#I’m sure there could be ANOTHER reason why they’d hide the face

[completeoveranalysis]

[3]

COMPLETELY RUDE OF THEM TO DO THIS

TO HAVE LAVA LAMP TALKING TO HIS FATHER ON SCREEN, FULLY VISIBLE, BUT TO FRAME THE PANELS DELIBERATELY SO WE CAN’T SEE WHICH SYAORAN HIS FATHER IS? 

TO TEASE US LIKE THIS??

Horrible. Just so mean.

Or… OR IS THIS A KIND OF A BACKWARDS CONFIRMATION?

CLAMP have been selling the idea that Lava Lamp’s father is Li Syaoran from Cardcaptor Sakura for a few chapters now. They’ve dropped numerous links and connections and WANT us to think that.

BUT THEN, IF IT WAS ACTUALLY TRUE, THEY WOULD JUST SHOW HIS FACE, RIGHT?

They’ve already DROPPED this information. We already THINK it's Li Syaoran. So there would be no need to hide his face any further. 

UNLESS IT WASN’T TRUE. 

UNLESS THIS IS NOT LI SYAORAN.

UNLESS THEY’RE CONTINUING TO HIDE THE IDENTITY SPECIFICALLY BECAUSE IT WOULD GIVE AWAY THE FACT THAT THIS ISN’T LI SYAORAN. 

And am I jumping to conclusions? Yes! Yes always! Welcome to the Jumping To Conclusions Blog at Tumblr Dot Com. But you’d think that even if this was just another version of Syaoran, he’d look relatively identical to what we’d assume to be Li Syaoran. They could just show his face and we’d still assume we knew who he was, even if it was wrong. 

DO YOU KNOW WHAT THEY WOULDN’T BE ABLE TO GET AWAY WITH SHOWING?

MIS-MATCHED EYES. 

THERE WE GO. CRACK THEORY TIME. This is the only reason I can currently guess for why they’d still be hiding Lava Lamp’s father’s face. 

It is adorable and extremely appropriate that Lava Lamp has the same style of shirt as his Mysterious father, especially when they’re completely side by side at the bottom of the page. How they’re so so very similar in name and face and identity and personality and fate, but even in just the shirt you can see ever so slight visible differences differences that are not eyes and are in fact shirt specific decorations.

ALSO, very fun choice that they’re talking about Sakura here while also being surrounded by cherry blossoms. It’s very Dream World coded, even though we see the supports of buildings in the background, so it’s probably not actually a dream. I...

No wait I was about to say we don't ever see buildings in the dream world, but that's not true. Watanuki sees them all the time. Hmm.

WELL, putting that aside also, this is possibly just a nice detail about where they live, and possibly a nice thematic link to the fact that they’re currently talking ABOUT Sakura’s dream visions. 

I’m also desperately trying to recall if the transition into a flashback (the black borders around the page) is usually accompanied by those swirls of white in the edges? Is that a new detail or am I just looking too closely? 

It’s the eternal mystery. 

[ryukatters]

swipe right — k. bakugo x fem! reader

✮ a/n: i remember seeing a post on here a long time ago about a character making a fake tinder profile for their gf and realizing how many people want her. (if someone knows the OG post please lmk so i can link it!) so now i present to you: bakugo falling to his knees in the middle of your apartment bedroom for the exact same reason.

✮ content/warnings: dubcon, quirkless/college! au, jealousy, possessiveness, breeding, creampie, unprotected sex, cum eating, cunnilingus, overstimulation, praise, biting, bkg gets a little rough with you, and bkg's also a fucking simp but when do I ever write him as being otherwise??

✮ summary: your boyfriend decides to make a fake tinder profile for you just to see how many matches you get. he comes to a realization just how many other people want what’s already his.

✮ word count: 4.2k (i'm so sick)

Bakugo can remember how this all started. In very vivid detail, actually. He remembers because Kaminari had pissed him off so much to the extent that it took him a very substantial amount of effort to refrain from bashing his friend’s face in.

It all started during the last monthly hangout amongst Bakugo and his friends— one day out of the month designated to make sure that they all had time to catch up with one another despite their busy schedules.

Everything was normal, with all of them getting more than enough of their fill of food and alcohol while idly playing video games and talking about random topics to fill in the silence in Kaminari’s living room. 

Perfectly normal, until Denki decided to open his stupid mouth, at least. 

He goes off on a tangent about a trend he saw on social media where someone makes a fake Tinder profile for their partner to see how many matches they’d get. He proceeds to tell Bakugo that he should try doing it, for “funsies,”— to which Bakugo scoffs at. 

“Aren’t you curious, Kacchan?” Kaminari smiles cheekily, wrapping an arm around his blond friend’s shoulders, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Bakugo’s becoming visibly more upset with every passing moment. 

“Your girlfriend is really pretty,” Mina chimes in, sticking her tongue out when Katsuki whips his head to glare at her. “I’m still surprised she’s with a grump like you.” 

Kaminari butts in, “I bet there’s a whole line of guys around the block just waiting for a chance to get with her. I mean, just look at her! Hell, I’d even let her peg m—”

For a moment, Bakugo swears he wants to bash Kaminari’s face into his flatscreen. And for a moment, he lets that impulsive thought win— getting up and grabbing two fistfuls of Denki’s shirt before promptly getting cut off by Kirishima.

“Alright alright,” Kirishima forcibly pries Bakugo off of the other blond, pushing him off to the side. “That’s enough, you two. Kaminari was just messing around. I’ll admit, it wasn’t a good joke, but no need to hurt the guy, okay Bakugo?” 

Kirishima knows that Kaminari wasn’t being that serious, but Kirishima can also admit that what he had to say held some ounce of truth. And Kirishima knows Bakugo well enough to see how your boyfriend tends to be rather skittish and protective with matters concerning you— which is exactly why Eijiro had to stop him before it was too late. He really didn’t feel like preparing for Denki’s funeral or helping hide Katsuki escape from a homicide charge.

And that was that…up until a few minutes ago.

Katsuki’s tried to forget that conversation. But try as he might, his mind betrays him and can’t help but wander back to what Denki said that night.

