered to her head and her dark eyes wide and bleary. Their friends always said it to, more and more over the years as Ivy’s personality developed into the empathetic, kind, wilful and sassy 12-year-old girl she is today.

The girl who had once been the tiny baby who made Emily a mother, when she no longer had contact with her own.

There were moments when Emily wished she could go back and tell herself how everything would work out. How she’d go from laying in a hospital bed, her tiny little newborn baby in her arms, terrified at the prospect of messing everything up, of becoming the mother she desperately didn’t want to be, to this. A house full of love and chaos in equal measure. A husband who loved her in a way she still wasn’t entirely sure she deserved. Three beautiful children who had made her realise just how deeply she could love.

How deeply she should have been loved when she was their age.

“It is cute,” Rosie says, the 6-year-old smiling at Emily when she presses a kiss to the top of her messy braids. Ivy rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to respond, only to be cut off by Aaron.

“Girls,” he says, not above begging when it came to his daughters, two small versions of his wife that sometimes pushed him to his limit in a way he couldn’t live without, “Can we please make it through breakfast without bickering? Or at least until I’ve had my coffee.”

Emily smiles at him as he passes her a cup of coffee and she leans into his side, making a point of wrapping her arm around his waist as Ivy playfully shakes her head at them.

“Sorry, Dad,” Ivy says, failing to hide a smile as she stands and dumps her now empty bowl in the sink. She turns back around and looks at her brother, jam from his toast smushed into his cheeks. She picks up some paper towels from the counter and wipes his face gently, chasing him as he tries to escape it, “Stay still Ollie, you’re all gross and sticky.”

Emily sighs contently as she watches her oldest gently look after her youngest, the sight of it enough to make her sink into Aaron’s side a little further. He kisses the top of her head and runs his hand up and down her arm.

“You ok, sweetheart?” he asks, and she tilts her head to look up at him, a soft smile on her face as she nods.

“Yeah, I’m ok,” she says, stamping a kiss against his lips before she pulls back, her eyes landing on the clock on the wall, “We should get moving or we’ll be late,” she looks over at the kids and smiles when she sees Oliver somehow has more jam on his face than he had moments ago. She smiles at her husband and nods towards the kids, “You happy to take jam boy and I’ll help the girls?”

Aaron nods, smiling at her, “Deal, but bath time tonight is all yours,” he says, winking, “It’s finger painting day.”

She shakes her head at him as he picks Oliver up, out of the room before she changes her mind.

___

She’s grateful it’s busy, that there are enough people here that her time with her mother, and any potential questions about why she wasn’t drinking, would be limited. They’d briefly seen her when they arrived, pleasantries exchanged as if they were just any other guests, not her daughter and her boyfriend.

Emily knows when her mother comes over tomorrow, a catch-up they had planned weeks ago that she now was going to use to tell her she was going to be a grandmother, she’ll be chastised for hanging at the edges of the party all night. She spends all her time with Aaron instead of stepping into the crowds. For once, it’s not just because she doesn’t want to, the memories of her childhood spent at events like this always lingering at the edge of her mind, but because she can’t. She felt sick, the nausea her doctor promised her would ease off after she hit 12 weeks but hadn’t making her stomach roll, made worse by the heat in the room, her head swimming with it.

She blows out a breath and leans back against the wall they are standing near. Aaron immediately turns to look at her, his hand on her shoulder as he furrows his brow. He’d always been attentive, aware of her needs often before she was, but that had only increased since they found out she was pregnant.

“You ok, sweetheart?” he asks, looking her up and down. He’d asked more than once if she wanted to skip coming to this, happy to take the flack from her mother that would come with their absence. He didn’t care if Elizabeth was offended by anything, he only cared about Emily and the baby, their well-being far above anything else.

“Yeah,” she says, blinking and shaking her head, hoping she could remove the haziness she’d fallen under, “Just a little hot.”

He squeezes her shoulder, “Want to step out into the hallway? I could go get you some water. Or ginger ale, I’m sure someone here would be able to get some.”

She smiles at him and reaches for his spare hand, squeezing it tightly, a silent show of appreciation for his love for her, for them, “Water would be great,” she says, leaning forward to kiss his cheek, “I’ll see you out there.”

The cooler air that hits her as she steps out into the hall is refreshing, clearing her head and making her stomach calm down. She sighs as she leans on the wall, her head against it as she closes her eyes, grateful for a moment's peace.

“Emily Prentiss, it’s been a while.”

She opens her eyes and stops herself from sighing, forcing a tight smile onto her face as she’s greeted by one of her mother’s friends. A man she’d known for as long as she could remember, someone who always came to things like this, a fellow ambassador and big donator to any charity drives.

“Ambassador Collins,” she says, standing up straight, and taking a small step forward from the wall, “It’s harder to find time for things like this these days I’m afraid.”

If it was up to her, she wouldn’t come to these things at all, but she’d learnt a long time ago that she had to pick her battles with her mother, and that this just wasn’t one of them.

“Yes, your mother did say something about you working at the FBI now,” he says, smiling as he looks her up and down, a glint in his eyes that makes her stomach turn for an entirely different reason to her pregnant, “And please, call me Robert.”

She has to stop herself from reacting physically, painting the fake smile she’d learnt at a young age all over her face as he steps slightly closer, “I’ve been there a couple of years,” she says, taking a step back, regretting it when her back hits the wall, “My boyfriend works there too.”

Mentioning Aaron doesn’t have the impact she hopes it will. She hates that she has to rely on it, that it was often the mention of another man that would make someone stop hitting on her, but it was usually effective. Especially when she brought up the fact her boyfriend was an FBI agent. It doesn’t deter Robert as he steps even closer again, and she grimaces when she can smell his breath, the scotch that permeated it making her stomach roll.

“You really have grown up into the most beautiful young woman.”

He places his hand on her hip, making her flinch as he squeezes her skin through her dress, and she scrunches her nose up. She’s ready to tell him to take his hand off of her or risk losing it, but she’s interrupted by a familiar and stern voice.

“Is everything okay here?”

She’s sure she’s never been more grateful to see Aaron. He’s standing just down the hall, a glass of water in his hand and a scowl on his face, and she knows he’s picked up on what he’s walked in on.

Robert steps back from her, his hand falling away, and she takes the opportunity to slip away, walking over to Aaron and taking the drink he’d got her from his hand.

“Thanks, honey,” she says, making a point of emphasising the nickname. She’d not surprised as Aaron wraps his arm around her, marking his territory in a way she’d usually chastise him for, but right now she’s grateful for it. Unsettled by the way she’d been looked at, been touched, by a man who was her mother’s friend. Someone who has known her since she was a child.

“I should get going,” Robert says, his eyes avoiding Aaron’s hard gaze. He smiles at Emily as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened, “Lovely to see you again, Emily.”

Emily and Aaron stay frozen in place as they watch him walk away, and as soon as they are alone she scrunches her face up as she looks at her boyfriend.

“Now I feel really nauseous,” she complains, sipping her water.

“I’ll kill him.”

She smiles at the completely serious look on Aaron’s face, and she knows he means it, and it makes something spark in her belly.

“As sweet as that is,” she says linking her hand through his, “I’d rather not raise our kid as a single parent whilst you’re in jail.”

“I’d get away with it,” he grits out, his eyes fixed on the hallway Robert had disappeared down, his fury not dissipating. Emily chuckles and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Come on Superman, why don’t you take me home.”

Aaron frowns, his eyebrows knitting together as he looks her up and down, “Are you ok?”

She shrugs, “I feel like crap, and that…” she looks down the hall Robert had walked down back to the main ballroom, “Whatever that was has killed my resolve to stick it out tonight,” she smiles sadly at him, “If my mom realizes we’ve gone I’ll deal with the consequences tomorrow when she comes over.”

“You’re sure?” he asks, double-checking.

She nods, “Positive.”

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her in for a kiss, leaving his arm around her shoulders as they start to walk towards the exit.

“Want me to take you somewhere to get food?”

She grimaces, shaking her head as she deposits her glass of water on a table. The mere thought of eating makes her stomach turn, and she was to swallow back bile.

“Absolutely not,” she says, looking around to make sure no one would overhear before she carries on, “Your kid seems intent on making sure I never eat again.”

Aaron chuckles as he kisses the top of her head, “How about we go home, you take off those uncomfortable shoes, and I’ll rub your feet as you fall asleep.”

“Now that sounds perfect.”

___

She curses under her breath as she looks for the case file that she knew was somewhere on her desk.

She was running late. She had been all morning ever since she got stuck in traffic after dropping a reluctant Oliver off at daycare. Divide and conquer had always been the way forward ever since they had Rosie, the age difference between her and Ivy enough to mean they always had to be dropped off at different schools.

Ever since she’d got to work she’d felt like she was behind. She’d missed the morning briefing her current cases, and now she was late for a meeting with the Section Chief. Thankfully, he was very understanding. Largely because she was married to him, and it was his son whose clinginess with her had returned in full force recently.

When Aaron was prompted to Section Chief, Rosie was just under a year old. It was a job he’d accepted quickly, thrilled at the thought of being at home more, of not being taken away as often as he always had been during his time leading the BAU. Emily started leading the Counterterrorism Unit shortly after he became Section Chief, and for the first time in her career, she worked directly for her husband. At the start, she thought it would be strange, but they worked well together.

“Fuck sake,” she mutters to herself as she pushes documents around on her desk, still unable to find the ones she was looking for. She smiles when her gaze drifts over a family photo she keeps on her desk, a picture of all five of them smiling widely at the camera taken at Ivy’s recent 12th birthday.

There’s a knock on her door and she doesn’t look up, still scrambling for her paperwork, “Come in,” she says, “Although I’m running late to a meeting so I only have a minute.”

“Emily.”

She freezes, her hands coming to a pause on the desk as a voice she hasn’t heard for years, washes over her.

Emily feels her shoulders tense and her back straighten, walls she hadn’t put up in over a decade flying up immediately. She gives herself a moment, a brief second to pull herself together before she looks up, meeting dark eyes that bore into hers.

The same dark eyes she’d passed on to her own children. The children the woman opposite her had never met. The children she didn’t know existed.

Emily clears her throat, and she’s impressed her voice doesn’t shake as she speaks, “Mother, what are you doing here?”

-x-

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#aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotchniss fan fic #emily prentiss fanfiction #hotchniss fanfic #aaron x emily #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss #Young Hotchniss

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kattythingz · 13 days

Text

YJ x FMA Pt. 6

Where the fuck did this semblance of plot come from

(Don't take that promise too seriously. I'm literally just winging this au for fun to keep Solaris from frying my brain. Feel free to prompt me or give me ideas tho!! I live for shenanigans and episode rewrites.)

🧡 Pt. 1 💛 Pt. 2 🤍 Pt. 3 🩵 Pt. 4 💙 Pt. 5 🧡

Generally, there were better ways to be woken up than choking on his own heart lodged in his throat.

Ling had gone to bed a king the other night. Immediately, upon being led to Ling’s room—their room now, by the League’s blessing—Ed had struck him with a familiar barrage of a thousand and one questions about anything and everything he laid brilliant eyes on, poking fingers across every surface, judging every blank space on the wall lacking Ling’s presence; listening, deeply, when Ling had stopped him out of the blue with arms around his waist and words murmured into his neck.