He trusts you of course, and has complete faith in your relationship. However, he’s curious to a fault, just about perhaps too curious for his own good. 

How badly could this end?

As it turns out, this whole scheme seems to be playing out very poorly. 

Dozens of photos of you— screenshotted from your social media accounts— fill Katsuki’s screen. He had to choose photos you uploaded yourself, because most of his photos of you were either too…suggestive or too domestic (and he wants to be the only one to see you in those moments).

He swipes through “your” profile one last time before clicking “done” to officially put you on the market. And just like that, Bakugo’s met with the faces of men who are nowhere near your level. He goes through the batch of profiles, scrutinizing each one he comes across. He’s (un)surprisingly selective with the ones he chooses to swipe right on— making sure that they’re at least somewhat conventionally attractive. To his surprise (or dread, rather), his phone pings right away with a notification from someone who swiped back. Another ping. A message. 

You free tonight? 

Bakugo scoffs. He looks through the guy’s profile— a picture of him at a party with his arms around some girls, another with him doing a victory pose presumably after hiking, and one with him holding a fish. He feels his mouth curl in disgust, about to give into the urge to reply and give this guy a piece of his mind, before he realizes he’s pretending to be you. He takes a deep breath, closes out of the app, and puts down his phone. 

He’s starting to regret this.

Bakugo’s phone has gone off 15 times in the last hour. Bakugo has also felt the need to strangle some stranger through the phone 15 times in the last hour. Your (read: his) profile has existed for less than 60 minutes, and you already have a whole address book of nobodies trying to link with you and get a quick fuck. 

He feels the familiar beginnings of a headache creeping up the back of his skull. He thinks he might need a drink. Why did he decide to do this again?

In hindsight, he probably should have known this is exactly how it was going to go down. 

What was that saying? Curiosity killed the cat?

Yeah.

He was never great at self-preservation in the first place. So this, the feeling of overwhelming jealousy, frustration, possessiveness brewing up a storm threatening to pour out of every single fiber of Bakugo’s being— was no surprise.

He watches as the numbers at the bottom of his screen increase steadily, before tapping on the star icon. 

‘99+ likes!’ it reads. Over 99 people who saw your profile and thought you were beautiful. Bakugo pales, and he can feel the cold sweat building on the nape of his neck. He grips his phone, knuckles turning white. Is he shaking from anger or nervousness?

Anger because all these guys think they even have the slightest chance with someone as amazing as you. Nervousness because what if you decide that they do? You wouldn’t actually leave him for one of these guys, right? Right?

None of these men would walk through hell and back for you. They don’t know how you like your coffee, the details of your skin care routine, how you like to binge watch shows and talk Katsuki’s ear off about them (not that he ever minded, of course). They don’t know you, not like he does. Katsuki looks at you like you hung the moon. In fact, he’s pretty convinced that you did. Everything good in his life— the warmth, the color, the joy,— is encompassed by you. He’d be damned if he lets some greasy little nobody take that from him. Because the moment Bakugo fell in love with you, you became a part of him— inextricably and indefinitely. Loving you has become so intrinsic to him, that even the mere thought of another person loving you or looking at you the same way he does has him going insane. Not that anyone could love you like he did, though. That thought brings him some comfort, but not for long. 

One last notification he sees sends him spiraling. Bakugo swears that he can see red. That’s when he deletes the app, and throws his poor phone in some random corner of the living room, which is markedly one of the smarter choices he’s made as of late. He marches to your bedroom with a fire burning in his chest. 

He stops short of the door and finds you sitting at the edge of your shared bed, fresh out of the shower. You’re applying lotion, and he watches the cream absorb into your skin wordlessly, in awe at how overwhelmingly beautiful you manage to look in the most prosaic of tasks. For a second, he almost forgets the reason he was upset in the first place.  

Your hair is still damp, water droplets accumulating at the tips, and Katsuki feels his mouth run dry the minute he watches a stray bead fall and make its way down your neck and stop perfectly in the dip of your collarbone. Your very existence is forever etched into his heart, every inch of you carved into his memory, but even still he can never get tired of looking at you. At every angle, in every lighting, he needs to see you in it. You could call him obsessed, but he’d simply laugh and agree, because what’s so wrong with that? Especially if it’s you. 

You’re one to be studied— to be adored, Katsuki thinks, to the greatest capacity. It’s what you deserve. And what better person for that task to fall upon than him?

He finds himself naturally gravitating towards you, his finger tracing the same exact path the water had carved just moments before, wordlessly. You try to pay no mind, but it’s difficult as you realize just how close Bakugo was and how your towel barely manages to cover up your most intimate parts. One wrong move and you’d be exposed. With how things were playing out, and the predatory glint in the blond’s eyes, you don’t think your boyfriend would be too perturbed with your current predicament. 

Katsuki presses a delicate kiss to your forehead before he crouches down. Suddenly, you’re at eye level with one another, his hot breath tickling your lips. You think for a moment he’s going to kiss you so you lean forward, lips waiting. But he merely grazes them before he sucks a deep bruise into the juncture of your neck, biting slightly. 

You’re barely given any time to react before he’s grabbing the hand that’s securing your towel and ripping it away, the offending garment falling off your body. Your flesh prickles with goosebumps as its exposed to the sudden chill.  It’s quickly replaced by the heat of Bakugo’s body as he pushes you lightly, your back hitting the mattress. He crawls on top of you, muscular thighs on either side of your hips, your head placed conveniently between his forearms. He’s trapped you, a nonverbal challenge for you to try and escape. 

You’re a work of art, he thinks, but much more valuable than any pièce de résistance framed in any museum. 

Beautiful, yes, but far too blank for his liking. He wants to ruin you, make you his own personal magnum opus. And so he does. 

He presses a clothed knee against your bare cunt, pressing firmly. His lips continue their assault on your neck, leaving angry purpling bruises in their wake. Rough hands find your breast, and you moan in surprise when he gives both of them a harsh squeeze as he shoves his tongue into your mouth. Katsuki kisses you like a man dying of thirst, hungry for everything you can offer him and more. It’s all too much already, the way he’s kissing you has your mind reeling, and you have to turn your head away for a moment to catch your breath. Katsuki thinks it’s a moment too long without you, so he coaxes you into locking lips with him once more. A wave of mischievousness washes over you, prompting you to take your boyfriend’s lower lip in between your teeth, biting down lightly. 