The following hour had been a blur as Ed was suddenly in borrowed clothes from him and lying across his chest. And Ling hadn’t slept so well in weeks.

But he’d never known terror like the following morning either.

When his arms were empty—the mattress colder than his blood in a single instant.

He might’ve looked mad sprinting into the kitchen as he had. He might’ve looked the greatest fool to walk the Earth, standing there paralyzed by a single glimpse of sunlight. He might’ve—

Needed a minute.

“Well, shit. If it isn’t the actual emperor of Xing this time.”

Ling’s breathing hadn’t quite steadied yet when he padded his way back to the kitchen, catching in his chest all over again at the teasing grin Ed—Ed, Ed, Ed, real, not a dream—shot him from his helm at the stove.

“Took you long enough, your stupendous majesty,” Ed snickered.

Ling crawled on his heart toward Ed’s side. The grin stole its way onto his face as he said, “You realize that isn’t the diss you want it to be, right? Stupendous means—”

“Who cares what it means? Sounds like stupid, so it’s stupid.”

“That’s not how it works at all,” Ling laughed, and couldn’t help draping himself over Ed’s available side, that had been left suspiciously open for him anyway. True enough, Ed shifted at the clinginess but didn’t brush him off. “The word is even grander in Xingese, you know. You’d be giving me quite the compliment if you ever said that to me in that language.”

“Exactly why I said it in this one. Whatever it is.” Ed dumped an omelet from the pan and onto a plate, and Ling snagged it immediately. Ed rolled his eyes but didn’t stop him. “I don’t suppose you’ve wondered what language this is or how we’re speaking it, lazyass that you are?”

“Can’t say I have.” Ling beamed, lifting his arm from Ed’s middle to bend it on his shoulder instead and eat from the angle. “Well?”

The word came out muffled by food, and Ed pulled a face at him. “Well, you’re disgusting. Sit the fuck down or get your face away from me.”

“Why, Edward—!”

A loud clearing of a throat interrupted Ling, and he turned his head to catch Kaldur as the source, M’gann focusing politely on her food next to him as well.

Ah, right. The children.

“I believe I might be able to answer your question, Ed,” Kaldur said, the image of courtesy. “The language we’re all speaking is English. And Ling did, in fact, express a similar question upon his first arrival.”

“Don’t tell him so soon, Kaldur!” Ling whined, but he was pleased as ever to see the juvenility from Kaldur. “That’s not part of the game.”

“It’s a game now?” Ed snorted. “Sit down, dumbass, seriously.”

Ling had half a mind to put aside his food and say no to that. But now that his insides had found relative stability in Ed’s orbit, his stomach was yawning, so he pressed a quick kiss to Ed’s temple while he was distracted before joining his friends at the island.

Ed squawked at the motion, wiping the spot with an insulting disgust—“What the hell, Ling?!”—and Ling laughed.

“Perhaps you’ve gotten rusty, Ed. You should’ve seen that coming.”

Ed grumbled. “Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m thinking.”

Ling had noticed that, yes. That was why he’d softened Ed’s intense expression with a kiss first. Though, by the returning pinch of those features, it seemed the effort had been moot.

Ling sobered in his seat. “What are you thinking?”

Ed’s gaze flicked to him, and then Kaldur and M’gann, who followed Ling’s cue and sat up as well. He bit his lip, torn.

“I’m thinking…” he started, with meaningful weight, “the Truth might have something to do with this.”

Ling immediately tensed. “Why do you say?”

Kaldur and M’gann couldn’t possibly begin to understand the sheer danger of that implication, and Ling was sorry to exclude them like this. But Ed’s fingers had gone taut around his arms, anxious beyond his skin, and Ling couldn’t stand that sight either.

“Ed,” Ling repeated, and Ed thankfully looked up. “Why do you say that?”

Ed blew out a breath. Bracing himself before saying, “The runes of that circle. I told you it took me and Teacher a week to figure out together, and that’s because neither of us recognized half the runes on it. The closest match I found for their origin was old. Really old.” He looked at Ling. “Several centuries’ ago Xing, to be exact.”

Ling frowned. “That’s not possible. Xing doesn’t have—”

“I know,” Ed interrupted with a frustrated noise. “That’s why I took so long too. I thought the scroll was bullshitting me, but it wasn’t. The runes on it were a perfect match for the ones on the circle. And that sort of knowledge was just lying around your palace.”

“So you’re saying…”

“This was an inside job.” Ed grimaced. “Guess a few cockroaches slipped you, after all.”

Something coiled in the base of Ling’s ribcage, and he clenched his jaw hard. Ed’s expression thawed with remorse in the corner of his eye.

“Mei and I tried figuring it out ourselves,” Ed said wearily in lieu of an apology, which was good, because Ling wasn’t taking one. This wasn’t Ed’s fault. This, apparently, was his own. “We narrowed it down to the best list we could, but—”

“Ed.”

Ed’s mouth snapped shut, and he cast a wide-eyed look at Ling. Still so prone to carrying Ling’s weight, even when Ling bore his own weight of a crown.

His smile rose bitterly, but rose nonetheless, for Ed.

“It’s alright,” he said. “That shouldn’t have been you and Mei’s job to begin with, and you couldn’t have tackled it in a short week alone, much less the entire month I was gone. You did your best.”

Ed pushed off the counter, staggering with a burden now. “That’s the thing, though. Our best might not be enough anymore here. Ling, one of those runes translated directly to ‘reality’. Truth in another name. If we’re here at all in any manner thanks to that thing, then who knows what the toll—?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

Ed stopped at the firm assertion. “You don’t know that. I don’t know that yet.” He shook his head, jostling bangs out of place and forcing him to retuck them with an uneasy exhale. “I… I don’t regret chasing you here. Truth knows someone had to get you home, and I’ll be damned if that’s not me. I’m happy to see you again too. But… this is another world, Ling. I don’t know anything here; I don’t even know the symbols on the other circle I came out of. I never got a good look at it thanks to that fucking scientist, and I barely figured out the one back in the palace too—”

“You made it here, didn’t you?” Ling interrupted him, and Ed swallowed a pin. “That means you’ve already figured out half of it.”

“Yeah, but—”

“If I may.” Kaldur’s voice beat Ling to it, and he turned easily to him. Unlike Ed, who whirled like their audience had burned him.

Kaldur bore the shock well, back straight and expression set.

“I may not understand the true depth of your positions, but I do understand that, as of now—and however long is within our power—your position is with us. Among friends, and comrades.” He quirked his lips in that empathic lilt of his, sharing the kindness with not only Ed, but M’gann and Ling as well. “Perhaps that will not get you home easier, but worse odds have failed to stop this team. This will not be different.”

He held them all with such obvious confidence, and Ling had never seen a better leader in the making. He thought Ed saw it too, when his eyes flashed as he considered Kaldur and softened at the barest edges.

Ed let out a breath, shaking his head a little.

“You really shouldn’t talk back to me like that.” He gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Those are some ballsy words to promise.”

Kaldur smiled. “I will take that as a compliment.”

That got another laugh out of Ed, truer that time, and he restored enough hope to finally get to making his own omelet—because of course he’d kept himself for last, and, of course, that was when Ling remembered his own pressing question, finally.

“Speaking of ballsy,” Ling said, eager to lift the atmosphere again. “Ed, how’d the interrogation go yesterday?”

He’d spoken between a mouthful again, and Ed didn’t miss a beat in shooting him an unimpressed look. He understood the words suspiciously well for someone who judged Ling for his eating-and-speaking habits, though.

“The interrogation went fine, you damn glutton,” Ed huffed, certainly for Kaldur and M’gann’s confused sakes, folding the omelet in a blind motion. “Dragged on for way too long and nearly bored me to sleep, but fine. Although, I have some serious questions about whoever’s in charge of designing the clothes around here.”

It took the resident heroes a second to catch on. But when they did, it was M’gann who reacted first, snorting high in her nose. She blushed at the noise, slapping a hand over her mouth in mortification—but Ling had heard it before from Ed. And his heart had only been trained to melt for the sound.

“I am—so sorry,” M’gann said when Ed smiled at her too. “I—I was trying to say that, well, that’s kind of funny, since most heroes design their own costumes…” She looked red-faced down at her lap. “Sorry. Continue.”

“What did I say about apologizing?” Ed said, and shook his head. “Anyway, that explains why they’re letting a guy run around in a bat suit—”

Kaldur choked politely on his juice.

“—as if it’s intimidating. I couldn’t even take him seriously, I swear.”

“No, Batman’s—pretty scary, alright,” M’gann squeaked out, either thinking the same thing as Kaldur or trying not to. Either way, Ling barely masked his laughter at them. “But I guess I can see why you wouldn’t get it. You stood up to him pretty easily yesterday…”

“Oh, that was nothing,” Ed said. He served his own food at last, bringing over his plate to their corner before continuing, “You should meet my alchemy teacher, if you think a guy like that’s scary. Once you’ve pissed off the devil into tossing butcher knives at you blindfolded…” He shivered. “You never look back.”

“I’ll say,” Ling mumbled, failing to contain his own reaction. “How certain are you again that she won’t kill me after walking you down the aisle, Ed?”

Ed actually had to pause to consider that. He opened his mouth, before closing it.

“Probably—seventy-thirty?” he guessed far too calmly for Ling’s liking. “Teacher has manners too. She’d probably wait until after the ceremony to do anything. I dunno your chances then.”

Ling hated that very, very much.

“Great.” He sank into his seat. So his future wasn’t very long, even if they escaped this world safely.

He was already lamenting his stolen youth when a new chi entered the periphery of his senses. It wasn’t anyone worth pretending around like the Justice League, so he kept his posture and listened to the other three laugh at him instead.

“Why do you think I bullied that league or whatever into letting us share your room?” Ed said, still laughing, he was so cruel. “I know your future is short.”

“Did you really?” M’gann said, surprised. “Bully the Justice League, I mean?”

By her asking it that way, it didn’t seem like she thought it was too crazy for Ed to do such a thing. Which was an apt conclusion to draw. Even Kaldur only furrowed his brow in curiosity.

Ed snickered, then. “Oh, yeah. Totally. The red-and-blue guy at least—”

“Superman?” Kaldur offered.

“That’s the stupid name!” Ed snapped his fingers. “Yeah, him.”

Ling shifted at the chi abruptly freezing. Ed continued, none-the-wiser, “He seriously pissed me off in the first place, so I didn’t mind making him a little uncomfortable too. Bastard should’ve thought twice before trying me. Maybe he will now.”

“Bastard?” Ling repeated idly—and he already had a feeling where that conversation had gone. But, still, for audiences out of the loop…

He sat up to lean on his elbow, catching Ed’s eye with the motion. “I don’t suppose there’s a story behind that?”

Ed narrowed his eyes. Suspecting immediately, for sure, but not knowing enough to dismiss him yet. When Ling only smiled back invitingly, he rolled his eyes with a put-upon sigh and tossed Ling the bone. He said, “Not much of a story, so much as an uncomfortable rehash. I thought the guy’s name was familiar, so I asked him if he had any relation to a Superboy too—”

“Oh!” M’gann gasped, sympathy striking her features. “We completely forgot to warn you about that. Superman is—”

“Superboy’s dad, yeah, I got that pretty quickly.” M’gann furrowed her brow when Ed scowled suddenly. “He seemed pretty eager to deny any connection to his own son. I hope Superboy’s had a chance to punch his asshole dad yet. If he hasn’t, he should get one.”

Leave it to Ed to put it so perfectly.

Ling hummed, casting a quick glance to the space past the kitchen and the chi that lingered in it.

Superboy had definitely heard that.

Good.

Ling pulled his face back to a grin, and judging by the look Ed shot him as soon as his gaze returned, they were having words later.

“That sounds awful, dear!” Ling said cheerily, and Ed’s scowl deepened with further suspicion. “I can’t imagine how you responded to that.”

“You know exactly how I responded, asshole!”

“I’m almost certain I don’t, actually.”

Ed’s eyebrows twitched.

“I fucking hate you.”

Kaldur and M’gann shared extremely confused looks when Ling beamed in response.

“Now, that I know!”

#ask me how ed bullied superman. PLEASE #fullmetal alchemist #fma #young justice #edling #edward elric #ling yao #m'gann m'orzz #kaldur'ahm #yj x fma #crossover #fanfiction

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skylarmoon71 · 10 months

Text

Timeless Wells (Flash) Soldier- Chapter 11

“I can’t believe it. You did it Ms. Yale. “

The live video of the police arresting an unconscious Justin is a bit surreal. Allison is basically bouncing around the office as she rushes out to take yet another call. The police spent hours probing with questions. Barry had disassembled the bomb. There was nothing left but the pieces of it. When they found Justin on the third floor of the building with blueprints and other dangerous equipment, it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.

You’d manage to keep up a stern front when you were getting praised for your incredible work. When Iris hugged you and basically thanked you for saving over a hundred employees that were in the building. You got through it all. Harrison had basically given the entire staff the rest of the day off. After that fiasco, no one was complaining. Who didn’t love a day off with pay.

Allison was heading to her apartment to secure half a dozen other companies that were now jumping to sponsor Harrison’s tech. All in all, it was as good a day as any. But there were still so many questions.

When it was just the two of you, Harrison closed the door. You were seated on the couch, knee bouncing frantically. He could see your unease. It had taken everything in you not to break down those last few hours. He moved to walk over to you, but you stood, keeping at a distance. Harrison paused.

“I know this might be a lot to take in.”

“Might be a lot. Are you kidding me!! I emptied my clip on that thing and he just caught them like it was nothing!!”

“I get why you would be upset.”

You let out a dry laugh. This time you draw your gun, it’s aimed at Harrison. His eyes open in disbelief.

“Ten years ago I was out in the desert fighting for my life. I watched as my team was cut down one by one. In a stupid attempt to save my superior from suffering the same faith I was ready to die. And then that thing…” You hold in a sob.

“T-That thing appeared and tried to kill us both. N-Now you tell me that you're working with a murderer and you expect me to be fine with that.”

“The man you saw was not my friend.”

“That was no man. It was a monster.” Your gun is still pointed at him.

A body phases right through the door, and you change direction. There he is again, red suit prominent. Your entire body is shaking. He lifts his hands in a surrender.

“I’m not the speedster you saw that night. I know that man. You’re right he is a monster. The same man who tried to kill you, he killed my mother.” Your eyes water, and when he reaches for the edge of his mask and pulls it off, you’re at a loss.

“My name is Barry Allen, I’m the Flash.”

Just when you thought your life could not get anymore complicated.

You drop the gun, and your knees buckle.

Harrison knew it would be difficult to completely convince you. But now that it’s clear that you’re already looped into the impossible, they have no choice but to jump down the rabbit hole. After helping you back to the couch and grabbing you a bottle of water, he does the best he can to explain.

“The man that you saw that day. His name is Eobard Thawne. He has powers, abilities just like Barry.”

You lower the bottle, eyes shifting to Barry. He was keeping his distance for the time being. Something you appreciated. You still weren’t sold that he was a good guy.

“Eobard Thawne is Barry’s worst enemy. He’s tried relentlessly to take everything from him. His family, friends. Every and anyone who has ever meant anything to him. He has manipulated and used the people closest in his life to do that. I was also a victim of his hate towards Barry.”

Not much makes sense, but Harrison is wearing that look again. The same one he had that day.

“When you were talking about understanding hate..that’s what you meant..”

Harrison nods solemnly.

“Eobard stole my life, he took away the love of my life and ruined my reputation. Everything I stood for.” There’s clear pain, the kind you never truly thought you would see from him. The guy who walked into work with the biggest smile on his face. The brightest hope in his eyes.

“Barry is the only reason I am alive today. He saved me. Saved all of us.” He presses his hand to his chest, and you’re a bit confused by the gesture. But from the look they exchange, it’s obviously something significant.

“Barry here is impossible, and so am I.”

You aren’t sure what to make of that statement. But he snaps his fingers and he’s gone in a burst of green particles.

When he reappears, he’s right in front of you, and you jump.

He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t even try to. He needs you to understand that this is all real.

You aren’t sure what response you can give.

“I know you’ll need time to internalize this. I just want you to know that you aren’t crazy.”

This is the comfort you needed that day when you had spilled your guts to the captain. He’d chalk it up to trauma. Now here Harrison stood telling you everything you’d seen that day was real. If that was true, then the light..

“W-What about the green orb! The one that saved me, w-was that you?”

Both Barry and Harrison appear confused.

“Green orb? I’m sorry I don’t know.” Harrison wishes he could give you more. It’s clear that you’re desperate for answers. You deflate.

Even with the current information, there is still so much you truly don’t grasp. One thing is certain though.

“I’m really glad you aren’t some serial killer. I really wasn’t looking forward to shooting Harrison Wells.” You sigh,

Barry’s brows furrow.

“Excuse me?”

Harrison is unable to fight the laughter and despite the situation, you begin laughing too.

#harrisonxreader #flash #timelines #bodyguard #soldier #past #traum #barryallen #harrisonwells #truth #trust #pain #protective #real #speedsters

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 1 year

Text

Hey, Little Songbird

Chapter 28 - AO3

“Well,” Felix spoke, breaking the unbearable silence of the room. “As you can see, we have a bit of a bigger problem than before.”

Alya collapsed into her desk chair, the force sending it spinning for a second. “Gabriel Agreste is Hawkmoth.” She covered her face with her hands, threading her fingers through her hair. “I’ve been in his house. I’ve talked to him.”

“And I’m related to him, and Rossi is working for him, and Adrien is his son; come on, Alya, snap out of it!”

She shot him a look. “Do you even know what this means to me? To Paris?”

“It means you’ll finally have a chance to get rid of your terrorist. Why do you think I came to you?” he asked. “As far as Gabriel knows, I have no way to contact Ladybug or Chat Noir, nor would he expect me to ask you for help since the two of us ‘fighting.’ He’s going to try to get this—” He showed off the brooch— “back soon, so we need a plan. Now.”

She took a deep breath. “A plan. Right, a plan. It’s past time for Ladybug’s patrol, but I can track down her down tomorrow. We need to tell her right away,” Alya said, nodding resolutely. “Do we need to worry about Gabriel sending an akuma after you?”

“Possibly. Has he ever created any tracking akumas?”

“Nope!” Duusu called out. He’d almost forgotten they were here. “I don’t think you really have to worry about Hawkmoth right now; he’s not bonded with the butterfly miraculous, so he doesn’t have a lot of control of his akumas.”

Felix eyed the little beast. “What are you talking about?”

“Gabriel’s forcing Nooroo, the Butterfly’s kwami, to work with him. That means the two aren’t bonded and Gabriel only has the bare-minimum of powers, including no mind control and no control over the abilities his akumas have.”

“So, when he akumatizes people, he doesn’t know what powers they’re going to get?”

“He can suggest them, but the powers are ultimately decided on the people he akumatized. And people typically only get one or two akuma forms.” So that was why the three akumas that attacked him on the anniversary of his aunt’s disappearance were akumas that the Ladyblog had covered before.

Duusu giggled and continued. “It’s the same when he tries to control them. Hawkmoth takes advantage of strong emotions and gives people an easy way out of their problems, but he can’t force them to do his bidding. They’re only really obsessive towards their goal and attacking Ladybug.”

Felix wanted to ask how Duusu knew this, but bit his tongue. He supposed being held hostage by Hawkmoth allowed for some knowledge to leak through.

“And fighting Ladybug and Chat Noir?” Alya asked, skeptical. “I know I certainly didn’t want to fight my heroes. Are you saying that’s not mind control?”

“Correct!! It’s just self-preservation. Complete instinct. Akumas know that Ladybug will take away their powers, so they fight for themselves. It’s funny—” Duusu snickered to themselves— “Even if Hawkmoth akumatizes himself or Mayura, it won’t make a tracking akuma. And if he managed to give that power to someone else, there’s no way that akuma would care enough to track you down. Your scot-free!” It laughed, high pitched and loud.

“Why do you know all this?” Felix asked. “Why are you telling us this?”

Alya elbowed him in the side.

“Because you freed me, silly!” Duusu flew up in a spiral, stopping centimeters from his nose. “Gabriel Agreste had trapped me in that safe and is abusing my friend! So what if I bended the rules a little bit by thinking you were Adrien. As far as I’m concerned, it’s just what he deserves!”

“You mistook me for Adrien… on purpose?”

“Well… no. I did think you were him for a second. He’s looked through the safe before, and even stole the Book of Miracles, but he didn’t see me. My most recent holder, Mayura, told me not to appear to anyone who didn’t know Gabriel is Hawkmoth, so I just… assumed Adrien was in on it, since he’s been in the safe before!” Duusu said with a shrug. “By the time I realized that you weren’t Adrien, you’d already put on my brooch and became my new holder. Oops!”

“…I guess that’s one way to get around a villain’s orders,” Alya said.

But Felix was fixated on something else Duusu had said. “I’m not your holder.”

“Yes, you are.”

He glared. “No, I’m not.”

“Felix—”

“Yes, you are!” Duusu got up in his face. “You put the brooch on, that makes you my holder.”

He immediately snatched the brooch off his chest and threw it on Alya’s bed. “Find someone else then. I’m not a superhero; I don’t want to be one and I’m not going to be one. You can’t make me!”

“Felix—”

He jabbed a finger into Alya’s chest. “Don’t try to change my mind, Cesaire! All I wanted was to bring down Rossi and get my family’s rings back, not… this.” He gestured at Duusu, who pouted. “I’m not a hero and I would have been perfectly fine not getting involved with the Miraculous at all if given the choice.”

“I was going to agree with you!” Alya snapped. She rubbed her eyes. “You don’t have to be a hero if you don’t want to. No one, especially not Ladybug, is going to force you. But what about Hawkmoth? Even if he can’t track you down, he’s still going to send them after you.”

She… had a point. His uncle was stubborn, but had laser focus. Gabriel could work for days without a break, without sleep. And now Felix was the sole focus of his undivided attention.

But, Felix realized, he was horrible at multitasking.

“I can stay out of Gabriel’s sights for a few days.” He already had arrangements made with his lawyer; despite what Gabriel had claimed, he was not Felix’s guardian and had no right to hold him captive in his mansion. “Once my suspension is over, I’ll come back to school and we’ll enact the plan against Rossi.”

“But she’ll get akumatized!” Alya protested. “We’d anticipated that before, but this time Hawkmoth will be actively gunning for you!”