You feel his breath hitch, before he lets out a low groan as he grinds his clothed dick against your bare wetness. He returns the favor, sucking on your bottom lip before letting it go with a wet pop. He pulls back with a lazy smirk, his lips pursing together to scatter messy kisses down the base of your throat and down your chest, alternating between sucking and biting at the flesh. 

He gives you a good once-over, scanning every surface, committing them to memory. You feel the need to curl into yourself with how intensely those vermillion eyes are piercing into you, memorizing every single curve, scar, freckle like he’s done time and time again. 

He drops down to his knees, broad shoulders bullying their way in between your legs, forcibly prying them open. He grips your hips, fingertips digging into the soft flesh, and drags you down the mattress until your legs are dangling off the bed.

“Jesus, Kats, be more gentle.”

“Shhh. I know you like it when I’m not gentle,” he chuckles. As if to prove a point, he pulls you down even further, giving a harsh bite to your inner thigh. He smiles deviously when you yelp. You try to pull at his hair but his reflexes are too quick, pinning both of your wrists down on either side of you easily. “Besides, this is the perfect height for me to eat you out, dontcha think baby?” 

You want to chastise him for being so crass, so Katsuki, but the words die on the tip of your tongue the minute he gives a sweet, loving kiss to your clit, sucking lightly. 

“You’re mine. I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this except for me.” 

You’re not entirely sure what brought this on, but you find it hard to complain when Bakugo drags his tongue from your throbbing clit to inside your pussy, drinking everything you have to offer. 

Your hands automatically try to find purchase in his blond locks, struggling against the vice grip Katsuki has on your wrists. He decides to take pity on you, loosening his hold so you can slip your hands into his hair, moaning appreciatively when he feels you tug. He rewards you by flicking his tongue on your clit over and over again, just the way you like it. He does it until your moans begin to pitch higher and higher, the same way that they do when you’re close. He doesn’t stop his ministrations even after you cum, riding out your orgasm until your thighs are shaking from overstimulation. He pulls away from you with a loud pop, taking in the sight before him. 

He runs a hand up and down your thigh soothingly. “So fucked out already and we’re barely getting started, baby.”

Your mind is barely processing his words before you feel Katsuki’s erection brush against your stomach, his clothing haphazardly discarded on the floor. He taps the head of his dick against your clit to tease you, a feeling of satisfaction swelling when you cry out from under him.  

He watches in fascination as strings of your arousal cling to him. He positions his length at your entrance, locking eyes with you as you hold your breath in anticipation. Katsuki likes you like this. Needy for him. 

 “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, you know that?” He slips into you with a stuttered groan. 

Katsuki’s always been big. You never get used to the initial stretch, no matter how many times you two fuck. Still, that doesn’t stop him from sliding in with ease from the slick of your last orgasm. It easily coats his cock as he gives a few experimental thrusts. He groans in rapture. How do you manage to feel so good every time? It’s enough to drive him insane. Perhaps he already is. 

“So fucking perfect, no wonder why all those losers want you.” He mutters out the last part, and you’re not sure if you caught that right. 

“What?” He chooses not to respond, and you aren’t given the opportunity to think any further before your legs are thrown over his shoulders, Katsuki’s weight effectively pinning you in place. The stretch knocks all the wind out of your lungs, and all you can do is cling to Katsuki, nails leaving red, angry lines on his well-defined back.

He wastes no time before he starts drilling into you, hips slotting in between your legs perfectly. The position has him pressed against your clit, and your entire body feels like it’s been set ablaze, with Katsuki holding both the power to have it burn even brighter and the ability to extinguish it. And you’re almost there, you can feel your soul slowly ascending, your room filled with hymns of pleasure, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter, threatening to unravel along with your sanity. Katsuki can feel it too— the way you’re squeezing him tighter, how your gasps and moans have climbed just a note higher, how absolutely ruined you look, how he’s responsible for your current state. Which is exactly why he wants to push it even further, he wants to see how much you’ll break for him— and only him. 

Katsuki cuts you off right before you can reach your peak, pulling out but making sure just his tip is inserted. You come to and take a look at your lover and marvel at the sight. He has a crazed look in his eyes. The way he smirks is absolutely wicked. 

You feel distraught— having been so close but having it ripped away from you. You give your boyfriend a petulant pout.

“Katsuki,” you whine, slapping a hand against his sweaty chest, “Why’d you stop? I was so close!”

“Because I didn’t want you to cum yet,” he says simply. “You’ll be good for me, yeah? I’ll give my baby what she deserves, as long as she’s good.” 

You roll your eyes, huffing. That won’t do for him.

As much as he loves seeing you indulge, he feels a need to punish you— at least a little bit to even begin to atone for being the wicked temptress you are. 

“Don’t be a fuckin’ brat,” Bakugo growls, gripping your face with one hand, squishing your cheeks, causing your lips to purse slightly. “I said be good, okay? Wanna take my time with you.” 

There’s a moment of respite, until you sigh in defeat, knowing better than to argue with him lest you wanted to dig your own grave. “‘Kay, ‘ki.”

He flashes you a smile. Obedient, just how he likes you. “Good girl.”

Katsuki draws his hips back, thrusting just enough to fuck his tip into you. He’s teasing. The amount of willpower on his end it takes not to cum is nauseating. 

“You’re so pretty, aren’t you?” he rasps, one hand finding their way around your neck, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. Your hands reflexively grab his wrist. 

All you can manage is a fucked out moan. Katsuki has to resist the urge to coo, about how he’s managed to turn you into a cockdrunk mess in such a short matter of time. The wave of possessiveness that’s been gnawing at the depths of his soul begins to seep out, and he’s reminded of the reason why the two of you are in this position in the first place. 

He gives your throat another squeeze and a rough slap to your clit. “C’mon princess, answer me. Say it.” He slowly adds more and more pressure until your ears grow hot and air feels like a precious commodity. 

“I-i’m pretty,” you manage to gasp out, tears spilling from your lash line as you begin to lose yourself between the space of pleasure and pain. 