“That’s the point. I’m not too keen on being a superhero, but bait?” He smirked. “I’ve survived a few rounds with an akuma before. I can do it again. And while Hawkmoth is focused on me, he’ll never see Ladybug coming.”

Taglist: @graduatedmelon @novicevoice @dur55 @kris-pines04 @18-fandoms-unite-08 @moonlightstar64 @bee-a-garbage-shipper @sol-o-shade @kittyotakunoir666 @tinyterror333 @allieoftheenemy @marichat00 @xgxmxtx @two-faced-biatch @feliciakainzofspades @evil-cricket @emilytopaz @spicybelladonna @chocolateherringtacofan @user00000003 @wannajointhecrabcult @happymonster-pants @duquesapincarrasca @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @sxltinette @kittydemon9000 @thetrashypanda423 @unoriginalmess @toodaloo-kangaroo

#hey little songbird #felinette #felix graham de vanily #alya cesaire #ml duusu #gabriel agreste #Gabriel bashing #this chapter is just talking ugh

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21witnokidz · 1 year

Text

IN THE GHETTO

Chapter 10

Warning: Smut

8 years later

Moldy peaches? No. Bit off apple? No. Stale bread? Doable.

The gang had made their way close to a town called Armadillo, fairly close to Blackwater. All you were trying to do was find some food since y’all were running out.

“Dutch you’re not gonna believe what I found. It’s gonna blow your mind”. Of course you were being sarcastic when you presented him the stale bread you found in the empty cabin.

“Hm.. well I bet that’s better than whatever the hell they’re giving to Arthur in that prison” Dutch said helping setting up camp.

That’s right. We had a little run in with the O’Driscolls before coming here resulting in Arthur getting arrested. I don’t know what he expected when he decided to try and stay behind to loot the dead bodies he shot.

“I’m gonna go and bust him out. You comin Hosea?”

“I might as well. I already have a plan in tact”

You and Hosea rode your horses to the Armadillo jail and saw the sheriff sitting at the front desk smoking a cigar.

“Here’s the plan. You’re gonna go in there and report a robbery while I slip in there and get our boy out”

Hosea always had some scheme cooking up in that brain of his. We honestly could’ve gotten Arthur out yesterday but we all thought we should keep him in there for the night for him to think over his stupidity.

You walked inside the jail and put on my best face to look like you had been shaken up.

“Mister sheriff please! There was this terrible man outside who robbed me! If we hurry we could catch him and throw him in this place like the rest of the trash here!”

You looked directly at Arthur while saying the last bit who had his hand covered over his mouth trying not to laugh.

“I’m sorry ma’am but we have to wait for someone else. I can’t just leave the jail without anyone keeping watch-“ the sheriff tried to explain

“Please sir he’ll get away. He stole my engagement ring my late husband had given to me and... and- that was the only thing I had left of him” finally you broke down into tears.

“O-ok. I’ll look for just 5 minutes but after that you’re outta luck I’m sorry”

“Thank you” you got up and wiped your crocodile tears

After you and the sheriff left, Hosea came in and stole the keys. He unlocked the bars to Arthur’s cell.

“Took ya long enough”

“Yea well Annabelle insisted you stay another day for being stupid”

Annabelle, Colm O’Driscoll’s sister, a girl who Dutch had found to be sweet on. Now she ran with y’all in the gang taking on the same role Bessie had.

After the sheriff had looked for the nonexistent man for 5 minutes he gave it up like he promised, sending you on your way with 3 dollars for sympathy. You kinda felt bad for lying to him. You found your way back to Arthur and Hosea seeing Arthur with that stupid smirk.

“Hey darlin’”

“Don’t hey darlin’ me”

Still you let Arthur pull you into a kiss. Things had been different since that accident at the mansion. You and Arthur agreed to just not talk about it again and move on. Now Arthur was 22 and you 21 and you guys were much more mature. Or so you liked to think.

“Is there anything back at camp I’m starving”

Those men at the jail most likely hadn’t given him anything to eat ever since he got thrown in there.

Back at camp everything was set up including your and Arthur’s shared tent.

“Ok please tell me we caught a wild boar or something” Arthur expressed his hunger once more.

“Well geez Arthur. Not even a ‘hello’? As soon as you come back you immediately start asking for food” Bessie, who was just recently gossiping with Annabelle was still a nagger. Still you guys did make up after the whole scene you caused after the mansion job.

“We have salted beef with stale bread. Take it or leave it”

“Oh I’ll definitely take it”

Ever since we figured out what gang the man with the pig birthmark belonged to we had been tracking them down. Eventually Dutch did become rivals with their leader, Colm O’Driscoll. After all he stole his sister from him, Annabelle.

Arthur leaned towards you after finishing his food.

“Wanna go into the woods?”

Immediately you got up and made your way to the woods with Arthur right behind you.

“Be careful you two” Hosea meant that both ways of course.

Arthur pushed you up against a tree and attacked your lips. “That food must’ve done something to your nerves huh baby?” You laughed into his mouth. “Nah it was that cold night in jail. I hate being by my lonesome without you”

“What’ya want me to do to you sugar?”

Whenever he used that name you knew exactly what was on his mind.

“Anything you want”

“Ooh I like the sound of that”

He threw your shirt over your head and started nipping at your neck. You started wearing pants and a shirt more often since it was easier to ride a horse and get around. The only downside is that it was harder for Arthur to get his access to you.

He pulled your pants and undergarments down and grabbed your hips. You unbuckled his belt and pulled his already hard member out. You put your arms around his neck and kissed him hard. “I’ve missed ya so much sugar I fear I might be fast” Arthur admitted. He inserted himself into you slowly and you both sighed at the same time. He pulled out and pushed himself back in fully bottoming out.

“Stop being gentle and just fuck me”

“Patience sugar”

He started at an agonizingly slow pace which was actually starting to make you frustrated. Like damn he just was just talking about how much he missed you and now he’s trying to tease you??? Despicable. You squeezed his shoulders hard and he understood and decided to stop teasing. He quickened his pace causing moans and whines to slip out of your mouth.

“You like that sugar? You want me to go faster? Harder? This is your rodeo doll just tell me how ya want it”

“Harder. Please you feel so good don’t stop”

He slowed his pace down a little to put more force into his thrusts. He could feel the tension in his stomach start to build up. “It’s gonna happen. Are ya close?” You shook your head and Arthur felt a little disappointed. He knew he wasn’t gonna last long but he at least thought he could make you close before he came. He pushed you harder to the tree for support and brung his left hand down to start rubbing on your clit.

“Oh Arthur. That’s it just hold out for a bit baby”

“How can you just say that when you’re squeezing me like a vice down there”

Finally he brought you to an orgasm that left you shuddering in his arms.

After a few more thrusts he finally pulled out and came on the floor. You both were breathing hard but were glad you both got able to finish. Believe it or not that was kind of a luxury. Between Arthur always being called to go on jobs or him just simply not being able to hold himself long enough, one or both of you always gets left unsatisfied. And whenever Arthur cums too fast, which is often, he always feels really bad and makes sure to use his fingers on you after.

Still his ring for you sits heavy in his pockets.

#arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption x reader #arthur morgan #yeehaw

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missinghan · 4 months

Text

falling asleep in a time machine ⤖ bang chan

❖ genre : mafia au; fluffy angst; hurt/comfort; female reader insert

❖ word count : 6,9k.

❖ warning : swearing, implied major character death, mention of arson, depictions of vomiting, killing, blood, death, can be brutal (!!!), delusional happy ending.

❖ summary : four times you try to go back in time and save chan; or alternatively, you keep dreaming about chan to see if there is a way to undo his death when in reality there isn’t — from the world of illicit & priceless.

❖ author’s note : just finished my first term of uni (like actually the first term ever) and I’m so dead inside so here’s a silly little something. I can’t use pts anymore so pls bear with the banner *cries and dusts off this old blog* also I try to explain here why Chan was so attached and pissed off when mc stole his mother’s ring even though it’s accidental.

first attempt —

There are three missions that have altered the course of your and Chan’s relationship.

The first mission goes back to when you were still going on heists and Ryujin had foolishly put a piece of Chan’s mother’s sentiments into your pocket. Neither you nor Chan have come to know or like each other much before it.

The second one is the mansion with a bomb planted in the basement and Chan got locked inside a conference room with a three-layered door, one of them made from the same metal as the fucking Titanic. The third mission involves a casino where the Germans and Italians came together to push Chan toward a dead-end they had cultivated for the Devil himself, to his ultimate demise. They are all too arrogant to admit that Chan will take over the entirety of the East Asian market before any of them can start rolling in their graves.

Three missions of importance and not long after that, you and Chan have agreed to never go on a mission without each other. An unwritten contract. An unspoken promise. Nothing that the mafia engages in is legal so everything runs on trust, on how much faith you are willing to give those who you keep close.

However, there is a fourth mission that the Underworld records will fail to keep because even only a minuscule part of the Bang family is informed about this—how their precious heir has been summoned to bring home the girl he loves.

“Would you do laundry and taxes with me?”

“That’s an odd way to propose to someone, Y/N. And please, you’re asking an obvious question.” Chan looks up at you from his book. His smile is gentle, soft at the corners with his dimples sinking in—it’s how you know that he means it—the way it usually is these days. The way it has been for the past year. It is almost obscure, you think, how you both would have wanted each other’s head on a stick a year ago before one of you managed to make the other person cry out of gratitude.

You lift the book away from his face, glimpsing at the cover. Because Chan is an absolute heathen, he has been reading No Longer Human and you’re being annoying about it because he hasn’t come out to train with you for two days already. “Are you telling me you’ll say ‘no’?”

“We’re already doing laundry and taxes together. We will just have matching rings and a signed piece of paper,” Chan gives you a pointed look; he always looks so serious whenever he wants to correct you as if your sarcasm is that dry. “So it naturally implies as a ‘yes’, idiot,” he nags, even though he doesn’t mean the last part.

“Oh how you wound me, love,” you bite back, even though you don’t mean it either. “Chan, come on. You’re locking yourself up in a prison.”

Chan lets out a long, heavy sigh as if he’s insulted that you have just called his room a prison—which you never verbally hinted at, he simply interpreted it that way. He reaches over to grab the book from your hand, seemingly giving up his reading time for you, and places it on his bedside.

“What are you–” You watch as Chan walks over to one of his mahogany drawers. “-doing?”

“I need caffeine to talk to you.”

Despite your bristling, he stays true to his words and finds himself a mug, a tea bag, along with a boiler. By the time Chan finishes filling up the boiler with water and turns on the heating switch, your legs are dangling over the edge of his bed as you puff up like a cat, baffled and offended.

“So,” Chan inquires, a steaming mug of tea in his hand. “What’s up?”

“I find your current state distressing to look at,” you elaborate with glee, a glint coming into your eyes that Chan knows you’re up to no good. “Take a week off with me. We can go anywhere you want, it’ll be a short getaway, just the two of us.”

Chan’s back is turned toward you because he’s too busy searching for a spoon but you can boldly assume that he’s smiling. It’s hinted in his tone when he asks, “You mean a vacation?”

“Brilliant interpretation, Chan,” you smile wryly. “Of course, I meant a vacation!”

“No, you can go have fun by yourself. You have my permission,” he shakes his head. “I have things to attend to. Meetings, banquets, important business transactions. You know how boring the mafia lifestyle is.”