Good. Always so pliant for him.

“That’s right, baby,” he concedes. “So fuckin’ beautiful.” He punctuates the last word with a deep thrust, right against that spongy spot that feels so good. You’re so sensitive that it’s enough to send you spiraling into your second orgasm, walls spasming around him uncontrollably. 

Katsuki stills, staving off his own release with all the restraint he can summon. He silently thanks whatever divine forces are out there that he didn’t cum the minute he felt the first clench of your orgasm. 

He grits his teeth as he wills himself to move, trying not to get lost in the wetness that envelops him. You’re babbling now, senseless moans filling Katsuki’s ears like a sweet melody. 

“Kats, please, I’m too sensitive—” You’re shaking now, muscles trembling with every thrust. 

“But I’m not done with you yet,” he says simply, drawing his hips back with a particularly rough thrust. You choke back whatever you were going to say with a loud cry. “What’s your color, baby?”

You take a moment to answer, brain trying to comprehend the words just uttered to you. You look at Katsuki firmly, “Green.”

“Atta girl,” he praises, the drive of his hips beginning to shallow. He’s close, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out. But for you, he tries. “You’re mine, right?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, shivering as goosebumps dance across your skin. 

“Say it,” Katsuki pleads, thrusts growing sloppy by the second. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m all yours, ‘ki.” 

With that, Katsuki’s fate is sealed. He’s left groaning as a flash of pleasure shakes his very soul, filling you up with so much cum that it dribbles onto the mattress even while he’s still inside you. You follow suit, an embarrassingly obscene rhythm of squelching noises fill the silence as you spasm around his dick. He collapses on top of you, but he’s still coherent enough to not dump all his weight on you. 

Your labored breaths fill the room as the two of you come to. Katsuki pulls out of you with a wince, still a bit sensitive. He gives you a peck on the lips before he drags himself down, settling in between your legs much like he was earlier. 

You tense up, “Kats, wait—”

Any and all protests cease the moment Bakugo works his tongue inside of you, slurping lewdly as he drags out the mixture of your cum and his, swallowing. He tries not to stimulate your puffy clit in an attempt to be merciful, but you still feel yourself steadily climbing to what would be your fourth orgasm this session. While the past three have been intense and drowning, this one comes to you in waves, dull pleasure invading your senses as Katsuki continues to eat you out to clean you up. 

He pulls away when you finish, your slick and his saliva coating his chin before he wipes it off on the back of his hand. You stare at his half-hard erection with a half concerned, half quizzical look. “Do you…” you lick your lips, “need help with that? I’m a little sensitive down there  but I could use my mout—”

“Nah, I’m good babe,” he says earnestly, flashing you a smile that he only ever shows around you. “I’ll be back.” With that, your boyfriend leaves the room only to come back with a bottle of water. 

“Drink.” You comply, finishing half the bottle graciously before handing it to him. He downs the rest before he settles next to you on the bed, laying on his side. You mirror him, shifting your body so that you’re both facing each other. 

Katsuki reaches out, finger idly tracing random shapes and lines onto the bare skin on your hip. He has a pensive look on his face, one that he usually doesn’t hold after stolen moments like this; it’s an expression he wears when he’s in deep thought. 

“Baby,” you call out. His eyes snap to yours, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah?”

“Whatcha thinking about?” You watch as a hesitant look flashes across your boyfriend’s face before he shakes his head.

“S’nothin’. Just thinkin’ about us two.” He speaks lightly. It’s always been difficult for him to voice his inner thoughts and feelings, so he tends to beat around the bush. You’ve learned that if you ever want something out of him, you’d have to pry a little. Katsuki always indulges you though. 

“What about us?”

“Do you- do you think you’ll ever get tired of this?” He repeats himself, clearing his throat. The question is followed by a weaker, “...of me?”

You think it’s the most ridiculous question he’s ever asked, because the answer should be obvious. “I’d never get tired of you, Katsuki. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he replies automatically, “but if I ever do anything that upsets you, or if I get too much for you, or if I—” he’s rambling now. Yes, it’s difficult for Katsuki to talk about his feelings, but once you manage to get him to open up, all the walls of his self-made fortress come crashing down and it’s up to you to pick up the pieces. 

“Baby,” you giggle, pressing a kiss to his lips, cupping his sharp jaw with one hand. “Look at me.” And he does— ruby eyes meeting yours. “I love you because you’re you. And I choose to be with you everyday. It’s not always gonna be perfect, no relationship is. But I know that I will always wake up and choose you.” 

You can see the anxiety melt away from Katsuki’s body, shoulders slumping as he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Love you too, sap,” is all he says before he’s pulling you against his chest, squeezing you into a bearhug. You two stay that way until both of you are lulled to sleep. 

You’re laying in bed with Katsuki, both of you dozing off when you hear a slight buzz from your phone on the nightstand. You squint as you try to read the notification, and make out that it’s from your friend.

Denki Kaminari: So did it work?

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing, giving a quick glance over your shoulder to check on your boyfriend— fast asleep. You turn back to your phone, your thumbs making quick work at your keyboard. 

You: Just like I said it would. Thanks Denki :)

Writing belongs to @ryukatters. Please do not share my work on Tiktok.

[blushweddinggowns]

There were a lot of things that Eddie loved about going on tour. He loved traveling, exploring the country and beyond with his best friends. He loved the feeling of being on stage, all eyes on them as they played their asses ass. He even loved the tiny twin beds of the tour bus, especially since it usually led to Steve sleeping right on top of him. 

But he especially loved the little rituals they had before a show. 

“Eddie, baby, you gotta, fuck, go soon,” Steve groaned. He was trying to be the voice of reason, even if he was technically still pulling Eddie closer. Eddie was sucking a bruise into his neck, a hand slowly slinking under his shirt. 

“Mmhm,” Eddie mumbled, making no moves to get up. The show didn’t start for another few hours and if he was ten minutes late for mic check, they’d live. Eddie could do a lot in those ten minutes, “Just a little more-”

But then Gareth was pounding on the green room door, “Munson for the love of God, stop making out and get your ass out here!”