You still, voice low and suppressed in something Chan can’t seem to grasp at. “You’re going back to your family.” It’s barely a movement, a small enough action. Any passerby would think that you have only faltered a little but Chan has observed you for a good while now to notice you’re holding your shoulders back from trembling.

“I am going back to my family,” he repeats calmly. “Only for a week, though. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Chan, I know they want to see me.”

Chan tries not to let anything show on his face. “And they may very well kill you because that is what they are. Godawful, egoistic, and incapable of compassion.”

“Let me go with you, I—” you begin, though you cut yourself off almost instantly. The room is suddenly steeped in silence, unwieldy at the absence of your words. Every noise seems amplified in the quiet: the boys’ chatters echoing dully from the living room, the ticking hands of the clock, and every breath you take to calm the anxiety in your rib cage.

I do not fear death, sickness, or anyone’s hatred. What I fear most is losing you, Chan. It’s all so beyond you because a year ago, you were a thief, taking things as you please and sending them away when they’re no longer of use for your benefit. Now there is someone who you will live for and his kiss you will kill for, his laugh you will die for.

“Chan, do you have any idea what I would turn into if you left me?” You have always worried loudly, from the volume of your attentiveness and the anxiety beneath your skin all lie in the tender manner of how you love Chan—the same goes for him, that you can be certain of.

“I will never leave you, Y/N. We will be okay,” he assures you, unbearably calm.

Chan is a liar.

second attempt —

Chan is supposed to go back to the Bang family’s estate with Yuriko for the New Year. Yuriko is the housekeeper whom he has retired for about a year ever since you came into the picture. The boys, especially Jisung, have been forced into keeping their surroundings clean because, for some wicked reason, they think you are absolutely terrifying when you’re upset about their muddy shoes dirtying the floor after a mission. Yuriko always giggles at that, her Young Master surely knows how to pick a partner.

“I’ve got word that your father wants you to back to the estate, Young Master,” Yuriko tells Chan when she finds you and Chan in the archive because you have insisted on reading about something you won’t say a word to him. Surely, Chan recognizes what you’re searching for but he doesn’t mention it.

“He said he wanted to make sure you are ready to take over his position. And there is a dinner he wants your attendance for,” Yuriko continues, hands clasped behind her back. You didn’t even realize when she stepped in and approached Chan—for a mere housekeeper to be so swift and quiet with her movements, you have long guessed that she’s not just any old woman to be hired by the Bang family.

The way Chan stiffens in his seat is telling all on its own. You are suddenly struck with the recurring memory of how Minho used to babble about how much of an ass Chan’s family is when he has had one too many drinks. “You don’t know how bigshot mafia families treat their children, do you? They kept the world from knowing for a reason. I’m surprised Chan didn’t turn out to be a monster like them.”

“Forgive me, Yuriko, but you can tell the old man to suck it up,” Chan says softly but his voice is dark, tense, riddled with a sharpness you haven’t heard from him in a long time—you were threatened just the same way when you had stolen his mother’s ring. Now you realize Chan only ever speaks so heartlessly if something precious to him is hanging on the verge of being taken away.

“Young Master,” Yuriko frowns for two reasons; firstly, Chan has never been able to decline his blood family of anything and secondly, there isn’t much that she can do to solve the problem at hand. She’s a mere servant for the Bang family; she doesn’t have much power to begin with and therefore, she can’t exactly tell them ‘no’.

“No, you can’t make me,” Chan grits because he knows, he understands it all too well. Unsaid words of all the things money can buy hang in the air like bile.

“Young Master Christopher, you must know what happens if you defy your father.” And there goes Yuriko’s final warning along with Chan dashing out of the archive, straight through the hallway and the front door of the mansion, completely vanishing in the white curtain of December snow.

Yuriko murmurs something under her breath, unintended for you to hear her. You continue staring forward, the file in your hands completely forgotten. “He can come home with me,” you say without actually thinking about it until she turns to stare at you, expressionless before breaking into a fit of giggles.

“I think Young Master would like that.”

With that, you set off to find Chan.

“No one will love you unconditionally like we do.” “You belong to us, so do as we say.” “Work to kill, kill or you’ll die. You were born to kill, it’s a gift that not everyone receives.” “The world will bow before you and sway the way you want it but you’ll have to-”

“I don’t want any of that,” Chan hisses but the voices keep coming back louder, harsher, with more bite than he has ever heard from them. “None of you ever gave me anything that matters! You just can’t admit that you made me a murderer!!”

The snow around him sinks with each step he takes, their words still echoing in his mind and sending shivers down his spine, driven so deeply inside his skull that he wishes he could have nothing of this reality. “Be mindful of yourself. Control it.” “Your fangs and claws are too sharp for you to be swinging just at anyone,” he hears them again

His nose burns in the cold but Chan doesn’t notice something warm and wet trickle down his cheekbones. “You never cared about restraint. You said I must kill or I would die. You all just want to possess me, you want me not as an heir but as a commodity!!”

“It’s how we’ve been running this family. It’s how we keep things in order. You’re one of us, Christopher, you are this family.”

With a huff, Chan eventually gives in and listens because he has no other choice but to; he slides down against concrete with a white-out vision, a quivering figure with nothing on but his cardigan. “Then you’re just as godawful as any of them,” he tells himself, knees curling against his chest, almost justified in his own lie that he wants to burst out laughing.

Chan knows they have made him more of a weapon than a child, more of a monster than a man and he is stuck with it for good. He has been holding onto life just because he can, not so much that he wants to. Because he never truly wanted anything before or was wanted in any way.

“Oh my god, you’re a fucking man-child!”

He hears someone’s nagging from afar and ignores it, hugging himself impossibly tighter because asking for comfort is unacceptable, they taught him so. “Chan!!” He hopes it goes away with all of the other voices.

It doesn’t. Instead, it comes closer in a humane form, boots crunching against the snow and warm breaths sounding rhythmically. “It’s been an hour. Do you have any idea how worried we all were- how worried I was?! What the actual hell,” you snap. “Now I’m going to hear all this shit from Seungmin again because I let you run off and he’s too terrified of you to properly lecture you. God-”

Your rambles cut off when you kneel down next to him, rummaging for a scarf, a pair of gloves, yet another pair of gloves, his puffer jacket, and a hat from your bag. Chan quietly watches as he tries to blink away the oncoming tears but he can’t—they keep coming. He doesn’t reply when your scolding goes on because even though your voice is sharp, Chan can catch the worry hidden along the edges. Being cared for and cherished like this has made him realize how much he doesn’t want to come back to his family and he wants to cry like he’s the fourteen-year-old boy who used to refuse to pick up a gun all over again.

A child who was unable to stuff down the overwhelming agony and grief forced upon him. A child who was weaponized. A child who was threatened into killing his own mother. “If you can’t kill what you hold near and dear, you’ll never be able to kill anyone to save yourself.”

“Chan?” you call out to him, unbearably soft. There’s a certainty, a sort of gentleness in the way his name is said that only makes his tears come hotter, more and more of it because your love feels big, overwhelming.

Chan hates crying so he never did, not when they had locked him up in his room, not when they had starved him because of his disobedience, not when they had made him pull the trigger with the gun’s mouth pressing against his mother’s chest. Chan hates crying but it seems to be all he’s doing now.

You’re wrapping him up so gently and trying to warm him up because you know he’s just as human as any mundane individual out there. Humans shiver when the temperature drops, they shed tears when they’re upset, and they bleed and bruise at the right amount of impact. That’s why humans are so clingy toward each other so they can prevent harm from coming the other person’s way. Because no one enjoys getting hurt and there is no good reason to voluntarily get hurt; it sounds like common sense but Chan never grew up with such things. He never came to think he was deserving of such things.

“Chan, come home with me. Forget your family. I don’t need to know about them,” you smile at him, somehow empathetic and so understanding when Chan has barely given you an explanation, when he is desperate to fill the silence but he knows his voice will be weak with tears, stumbling, and pitching all over the place.

Chan sniffles, finding the courage to say something back because he wants to, not because he feels like he has to, “Can I really…come-come home with you?”

“I’m sure the girls wouldn't mind, they might be a little annoying. Yeji, though, can be wary of strangers,” you shrug, something so relaxed about your posture tells him that you have learned to accept something without telling him.

A breathy chuckle. “Especially when they’re a mafia leader.”

An exhale. Chan shudders when you embrace him wholly—every moment of pride and arrogance, betrayal and hurt that he has been boxing away—as the beautiful mess that he is. You’re the safest person on the face of Earth not because you are on equal terms with him in power but because you never care about those things. You will let him break something, burn something down, cry, and laugh however he pleases but you won’t ever let go of his hand. You never ask him for anything in return while continuing to save him over and over again.

He’s so unbelievably lucky, Chan thinks but doesn’t say it aloud, instead, he tells you, “If you’ll have me.”

The night after you drive Chan back to your mansion, the place goes up in flames. Only you are able to open your eyes to see the next daylight.

“Welcome home,” you want to whisper but can only watch a last smile bloom on the face of a ghost amidst the orange blaze.

third attempt —

You decide to come home with Chan.

For a non-mafia family, it might go like this.

Meeting Chan’s parents will be the hardest thing you have ever done—and that is coming from someone who has broken through the world’s most modern security systems and got your hands on objects worth billions of dollars.

You will bow when you meet them, use the politest speech you have taught yourself last minute, and desperately try not to remember how Chan was forced to shoot his own mother as a child. They will pinch your cheek and call you lovely, chuckling at how stiff you are and offering you a ‘Come on in! Don’t mind the mess, it’s always how our house is.’

You will smile and you will play along because you want them to like you so badly it hurts.

Chan will gawk at you without even trying to hide it because you have given him a completely different experience upon your first encounter. Casual, timid, and quick with your tongues when it comes to those witty retorts.

They will then ask you, ‘‘What are your hobbies? Any sports? Instruments?’’ Purely in the Asian parents’ style.

You will be so nervous that you forget you play the violin and practice meditation occasionally. You will sit at their dinner table in their cozy, lived-in home, and rack your brain for a proper answer that might be deemed reasonable for a mundane girl. “It can be anything you do for fun, honey. No need to be nervous,” they will say again and you will give them a small grimace in return.

It’s probably deeply fucked up when the first thing that comes to your mind is ‘I retired from heists a year ago because museums are fucking boring so I have moved on to finding new and creative ways to eliminate anything that might be the cause of Chan’s suffering.’

“…You play the violin beautifully,” Chan will suggest quietly beside you, his hand laced with yours beneath the table. “And you interrupt my reading time whenever you need attention.”

“I…I like to be with you,” you will finally find the courage to say with a firm squeeze of his hand, and the strength to smile when his eyes widen faintly, flustered yet not surprised.

Still, it doesn’t matter whether Chan was born from a mafia family. You don’t hesitate to hold his hand beneath the table when Chan tenses up from the disappointed gaze of his father, lean over ever so slightly, and whisper, “I like to be with you.” He almost gasps but refrains. “Wherever we are. As long as you allow me to stay by your side.”

For once, Chan lets himself think that he won’t fuck up something before he even gets to have it in his arms.

You did come home with Chan even if the dinner is anything but cozy and mundane. Their smiles are cold porcelain, a familiarity with death so staggering you feel nauseous. They are all here, though. Every single one of them. “I’ll be back,” you say and excuse yourself to use the restroom, he assumes.

Chan finds an uneasy slick in his throat, almost thick like blood when he sees a bright thing in your eyes. He lets you go anyway. Will things happen differently if he holds you back?

Minutes after your withdrawal from the dinner table, an explosion goes off downstairs. The mansion quivers with a long string of rumble, a horrible feeling looming over everyone in the room like an ugly shadow. Though, no one bats an eye. Maintaining such a high position in the Underworld for so long is more than enough for the bounty on each of their heads to go up to millions of dollars.

As much as Chan detests his blood family, he doesn’t want to die here, a horrendous place for his corpse to be found. So he stands as the rest of the room begins arming themselves, doing his best not to pay any heed to his father, and bolts downstairs.

In situations like this, he is taught to close his heart and kill. Hence why there was barely any screaming when the commotion occurred, only the metallic sounds of bullets being clicked into their chamber. Truth be told, there is a weapon vault on the main floor of the mansion. Chan knows the most efficient shortcut there and can run through any hallways even without any lights on. He did grow up in this terrible place, and now he will make use of that to get you out of here before anything else.

Chan arrives at the main floor and there is nothing but a giant hole and crumbled metal pieces in the weapon vault—or what used to be the weapon vault, blown up by a bomb it seems. Well, shit, he doesn’t even know how to register this. The entrance to his father’s most treasured place in the mansion has a three-layered door with an extremely lethal surveillance system, who and how the fuck-

He stops. He doesn’t so much as twitch. It gives him a moment of pure chill when the main floor has gone completely muted, both audibly and visually, like his life has just tipped off balance and leaned towards the bad part of a zombie movie. Upstairs, there is a cry for help and the sound of bullets continuously firing.

“My fucking god,” Chan curses and turns on his heels, steeling himself mentally while rushing up the stairs.

Upon arriving at the scene, it’s difficult to say whether turning up just five minutes earlier would have made much of a difference. Fuck, but if he had held you back, would things have taken a different turn?

There is a lot of blood. Too much blood to be explained away, and too much evidence to be traced back to no one else other than you. Well, to be fair, you’re the only person still standing and kicking aside from Chan anyway. The shotgun in your hand with a silencer attached speaks volumes, a knife between your teeth, and your left hand is fisted tightly.

“…Y-Y/N,” Chan utters, in disbelief. “You’re Y/N, aren’t you?”

You release something in your left hand and several fifteen-bullet magazines drop to the ground, the sound scratching his spine in the wrong way. The knife also hits the ground, metal echoing loudly against hard marble.

“You’re here, Chan,” you reply, like your hands and clothes aren’t painted red. Swiftly, you duck to fumble for something beneath the dining table. Chan’s gaze follows you suit, prompting uneasiness to crawl down his throat when he realizes everything is, quite literally, drenched in blood. When he manages to snap out of it, you are unwrapping something from a white blanket—Berry, his eight-year-old Spaniel.

You don’t look one bit surprised to see him—you have been expecting him. You simply keep on tucking Berry neatly into the blanket, murmuring something along the lines of ‘it’s over now’ and ‘I’m sorry I scared you’. Berry offers you a small whimper in return, still startled and recovering from the loud ruckus.

Chan inhales very slowly. Exhales. “What did you do?”

“I killed everyone here,” you say levelly, as if mass murder is no big deal. “You’re a little late. I thought your intuition would be keener than that.”

“This is no time for a fucking joke,” he snaps. Chan has snapped because he’s mad at himself. He has been living purely by his intuition for more than two decades already, without it he would have died a long time ago. Yet when it comes to you, he’s always the most irrational.

Your lips twitch like you’re about to smile but realize he’s upset. “You’re right, sorry.”

Chan moves further into the room, his shoes squelching with each blood-drenched step he takes. He takes the scene in once again and keeps calm because that is what he has trained himself to do ever since the first time he got kidnapped. When his gaze brushes over the corpse of his father, he tries not to think about anything just yet. What’s done is done but Chan can piece the scene together from the explosion downstairs—a bait that anyone will be eager to take and a good way to disarm your enemies—to the scattering of hole-filled bodies, their blood blooming against the marble floor like a grotesque bouquet.

The crux of it is you know all too well he will run to find you without question, lending you the space and time to kill whoever remains.

“Why?”

Your eyes sweep over the mass of bodies, dull and distant. “Does it really matter?” You don’t think it’s fair to say you did it because you love him; it will become a curse that haunts him for as long as he lives. Yes, you love Chan with your entire soul but you also simply want to act as you please, allowing yourself to have your selfish ways of declaring your love for him.

His chest heaves without any stability. “I thought you said you’re used to taking many things but you don’t take lives!!”

You cut right in, all glass. “Will anyone be able to do anything about it? Can anyone possibly arrest me, Chan?”

Chan shudders, a sour thing gnawing at the back of his throat. It’s a morbid feeling he knows will become recurring at night, on the bad days. Chan wants to be furious, it feels like a moral obligation to be. Then again, everything the world has learned about empathy is already torn up by his family, they smeared it beneath their feet like it’s common trash. In the end, all of his nightmares and source of fear amounts to this, a mass of corpses with no resolution.

“Do you want to kill me, Chan? If so, do it. You’re your own person, you are free.”

Your eyes have turned into ice, and suddenly you have become so intangible that Chan slowly grows afraid. He thinks of terrible things, Am I allowed to have you? What makes you want me so badly? Why am I different from any of them?

The sound of retching interrupts his train of thought. It takes him precisely half a second to stare at how you are folded over your knees, dry heaving at the marble floor with Berry fumbling for help right at your side. Chan rushes to you to keep your hair out of your face as you gasp for air, choking on stomach bile and body raking with shudders. Once his hand smooths over the fabric on your back, you eventually cough and hack out the last of whatever is left that your system rejects.

You breathe as shallowly as you can. Quiet wheezes, hollow breaths that pull in and out of your lungs too quickly. Chan rubs small, gentle circles on your back and doesn’t expect it when you snap up to look at him with wide, pained eyes as though you didn’t just murder his entire family in cold blood minutes ago, like you didn’t just take out the Underworld’s most feared lineage of demons by yourself.

Chan decides not to say anything, lets you lean into him shakily, and tries to figure out what you’re attempting to do with your hands. Dry blood makes your skin itchy every time your fingers twitch but you don’t mind it.

“I’m here, I’m here,” he finally whispers with you sitting in the circle of his arms; you’re shaking like you’re sobbing even though you make no noise and cry no tears. Chan lets you squirm with a wild mania in your eyes, frantic and lost. He can’t quite pinpoint what you want until he gets it.

You stop shaking the moment your head leans against the left side of his chest, right where his beating heart is. A pattern in his rib cage and a rhythm in your ears, relief so immense you feel like you can finally breathe. What you want is just to hear the sound of his heartbeat. It makes Chan feel a little exposed, somewhat scrutinized but he really doesn’t mind taking himself apart to hand his heart over to you.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, your tone wet and warm with oncoming tears.

Chan presses his lips into a thin line, feeling like a hypocrite when he keeps you caged in his arms. “What are you sorry for, silly?” From the bottom of his heart, it’s abominable, he thinks—that even amidst such gruesome bloodshed created by your own hands, Chan is relieved that you are not hurt.

“I’m sorry this isn’t real.”

fourth attempt —

Chan is coming home with you. The childhood home you used to grow up in with two extremely loving, a little too oblivious parents who never once questioned their daughter’s occupation in the big city.

It takes time to adjust but Chan is sliding into your little family without noticing it himself. He manages to impress your mom with his cooking and discusses politics with your dad. You might be going delusional but you swear you saw him chuckling faintly at your parents’ terrible taste of reality TV.

The house might only amount to one-tenth of his mansion but it smells like fresh laundry all around, tender and soft, smothered in the love of ordinary human beings. So everything just feels that much bigger, a love so warm and overwhelming it stains Chan’s eyes with unfamiliar myriads of emotions. It takes him a few days to finally laugh a little louder, not refraining his speech to specifically formal phrases, and allowing himself to nag you in front of your parents. He even makes a sound of disbelief when you keep telling them he’s only a friend from work.

“Oh my god, why are you so salty about it,” you chide and close your bedroom door. “If I had said you’re my boyfriend, they would have started interrogating you!”

Chan sits on the duvet you have laid on the floor for him—your childhood bed is too small to share—and mumbles something morbid under his breath, “I am quite good at tolerating any methods of torture thank you very much.” However, he doesn’t miss the look your parents give you whenever you bid them goodnight with Chan hovering over you in a way that’s nowhere near platonic.

You snort, actually, no, it’s too bitter for you to even react. “The worst they will do is leave you out when we watch TV,” you grin to relieve the inevitably building tension, shit-eating and all.

“That’s cruel. You know I love reality TV,” Chan replies, completely monotone. He flings an arm over his eyes like he’s putting in effort to mimic a dying body trying to convey his love in a Shakespeare play. Wrestling with like ten other housewives to buy those eggs on sale for your mom was more of a workout than any gun fights he has engaged in.

“Sleep. Mom said we’re going outside tomorrow,” you huff, tossing him a teddy bear from your bed—the amount of stuffed animals you own is impressive, they easily take up half of your bed so Chan had to accept his fate with the duvet.

“I thought we’re heading back?”

“We will after going out with her. She said she wanted something from the bakery.”

Chan hums in response, his gaze skimming over the interior of your room again. Light pink wallpapers, white bookshelves and wardrobe lining the corners, and soft hues of blue on your bed and curtains to top it all off. “Truly, you are the designer of a generation.”

“Toddlers usually don’t like black. And I was eight, Chan, shut the fuck up,” you laugh, the sound so hearty it makes him want to bottle it and keep it all to himself like a child hiding his favorite candy.

“Hurts my eyes a little, but I like it,” he declares and unwinds for the day.

You never realize you don’t really walk around town every time you visit your parents. Maybe it’s because you didn’t have many friends growing up, meaning there’s no one to call up for a hangout, or maybe it’s because all of the memories you want to relive here are with your parents, in the warmth of their home. So you walk down the sleepy streets with laziness on your shoulders, somewhat at peace when Chan can’t seem to keep his eyes in one place, secretly comparing the imageries of bright, colorful Seoul with this hazy rural area.

“What is that place over there?” He asks when you stride past a sketchy-looking building when in reality, it’s a spa run by this really nice old lady upstairs.

“Did you go to school here?” He ponders when you glance at what looks like a middle school; no kids are running and shouting in the playground since it’s the New Year holiday.

Your mom notices how much curiosity Chan has for an apparent mid-twenties young adult so she giggles, offering to point out something she thinks he might be interested in, “That’s a small park Y/N used to play at. She wouldn’t leave when I came to pick her up after work.”

You can’t decide if you should scowl at your mom or burst out laughing at her implication that Chan, the leader of a notorious mafia group, should go and sit on one of the swings while she heads inside the bakery. “Come on, Chan,” you quickly make your choice.

Chan sighs, though the sound is fond because he sees a sort of excitement blooming loud and clear in your pretty eyes. You have observed Chan long enough to know when he has given in so you laugh, turning to your mom and saying, “We’ll be back in a minute.” The familiar promise melts Chan inside out but he doesn’t tell you that.