“Told you so,” Steve laughed, breathless as Eddie reluntaly got off of him, “Now you’re going to have to rehearse with an erection.”

“Well you have to watch it with one, so we both lose,” Eddie sighed as he stood, stopping to kiss Steve’s forehead.

“Do we? Because last time I checked that door locked. And…” Steve leaned past him, grabbing one of the Rolling Stone magazines from the coffee table. The one that Eddie was on the cover of. He grinned as he lifted it up, “I have the best jerk-off material available. You’re on your own.”

“Oh, you brat,” Eddie groaned just as Gareth started pounding on the door again, “You’re going to pay for that tonight.”

Steve smirked as Eddie walked away backwards, having the audacity to give him a little wave, “I would hope so.”

Eddie forced himself to turn away, comforted by the fact that Steve would barely be able to sit by the time he was done with him.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, Jesus,” He groaned as he swung the door open, nearly getting himself punched in the face in the process. 

Gareth retracted his hand just in time. He looked Eddie up and down with a sigh, “Why am I even surprised?”

“Hi Steve,” He added, waving at him from the doorway, “You mind if I fuck your husband up for being a late asshole? Just a little bit?”

“Just make sure not to hit him in the head,” Steve laughed, face flushed as he buttoned up his shirt, “We can’t have anymore concussions between the two of us.”

“I’ll take it,” Gareth sighed as he grabbed Eddie’s arm. Eddie barely managed to squeak out a quick Love you! before Gareth was dragging him away. 

“Next time you ask us why we make you pay for after-parties please, remember this moment.”

“Will you fault a man for his addiction?” Eddie asked, dramatically putting a hand over his heart, “It’s a dependency I have no fault over-”

“No fault my ass,” Gareth huffed, the smallest hint of a smile hiding behind his grimace, “You’ve been an addict for a goddamn decade.”

from the soon-to-be-published epilogue of this fic

@jjoesjonas because I picked up writing this again after they sent me those Joe Keery audio clips from Fargo 👀👀

[sixosix]

heyooo!! can I request Izuku when his fingers accidentally brush against the readers??? And they grab his hand and he gets all flustered <333 sorry I just can’t get this scenario out of my head!! He’s so silly!! /pos

a/n omf i cant believe my izuku readers r still alive… i havent caught up in the manga since forever so if theres anything wrong, thats why LOL i missed izuku so much T__T, wc 1k

Izuku is guarding a terrible, terrible secret. One that he wouldn’t even admit if his classmates roped him into an intense game of Truth or Dare, unless drunk, probably. Which will never happen.

Class 1-A Dorms roars with laughter. Izuku swears he can feel the building shaking as the students occupying the vast space of the living room burst into another fit of cackles. The other building could probably hear it, and they’d get a noise complaint the next morning, from 1-B, no less.

They’re watching a movie. Comedy, perhaps; Izuku wasn’t paying much attention when they were picking, but he could pick up the clues of what the characters on screen are saying, his classmates jostling his shoulders as they giggle, and, of course, the same mp3 laugh track that plays for the rest of the film.

Izuku is tucked into the far corner of the couch, squished between Todoroki and Uraraka. Uraraka laughs with her whole body, her head thrown back as she claps in delight. Todoroki laughs once, a huff of amusement, just a curl of his lips.

And on the floor, nestled between where Izuku dutifully keeps his knees spread so as to not hurt, sits you—the whole reason why Izuku is struggling to focus on the movie in the first place.

He’s eternally grateful that keeping the lights dim while watching films is a thing, or else everyone would’ve long noticed his burning face. He looks like a strawberry, and feels like a strawberry left under the sun. Todoroki had cast him a glance, vague amusement playing on his stoic face. Izuku wanted to dig a hole and bury himself in there forever.

“Sorry, Izuku,” you say, loud enough to be heard over the film but quiet enough that it’s only shared between the two of you. He wills his legs not to jump up in surprise. “Can I just lay for a bit? I’m getting kinda sleepy.”

“No problem,” Izuku says after a beat, managing to not fuck up and stammer embarrassingly in front of you. Or should it be behind you?

You tilt your head upward, meeting his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Y-Yes. I mean, you’re welcome.” Dammit.

Izuku breathes a sigh of relief when your attention is promptly stolen by the laugh track, and Kaminari yelps a cackle.

He catches something from the corner of his eye, paling at the sight of a terrifying expression on Uraraka’s face. If devils had round eyes and rounder cheeks, smiling in a way that fits their nature, it would be a picture of evilness Uraraka is portraying at this moment.

He squints inquisitively at her.

Uraraka grins. “Your hand,” she whispers, then does something he can’t quite figure out.

Confused, Izuku shows her his hand, scars and all.

Uraraka looks unimpressed, and Izuku wilts. He can’t hear her properly, with the movie picking up pace and sound effects. Uraraka makes a grand demonstration of splaying her hand and resting it on the crown of her hair, then gestures wildly at your head. 

As soon as understanding dawns on Izuku, his face feels drained of blood, horrified. “No,” he mouths desperately. “No.” Again, for good measure.

“Yes,” she mouths back, taking matters into her own hands by quite literally taking his hand and moving to place it on your head. But he panics and jostles your hands resting on his lap instead.

Izuku pales. The characters in the movie shriek. “Sorry,” he squeaks out, then glares at Uraraka, who’s holding in her laughter.

He heaves a heavy breath when you cast him a curious glance.

“You—Sorry, I, my hand—No, I mean, I didn’t mean to do that,” he blurts uselessly, waving his arms around in a desperate attempt to hide his face, which is surely the same shade as anything red.

What the hell, his brain hisses. Izuku, you idiot, you’ve done it now.

He watches with bated breath as you take his hand instead of laughing at his face. He watches as you lace your fingers with his instead of seeing your face scrunch up in disgust. His heart flutters, threatening to fly off his chest and into the shared warmth of your hands.

Instead, he deflates like a red balloon, his mouth forming words that sound like nitpicking vowels from a series of keyboard smashes.

“I don’t mind,” you say. “Relax. I want you to hold me.”

It’s a little hard to relax when your words float around in his mind like a broken record.