You accidentally drop your phone while walking down the stone steps so you turn away for half a second. And when you look back, Chan is seated neatly on the swing which is definitely not fitting for his age—his long legs dragging against the soil as his arms are crossed in front of his chest. As serious as he tries to look, you find the whole imagery so ridiculously unserious. He senses your gaze burning holes on the back of his neck so he stands, reaches upward, and lifts himself to sit on the metal bar that the chains rain down from.

“Chan, what the fuck, that’s not how you use a swing,” you chide, nearly rolling on the ground and barking a laugh. “If I take a photo of you right now, how dead am I?”

Chan doesn’t even need to turn his head. “What do you think?”

He looks down when your footsteps squish against the snow and he tries to imagine how a little you would hang around this place for an entire afternoon, up to no good things while waiting for your mom. “Concise as always, boss,” you purse your lips at him, nostalgia a heavy weight on the curve of your shoulders as you peer over places you used to designate as your hiding spots.

Chan catches something shifting on your face and he ponders; why would you voluntarily involve yourself in outlaw doings when you could have had a perfectly normal life? “When did you start stealing?”

“Probably when my parents sent me away for university. I hated it. School was hard and the expenses were awful for their bank accounts but they wouldn’t tell me that,” you mutter and decide to join him, legs dangling over the edges, a confession dragged from your lips unwillingly.

Chan scoots a little closer, a hand reaching over to your left side to keep you from falling. “And you figured you were pretty good at it?”

“Nothing to be proud of, obviously,” you shake your head and can’t help a small grin. “Okay, maybe just a little. I was making money from racing on the side as well.”

It takes him a moment to register your words when surprise halts the words in his throat. No wonder you’re better at handling car chases than any of his teammates who have been involved in this business for years. You look over at him, seeing that he’s having trouble reacting so you pinch his nose teasingly, “I know, so sexy, ain’t it?”

Chan rolls his eyes, neglects the warmth spreading on his cheeks, and simply sits with you. The swing creaks and groans beneath the weight of two adults, rust staining his hand when he lifts it to check.

“It was enough money for me to graduate and I was fine with that. Mind you I was always the top of my class,” you scoff, thinking of long days when you used to get little to no sleep, of when you had mustered the best smiles for your parents through FaceTime, of how you had begun not caring for how much money the jewels you had stolen were worth.

None of it matters anymore, you think as you lean into Chan, and he lets you. “I’ll guess this, you were homeschooled?”

Chan doesn’t answer immediately as realization tightens his ribs. You don’t talk about home or how you grew up, and Chan doesn’t talk about his parents. Perhaps you both are similar in that way so neither of you mind when the other person never initiated it. “I was. Everything I ever learned was taught in that forsaken mansion. Most of it, actually.”

“Everything?”

“You can’t run away from what you’re surrounded with,” he says, and there’s a chilling edge to it, an icy kind of shiver that makes your fingers more numb than the winter cold ever can.

“Chan, you’re not them,” you declare out of the blue, eyes crinkling up in adoration. “You are free, okay? No matter how hard they try to ruin you, you can’t become them.”

When you look up again, his eyes have a glassy shine when he says, “I know that now.”

“Don’t cry,” you huff out a breath.

“I’m not crying,” Chan shakes his head slowly, voice suspiciously shaky. “I guess I just thought you had a lot to live for and I was…you know, it was arrogant of me to keep you by my side.”

You laugh, a sharp, crisp bark of a sound that cuts right through his doubts. “Who do you think you’re talking to? If I wanted to run, I would have and no one could catch me, not now, not ever.”

“Well, I did,” Chan retorts, though there is no bite to it.

“Only because I let you,” you play along sedately. It’s the soft hum of your voice that makes breathing for him feel easier, and his shoulders feel lighter. When Chan exhales, it no longer tastes like the unfathomable, untouchable nightmares that he was so used to choke down, swallow, and not allow himself to throw them up as proof to show anyone else.

Your mom returns perhaps in about an hour, a box tucked in her arms and groceries hanging from her elbow. “Time to go back,” she yells from the top of the stone steps. “We need to cook dinner, kids!”

You don’t dare budge. Chan notices it and nudges your shoulder gently, sensing your discontent. “You heard your mom, come on now.”

“I don’t want to go back,” you disagree. “Let’s stay here. I want to go to the beach with you when it gets warmer. And diving, kayaking, too!”

“You told me to leave my credit cards back home. You’ll have to feed me and pay all of my expenses,” Chan reminds you.

“Guess what, I left mine at home too,” you reply breezily. Maybe you both need to find new jobs. You don’t think Chan should worry about that because there’s nothing that he can’t do if he puts his mind to it, he’s just that great. Chan is the greatest thing there is, the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You watch rosy lips part, brown eyes widening as his grip on your shoulder falters faintly. “I don’t deserve good things, Y/N. I can’t stay here with you,” Chan says like he means it. “Tell me to leave.” He really is stupid until the very end.

“If you’re worried about that, I’ll kindly decline my spot in heaven and go to hell with you,” you assure him, your voice chirping with mirth but even that doesn’t seem to elevate his gloom at all. A groan. “Fine then, as the most wonderful person alive, I now denounce us of all our wrongdoings. And I announce us to be the best of normal friends as normal people!”

His solemn expression crumbles and now he just looks straight up insulted. “It’s supposed to be ‘husband and wife’,” Chan nags while fighting off a grin of his own.

A light feeling burgeons in your chest. “I thought you didn’t care about that kind of thing? We’re already doing laundry and taxes together, right? It’s not like we have enough money to buy the rings either.”

“I suppose I’ll have no say in that,” Chan sighs in defeat, finally smiling brightly as he reminds himself of what he has, and what he wants to become for you. “But I like to be with you as well. If you’ll have me.”

You look back at him, wanting nothing more than to burn those words into the flesh of your heart. “I already have you right here, don’t I?”

Because Chan’s existence is etched deeply somewhere inside your soul. And you love him everyday for that.

❖ note (yet again) : hello there, if you have reached the end, thank you so much for reading! I wish 2024 will bring you and your loved ones nothing but happiness and great health! (no one asked but I really tried to simplify their speech of affection towards each other here compared to illicit & priceless because all they really want is to be normal people living a normal life)

#stray kids #bang chan #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #bang chan x reader #skz x reader #chan imagines #chan scenarios #chan x reader #bang chan fluff #bang chan angst #mafia au #stray kids mafia au #bang chan mafia au #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #skz fanfic #skz scenarios

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pureimaginefic · 11 months

Text

Mr. Wexler marched down the hallway, students passing him by, stopping at Bradley and Neilson who stood by the lockers. "Mr. Littrell...Mr. Carter...why are you two loitering in my hallway?" he asked, they looked at each other amused.

"Can you think of a better place to loiter Mr. Wexler?" Bradley asked.

"Parking lot's a good place to loiter" Neilson said to him.

"Sweet, we'll go there" Bradley said as they began to walk away.

"Where are you two supposed to be right now?" Mr. Wexler asked.

"Where are any of us supposed to be if you think about it?" Neilson asked, Bradley snickered.

"Well while I have you two here I might as well get this out of the way, even I have to admit what a good job you did DJ'ing the Halloween dance" Mr. Wexler said to Bradley.

"You mean before I was drugged, kidnapped and almost roasted?" Bradley asked.

"...Yes" Mr. Wexler said "And as I'm sure you are both aware that the prom is less than a month away...".

"Well that's really nice Wexie but you're not really my type" Bradley said to him.

"What did I tell you about calling me that?" Mr. Wexler asked irritated "Anyways, the prom committee came up short again this year."

"Can't imagine why...hey how are you enjoying that new car of yours?" Neilson asked.

Mr. Wexler glared at him "Anyways..." Mr. Wexler said turning his attention back to Bradley "I was hoping you would be able to handle the music for the prom."

"Meh, sure, what the hell" Bradley said "Not like I have a date or anything, might as well make some money" Bradley said shrugging.

"Bradley I already told you we don't have the money for a professional, how am I supposed to pay you?" he asked.

"Alright fine...I'll let this one slide but only because I'm a nice guy" Bradley said to him.

"Wonderful" Mr. Wexler said "And I must say nothing makes me happier than the thought of you two graduating...I still can't believe it's actually happening" he muttered walking away.

"He's really going to miss having us around here" Neilson said.

"Yeah there's been a lot of good times here...except you know the time I got shot...hey, what the hell does loiter mean?" Bradley asked.

"I was confused by that too" Neilson said to him.

"Huh" they both said before walking down the hallway.

“Speaking of prom” Neilson said as they walked towards their next class, you know that story Nat told us about her mom winning prom queen?” he asked.

“Oh yeah how’s it going with you guys since you got back together?” Bradley asked.

“Great” Neilson said to him “It’s like nothing ever happened, it’s amazing” Neilson said “Feels weird to say it but you guys sleeping together really made a difference” he said to Bradley.

“…Glad I could help?” Bradley asked.

“Yeah anyways, I stole a bunch of those nomination slips and stuffed the ballot box with them” Neilson said.

“You nominated her for prom queen?” Bradley asked.

“You can’t believe how easy it was” Neilson said to him "Is she going to love me or what?" Neilson asked.

"Didn't she say she could care less about being prom queen?" Bradley asked.

"Yeah she said that but you know she didn't mean it" he said.

"She finds out she's going to kill you" Bradley said as they walked into a classroom.

"Well she won't find out...will she?" Neilson asked suspiciously as they took their seats.

"Not going to hear about it from me" Bradley said.

"Good afternoon students, our final nominees for the king and queen of this year's senior prom are as followed..." principal Wexler said. "Our nominees for prom king are...Bradley J. Littrell..."

"What the hell?" Bradley asked, he looked at Neilson who bit his bottom lip trying to contain his laughter, Bradley glared at him “You didn’t” he said angrily.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself, it was so easy!" Neilson said laughing.

"Son of a bitch!" Bradley said hitting Neilson.

"Gavin Porter…Kyle Richardson..."

“Really? You put Kyle in there too?” Bradley asked.

“Yeah, he’s the quarterback of the football team, he really needs my help getting nominated for prom king” Neilson said to him

“and Owen Ross...our nominees for prom queen are...Natalie Cappel..."

Natalie stood by her locker and looked around in shock "Wait what?" she asked.

"Tara Olsen, Sophie Taylor and Danielle Williams" principal Wexler said.

“Consider us even” Neilson said smiling at Bradley, he glared at him in response "You love me" Neilson said giggling.

"I fucking hate you" Bradley said.

"Please if I were a girl we'd be dating" Neilson said.

"I don't know what's worse the fact that you said that...or that it's true" Bradley said.- Prom Night

#original characters #bsb fan fiction #jr. bsb series #prom night #the winchester saga #the best of bradley and neilson #national best friend day

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soulmate-game · 3 years

Note

Daughter of wonderwoman au where marinette finds out her mother is actually Diana and somehow it ends up with her meeting/being introduced to the batfam maybe because she has super strength and is seen yeeting some bad guys who tried to mug her... Or something.

“... you are running from your problems, Mari,” Adrien’s exasperated voice reminded his best friend. Again. She ignored him, and he threw his hands up in exasperation. “Look, you don’t have to do anything about it! Nobody would hold it against you if you decided to just, ignore that you found anything out at all. But you need to actually think about what we just found out and decide whether or not you’re gonna do anything—“ he side-stepped a piece of trash that went flying in his direction. “—or if you’re gonna move on and pretend nothing happened.”

“Isn’t that what I’m doing?” Marinette shot back, pushing her bangs out of her face and tying her hair back with one hand.

“No, you’re currently hiding away in Gotham to avoid your parents while you beat up every random group of idiots who thinks you’re an easy mark,” he retorted. Another wannabe kidnapper went flying in his direction, making him sigh and side step again. She had thrown that one with only her one free hand, showing just how upset she was. “You’re ignoring everything in your life, which is not what we meant we said you should get a little space.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Marinette dropkicked the last criminal into unconsciousness before stepping back and putting her hands on her hips. She looked over at the now seven passed out men in the alleyway, and the one very frustrated ex-model pinching the bride of his nose. “I think I’m coping just fine.”

“It’s better than being forced to suppress all of your emotions, sure,” Adrien reluctantly agreed. “But not by much. Your angry rampage through Gotham has already attracted more attention,” he raised his hand to point at a nearby rooftop. Several shadows lurked there, looming over the building’s edge. “Which, might I add, is exactly why I told you not to come to Gotham.”

“You’re the one who followed me here,” she shot back before turning to the shadowy figures above them. “Go ahead and come down! But it was self defense, and you can’t arrest or beat me up for defending myself!”

The first figure to drop down straightened your just as quickly, revealing the imposing figure of none other than Batman himself. The little white eyes on his cowl seemed to narrow on their own as he looked down at her.

“That might be true, but I’m sure you know my policy on metas in my city,” he grumbled back at her. He wasn’t necessarily threatening, but he definitely wasn’t welcoming either. With all of his limbs hidden behind the cocoon that was his cape, Marinette would never be able to predict his next move if he did decide to fight. Not that she seemed particularly worried about that as she crossed her arms over her chest and met his glare evenly.

“Oh, do you own this city now? I wasn’t given the memo,” she retorted. “And considering I didn’t even know I was a meta until last week? I think I deserve a little slack. I’m angry and if people think the tiny little girl in pink is an easy kidnapping target, then it’s their fault for making themselves into the perfect practice dummies for me to try out my newly discovered strength on.”

Adrien saw the eyes on Batman’s mask narrow even further. Marinette wasn’t exactly at her most charismatic at the moment, and Adrien didn’t wanna get the both of them into a bad relationship with the experienced superhero who always seemed to know things he shouldn’t know. So he stepped up quickly, getting in between Marinette and the Bat and holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Okay, Monsieur Batman,” Adrien started slowly, making sure his posture was impeccable and his smile bright. “She’s telling the truth, even if she’s not... the most tactful about it right now. She just found out some very concerning things about her origin and Gotham is the best place for her to hide from her problems and let loose a little pent up aggression. But— well,” he grimaced. “We didn’t intend to run into you guys, but maybe it’s a good thing we did.”

“How so?” Batman was clearly still incredibly suspicious of the both of them and wasn’t giving an inch. So Marinette rolled her eyes (she was still very moody) and leaned around Adrien so she could get a good look at the monochromatic hero.

“I thank my lucky spots that we ran into you, Batman!” She said monotonously. “Me and Adrien are paw-sitively excited at this opportunity.”

Batman. Froze.

Not only were those two lines the very first lines ever spoken to him by two foreign heroes a few years ago (with a few key words changed to protect identities), but they had become their code phrase for whenever they made calls to one another outside of their costumes. All at once it seemed to hit him— the golden hair and bright green eyes on the boy, the blue-black hair and normally super-focused bluebell eyes on the girl that were currently sporting very uncharacteristic frustration. Their heights. Their builds. All of this info flowed through his mind and compared to the information stored in his memory, and it only took the span of two seconds for everything to click.

Suddenly Batman was at full attention, back straight instead of looming over them and eyebrows clearly raised high under his cowl.

He knew Chat Noir and Ladybug would never take a random vacation to Gotham. Ladybug herself had nearly waxed poetic about how much the city depressed her just from the pictures she saw online. If she had willingly come to visit, it was more than to just blow off some steam.

“Batcave?” He asked, earning a relieved look from Adrien and a moody silence from Marinette.

“Please,” Adrien agreed. “You can probably help us, actually.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette leaned back in the metal debriefing chair, legs up on the table and looking for all the world as the picture of pure teenage rebellion and angst. Coincidentally, Red Hood was in the exact same position in the chair next to her.

Batman and all of his other bats and birds were in the cave with the two off-duty Parisian heroes. Everyone except Adrien and Marinette still had their masks on, since the two Parisians were still not privy to their identities. Yet.

To be fair, the bats hadn’t known the identities of the two miraculous users either before today.

“Cha Noir,” Batman started, only to get a head shake from the blond boy.

“Just call me Adrien. Chat’s out of the bag—“ he ignored the groans at the pun and soldiered on, “—so might as well use my real name.”

Batman nodded. “Adrien, then,” he amended. “Why are you and Ladybug really in Gotham?”

Adrien sighed. “I wasn’t lying, before. Marinette,” he gestured to his hero partner. “Just found out some distressing family news. Since HawkMoth is gone, she doesn’t need to repress her negative emotions anymore. But she also didn’t want to be around her parents while she processed everything. I told her to choose any other city— really, I begged— but she insisted on coming to Gotham.”

“The never ending cloud cover and constant rain seem thematic,” she finally spoke up, reaching into her big over-the-shoulder bag and pulling out a large envelope. She threw it to Batman, making the thin package slice through the air like a knife. To nobody’s surprise the seasoned hero easily caught the projectile between two fingers. He looked at the envelope and back to Marinette, silent questions floating in the air between them. Marinette decided to answer at her own pace.

“That’s what we found out. You see, one of my friends is a huge science nerd. A genius. And he wanted to compare DNA samples between us to see if there were any genetic components that determined a person’s suitability towards certain Miraculous or other magical artifacts over others. It was supposed to just be a fun side project that he didn’t expect any breakthroughs on. He mostly just wanted to satisfy his own curiosity. But instead of finding out if our DNA was linked to the miraculous, he found out that my parents are not biologically my parents.”

“Hence the whole just finding out that you’re a meta thing, right?” Nightwing spoke up, fully invested in the story. “Did they never say you were adopted before?”

“It’s not in the system,” she replied easily. “My parents have all the documentation to prove that I’m their biological child, except I’m not. When I confronted them about it, they caved and admitted that they had adopted me in secret and covered it up. Apparently a friend of theirs was involved in something illegal, and,” she waved at the envelope that Batman was now opening. “The details of what we were able to dig up are in there. The summary is this; their friend was part of a secret, illegal experimentation to create clones that could defeat the Justice League—“ the air seemed to get sucked out of the room as soon as those words left Marinette’s mouth. Everyone seemed to know exactly what she was talking about. “—a group called CADMUS. They made me, as apparently one of their early attempts. But I didn’t exhibit any of the powers they were looking for, or any meta traits at all, and my body refused to mature at the rate they wanted. They had no use for a seemingly normal human baby that they managed to clone, so they were preparing to kill me and start over. That’s when my parent’s friend stole me, not wanting to kill an infant, and begged my parents to take me in and pretend I was theirs. Low and behold, it turns out that my DNA just needed a very specific series of emotions to unlock it’s latent abilities.”

“Those emotions being..?” Red hood trailed off, earning a wolfish smile from Marinette.

“Intense anger, betrayal, and confused frustration closely followed by the desire to punch other people’s faces in.”

“That last one is just an assumption,” Adrien chimed in. “And maybe not accurate. But the first three, our scientist friend was able to confirm. The rapid experience of a lot of negative but action-oriented emotions released whatever had been holding back the powers in her DNA from expressing themselves,” he had switched to French so that he could explain everything exactly as Max had told it to them, but he knew all of them were fluent anyway so it was fine. They nodded along, processing the information.

The crinkling of paper drew everyone’s attention back to Batman, who had been flipping through the detailed break down of everything they had found about Marinette’s situation and how she was made by CADMUS.

“Uh,” Red Robin nervously spoke up. “What’s up, Batman?”

“Your genetic donors...” Batman breathed, getting a wink and finger guns from Marinette.

“Yup. Isn’t that just the most fucked up thing you’ve ever seen? They were clearly trying to make someone who could destroy the world.”

“That makes me nervous,” Nightwing admitted, getting up and going to get a look at the papers himself. “It can’t be that ba—“

When even Nightwing was left agape, everyone else who wasn’t in on it found themselves squirming.

“Just tell the rest of us, already!” Robin demanded after the silence stretched just a bit too long.

“The unknowing genetic donors that CADMUS used to make me,” Marinette spoke up, still with her legs up on the table. “Are a very mad-scientist’s-wet-dream combination of Lex Luthor, Bruce Wayne, and Wonder Woman.”

“We don’t even know why they added Bruce Wayne’s DNA,” Adrien admitted. “Although our scientist friend thinks it’s because of physique. His hypothesis is that, in order to support the genes of Wonder Woman, they had to add male genetics that could support the production of a very high muscle mass and would lean towards easy development of a very athletic body. Lex might be evil-scientist smart, but he’s a string bean. But if he added the DNA of another multi millionaire who just so happens to maintain a ridiculously fit body without putting any obvious work into it,” Adrien shrugged. “Then maybe the clone would be able to support Wonder Woman’s genetics and that of two human donors without falling apart.”

“So I’m ‘the clone’ now, huh?” Marinette snarked, earning an exasperated eye roll from her friend.

Batman just stared at the both of them for a moment. He walked away without a word, and came back with a fresh needle and a box. He placed it on the debriefing table.

“Can I do a paternity test myself?” He asked, his voice suspiciously less gruff than normal. “I trust the both of you, but I rather be safe than sorry with something like this.”

The both of them just stared at him in confusion. They traded a glance, and finally Marinette shrugged and moved to sit in her chair properly. Her shirt was already short sleeved, so she just held her arm out so Batman could easily get a blood sample.

“Sure, why not. But do you just have Lex Luthor or Bruce Wayne’s DNA sitting around to compare, or—“ she shut up when she watched Batman take off his glove and roll his own sleeve up. Realization slowly sunk in as he asked Nightwing to take a blood sample from him.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, eyes wide. “You’re— and Luthor doesn’t know— holy shit this is even worse than I thought,” Marinette rambled, not even noticing as Red Hood moved forward and took a small blood sample from her.

Adrien put a hand over his face and just laughed for a moment hysterically. “Oh my god,” he looked over at Marinette. “You could take over the world.”

“I have the blood of Batman AND Wonder Woman on MY side,” Marinette joked back, also hysterical.

When the bat’s high tech equipment was able to come back with a positive result only a few minutes later, Marinette and Adrien had to sit on the floor and just let it all sink in. Which Batman did not at all help by immediately unmasking himself and trying to make a proper introduction.

“I wanna go beat up random thugs again,” Marinette whined, pulling at her hair. “I’ll put on a mask, whatever, but just please let me punch people. I need to punch people right now.”

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #soulmate-game #dc x miraculous #dc x mlb #bio!mom Wonder Woman #Bio!mom Diana prince #bio!dad Bruce Wayne #Bio!dad Batman #idk what this is #but it happened #and it’s something

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