Once the movie ends and the noise subsides, his classmates collectively keep their messes—namely, the thrown popcorn and spilled soda on the carpet—and return to their rooms. But Izuku can’t do that, not when he has a Y/N who is still resting against his lap.

He waves goodbye at Uraraka and Iida, the former making kissy faces and Iida solemnly sending him his prayers.

Izuku resigns himself to his fate, sighing softly. Well, despite everything, he likes the fact that you never once let go of his hand.

“I like your hands,” you say, as if answering his thoughts. Izuku jolts and can’t help it because he thought you were asleep.

“You… do?”

Izuku thinks his hands are ugly, scars running all the way to his shoulders like protruding veins. He hates seeing it.

“I do,” you say, squeezing it tenderly. “I’m glad it’s still together and working after all you’ve done to it. I like them.”

Izuku bites his bottom lip, harsh enough that it’s nearly drawing blood, lest he says something stupid like, ‘I like you’. He doesn’t, thankfully. Yet it’s there, on the tip of his tongue. If you asked him what’s on his mind, he would’ve said it.

But he guards his secret a little while longer and hopes that someday he’ll be able to share it with you.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, finding the courage to squeeze your hand. Much to his delight, you do it back and smile. He’s melting. “Can we, uhm, stay here for a bit?”

You laugh, rising from your position. Izuku nearly panics and holds you down because he doesn’t want to lose this moment just yet. But he finds himself stunned when you settle beside him and rest your head against his shoulder instead. “Sleep,” you say. “We’ll stay here for a bit.”

“O-Okay, yeah,” he whispers, reaching for your hand once more.

[brattyfics]

Swampbound V

The rest of the day passed like a slow, heavy fog. Adla kept herself busy with chores, but her thoughts were spinning, caught up in the newly-discovered truths that had turned her world upside down overnight. 

Terry had shifted from a wolf to a man right before her eyes, and despite his wildness, he hadn’t struck her as a monster until he squared off against Jesse. Jesse, who she wasn’t sure she could trust anymore. She didn’t know how long he’d been hiding the truth or how many secrets he held, but the sharp edge of his lies cut deep. And then there was that dark mask that had slipped over his face—twice.

It all made sense now: his fussing about her walking the woods alone. They’d grown up tearing through the thick brush and vines in her backyard, never fearing what lurked out there. The worst they encountered was the occasional snake, and that was enough to send them flying back to her daddy’s arms. Gators and wild hogs were around, but they kept their distance unless you gave ‘em reason.

"Live and let live," she'd always believed in—until now. Now, she was being pulled into a world she’d only heard about in old stories—shapeshifters and whatever Jesse truly was. 

What else was hiding just beyond her sight? Had she been blind to the world around her all this time? She thought about the folks in town��faces she’d known all her life. Could any of them turn into monsters under the right moon? The idea that the world she knew was just a shadow of something far darker and deeper gnawed at her insides.

Adla ran a bath, sprinkling sea salt and lavender into the water, hoping it might settle her nerves. But no matter how long she soaked, the unease wouldn’t let go. Every few minutes, her eyes drifted toward the window, scanning the shadows outside. She didn’t even know why—whether it was instinct finally waking up, making her notice things she used to miss, or if, deep down, she was hoping to catch a glimpse of Terry.

Her mind churned with questions, pieces of old legends surfacing from the depths of her mind. Was he born like that or had it come upon him somehow? What brought him and his cousin to her little corner of the world? And Chief Burne—how had they gotten tangled up with him? But the question that weighed most heavily on her heart was personal—did Terry feel that same pull she did? Did he sense the charge in the air whenever they were close?

Was he out there right now, stalking Burne in the dark? 

She couldn’t know for sure.

As the bathwater cooled around her, the image of Jesse’s limp body flashed through her mind like lightning. She could still see herself standing over Jesse, Terry’s lips brushing against her neck, grounding her in the chaos.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for bringin’ all this trouble to your door.”

She looked up at him then, really looked at him, memorizing every sharp feature, the way the sunlight filtered through the window and highlighted his face. She knew he’d find his cousin, finish whatever it was that needed finishing, and then he’d be gone—like a phantom fading back into the night. 

The thought twisted something deep inside her.

“I need you to do something for me before you head out,” Her voice was soft, but there was a weight to it, something that carried more than simple words. Whatever she was about to ask would tether him here, one way or another, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever find the will to leave.

She didn’t know what was driving her, what compelled her to say the words, but she stared up into his eyes, searching for assurance. Her earlier ire had dissipated just like that, and all she could focus on was Terry. "Promise me you'll be careful. Get your cousin, but keep yourself outta harm's way."

"I’ll watch my back. You just take care of yourself." Terry said, his tone firm yet reassuring as he placed a comforting hand on the small of her back.

Just then, Jesse’s finger twitched—once, then again—an involuntary movement that sent a jolt of panic through her. Adla’s heart raced, and she could almost hear the ticking clock in the back of her mind, each second tightening the noose of dread.

Adla knew she should be angry with Terry, using all her energy to push him out the front door and out of her life. But in that moment, her judgment blurred. All that mattered was keeping Terry and Jesse apart.

"We need to move him outside. Make it look like he fell and hit his head! Just hurry—he can’t wake up in here, not like this!” Her voice trembled with urgency, a tight knot of anxiety coiling in her stomach. The fear of Jesse waking up to see Terry loomed over her like a dark cloud, thick and suffocating. 

Something whispered in her mind that crafting a story was the only way to hold back the coming storm.

Pulled by something she couldn’t explain, Adla snatched a mop and broom from the closet and dashed outside. Terry’s voice trailed after her, but she couldn’t make sense of his words; all she could think about was getting the place cleaned up. That one word—hurry!—echoed in her mind, pushing her hands to move faster, scrubbing away at whatever traces she could, as if she could sweep the whole mess out of memory.

As she scrubbed the porch with frantic strokes, her mind spiraled through the chaos of the morning—Terry, Burne, Jesse. The blood had dried, resisting her efforts, and she knew no amount of cleaning could erase what had happened. Still, it was the only thing she could control. Jesse would wake up and remember—he had to. Her hands moved in a desperate rhythm as dread gnawed at her. 

What would she say when he came to? And what would Jesse do?

“Adla, what are you—?” Terry’s voice cut through her frantic thoughts, but she couldn’t focus on him right now. She heard him moving Jesse’s unconscious body, his strong hands lifting the other man with ease, as if he were a child. A strange mix of gratitude and anxiety washed over her. If they could just get Jesse outside, away from the traces of his fight with Terry, maybe she could finally breathe again.

Her gaze darted to the small gash at the back of Jesse’s head as Terry set his body down, and something in her stirred—a fierce need to erase what had happened. As she dabbed at the blood seeping from the wound, she whispered, “Please don’t remember... please don’t remember...” The words slipped from her lips like a prayer, soft yet insistent. 

With every touch, she felt a strange sensation spark between them, her intentions weaving through the air like mist, settling in the fragile space between her and Jesse.

Now, as she reflected on that moment, doubt crept in. Jesse’s confusion struck her as odd. She’d staged a clumsy scene, but his memory should’ve helped him see through it.

He’d gotten riled up, insisting something was off, yet he hadn’t called her out on it. Was he pretending not to remember?

A chill ran down her spine. Had her whispered words done something? Maybe it had something to do with Terry’s supernatural abilities?

A flicker of realization tugged at her—a hint of something strange brewing beneath the surface. She didn’t understand it yet, but the fact that Jesse really seemed to have forgotten left her feeling unsettled.

With a heavy sigh, she slipped out of the bathtub, telling herself to stop chasing answers that weren’t coming. She prayed sleep would ease the steady stream of thoughts swirling in her head, but it didn’t come easily. Her eyes grew heavy as the drone of cicadas seeped through the window, growing louder until it overpowered her thoughts.

Moonlight crept in through the cracks in the curtains, casting soft, silver-blue ribbons across the room. The ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, stirring cool air over her skin. Adla turned onto her side, drifting somewhere between sleep and waking—until something sent a jolt through her senses.

"I’m gon’ need your help again."

Adla’s eyes flew open. 

Terry sat on the edge of her bed, his presence too large, and too close for comfort. 

Her face mirrored silent disbelief—mouth agape, hands pressed against her cheeks, as if she were trapped in a nightmare. It had been one thing to offer her help earlier. This? This was something else entirely. 

What had she done by letting him in?

Instinct kicked in, and a rush of adrenaline surged through her veins. She moved fast, reaching for the nightstand, but then froze, her heart pounding as moonlight caught the glint of metal. Her pistol lay casually in his lap, as if it belonged there, held loosely—suggesting no immediate threat unless he decided differently.

Don’t freeze up now!

Her fingers twitched, searching under the pillow for her knife, only to find nothing but cool, empty sheets. Terry’s eyes followed her movements, a sly smile creeping across his face. “What you lookin’ for now, baby?” he murmured, his voice a smooth drawl that made her breath hitch, a mix of fear and something unnameable stirring in her gut.

He has some nerve callin’ me baby. ​​I ain’t helpless, and I sure as hell ain’t no baby!

That thought sparked something deep in her chest. She moved fast, aiming to shove him off balance, but he was quicker. In an instant, his weight was on her, wrists pinned to the bed, his breath hot on her skin.

The ceiling fan hummed lazily above them, oblivious to the heavy tension that now filled the room. She could barely breathe beneath him. His scent wrapped around her—earthy, masculine, and something a little wild beneath it all. Anger surged through her. She was furious at him for barging in like he owned the place, but even more at herself for letting him get this close.

How had he slipped in without her hearing a thing?

“What do you want?” she snapped, struggling against his hold.

“You,” he answered, his voice soft and steady like restraining her was nothing, “and that sharp mind of yours.” 

Adla’s brow furrowed.

Does he mean…in the literal sense? But before her thoughts could spin too far, he shifted, one hand gathering both of her wrists above her head, while the other reached over to flick on the bedside lamp. The soft glow cast shadows against their faces in the dark, making the moment feel far too intimate.

“Not literally,” he murmured, voice smooth as molasses. He lingered, closer than he should have, inhaling that sweet lavender on her skin. “Our deal still stands. Just curious about what you know 'bout the police chief and his boys.”

He’d promised not to bite unless she asked, but a small part of her wished he would. Let him sink his teeth in, drain her dry, and end it all. At least she'd see her father again and free from the troubles that had surfaced. The thought flickered in her mind, and she cursed herself for even considering it.

"Enough," she rasped, struggling to regain control—of her mind, her body, her will. “They’ve been shaking folks down for years. Make ‘em pay to live ‘round here. Starts small—maybe a busted window or slashed tire if you don’t pay up. But then it gets worse. Fires. People go missing. You pay, you’re safe. But not everybody’s got the money.”

"But you don’t pay, do you? Why’s that?"

Her pulse quickened. 

So he had been snooping, listening with those sharp ears of his. Cold sweat gathered at the back of her neck. What else could he pick up on without her knowing? Could he sense her quickened pulse was more than fear? Could he smell the heat pooling between her thighs? 

It was a bizarre sensation to feel while caught in her predicament, but there was no denying it was real.

“How do you know that?” she shot back, the tremor in her voice betraying her.

Terry’s eyes gleamed, a predator’s look—calm, controlled, but intense. His gaze swept over her like he could read every flicker of emotion, every tiny movement, as though she were a mystery he intended to unravel piece by piece. He echoed her words from earlier, voice smooth but firm, "I asked you a question.” 

Anger flared hotter in her chest.

Adla swallowed hard, her jaw tightening. “My daddy and Burne had an understanding. He honors it with me. I stay outta his way, he stays outta mine. That’s how it’s always been.”

Terry’s expression shifted, contemplating her words. 

“What do you know about that understanding?” 

“Not much,” she replied, frustration tightening her throat. “I was just a kid back then. Burne came around a few times, and every time, Daddy sent me out back like he didn’t want me to see whatever ugly business they were discussing. Burne never lingered, though.”

Terry’s jaw clenched tightly, his voice low and intense. “Think harder. There’s got to be something more.”

Her nostrils flared as she wriggled in his grip, her body tense against his, struggling to break free. "I’d remember better if I wasn’t being held hostage by a man who broke into my house." His grip remained firm, but she caught a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, frustration crossing his face.

“What are you mixed up in, Terry Richmond?” she demanded, searching for a crack in his armor. 

Finally, he released her.

She rubbed her wrists, sitting up with her eyes fixed on him, challenging him to explain himself.

“Did I hurt you?” Terry asked, his tone almost tender. He took her hands, fingers brushing over them slow and gentle, then pressed a quick kiss to each one, whispering sincere apologies against her perfumed skin.

She didn’t pull her wrists back, didn’t jerk away. Just held still, watching, waiting to see what he’d do next. One minute, he was charm personified; the next, red hot and demanding. 

“I’m fine,” she lied, but the heat between her thighs refused to fade, steady and pulsing, intensifying with every passing moment. She couldn’t shake it off for anything and couldn’t help but wonder what kind of root he was working on her.

“Don’t you worry ’bout my troubles,” he said, the weight of pulling her into his mess heavy on his shoulders. The fate of his cousin loomed over him, driving him to the brink. His shoulders sagged, but he held her gaze. “I’m sorry for barging in on you like this. It won’t happen again. I promise you that.”

He stood to leave, moonlight casting faint shadows across his caramel skin. She had a wild notion to ask him to stay—the house felt too lonely some nights—but that’s when her gaze caught the ink on his arm once more.

A jolt of memory struck her.

“Hold up a minute! That necklace! Chief Burne took a necklace with some kinda strange mark on it—the same one you’ve got inked on your arm!”

Terry froze in the doorway, his whole body going rigid. “You sure 'bout that?”

“Yeah! I remember it clear as day. It was real strange.” Memories of the past rolled out before her like an old film, every moment flickering back to life. “I found it once—Daddy had it tucked away in that old dresser.” She nodded toward the corner of the room.

“When I found it, he fussed at me somethin’ fierce, told me to stay outta his things. Daddy never got mad like that, not with me. The next day, it was gone. Didn’t see it again ’til Chief Burne came by and Daddy handed it over. I can’t believe I forgot!” She could still picture it—the way she’d perched on a rickety milk crate, peeking through the window to catch a glimpse of their exchange. It hadn’t held her long, but she saw enough to remember that moment.

Adla had thought her daddy’s business—and everything tied to it—had been buried with him. But now, it felt like a ghost from his past was rising to the surface. 

“What’s up with that necklace?”

Terry’s gaze shifted, a whirlwind of emotions churning just beneath the surface—hard to read but impossible to ignore. “Let’s just say it’s a piece of my family history.”

“What kinda history we talkin’ ‘bout?” Adla crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes as the shadows seemed to thicken around them. Having a man in her bedroom felt surreal. Jesse always avoided this room during his visits, claimin’ it was too strange to be her daddy's old space. It felt like she and Terry were sharing something sacred and intimate, bound together in a way she couldn’t quite grasp yet.

“You think you can handle the truth? Knowin’ ain’t always what you think it is.” Terry asked, his voice roughening as he took long, deliberate strides back toward her bed. 

“I figure I’ve earned the right, considerin’ you keep breakin’ into my house.”

“You invited me in,” he said with a sly glint in his eyes. “I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t.” There it was again— that same strange fixation on the idea of being invited, like it mattered more than it should. “It’s gonna change everything you think you know. You ready for that?”

She hadn’t anticipated any of the turmoil since he’d shown up, but there was no turning back now. “Just tell me,” she urged, her fingers tracing the patterns on the comforter. When he settled onto her bed this time, it felt like an invitation rather than an intrusion.

“You know I’m a shifter…” She remembered their earlier conversation and the massive black wolf that had shown up on her porch. “...but you don’t know how it all started. You believe in magic?”

She swallowed hard, nodding. "How could I not, especially with everything that happened today?"

“It all started with a pact that changed everything for us.”

Terry’s expression shifted, turning grave. “My grandfather was a maroon—one of them ‘unruly’ slaves who had the guts to run off from his plantation and into these swamps. He was one of the first to break free. Word got around, and more folks joined him; their strength grew by the night. They’d sneak back in the dark, helpin’ anyone brave enough to follow ’em to freedom.” His voice dropped to a steady murmur, thick with resolve. “Among those he led were healers, rootworkers, and conjurers—men and women who were deep-rooted in their traditions, carryin’ the power to shape reality, but always payin’ a hefty price for it.”

An image of Jesse's grandmother flickered through her mind.

“I don’t know everything about the witches—how they do what they do,” he continued, locking eyes with her. “But they can work wonders—things that’ll stop you dead in your tracks.”

She recalled the bright light shooting from Jesse’s hands earlier, and the hairs on her arms stood on end.

“The maroons carved out their own path, livin’ side by side with the native folks in these swamps. But as the number of enslaved people started to drop in this area, the enslavers took notice. They couldn’t afford to lose any more ‘property,’” he growled, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “So they began sendin’ out hunting parties.”

“At first, they didn’t know the lay of the land, so the maroons slipped right through their fingers. But when that didn’t work, they turned to our own people. They dangled promises of freedom, tryin’ to lure ’em outta the swamp with visions of homes with walls and their own land. It was a lie, but it had a way of workin' on folks. People had families to think about, I reckon.”

It was easy to judge when you didn’t know the daily struggles they faced—sneakin’ into town for scraps, navigatin’ a world rigged against ’em, riskin’ everything just to make it through the day. Freedom came with a heavy price.

“They twisted the law, huntin’ us down like we was nothin’ but animals. Meanwhile, white folks kept gettin’ rich off our backs.”

A thick silence hung between them, both lost in thoughts of their ancestors and the unspeakable horrors they’d endured.

Terry shook his head, tryin’ to shake off the weight of the past. “Needless to say, their tactics worked. By the end, nearly everyone was dead. A few ordinary but tough souls, like my grandfather and just a couple of the witches, managed to survive. Out in these very woods, they came up with a plan for payback. Those witches could give ’em the power to rise against their oppressors, but it came at a steep cost—tradin’ their humanity for the ability to transform.”

She could piece together the unspoken parts: The maroons were worn thin, workin’ twice as hard just to get by, while white men wielded their privilege—armed with better weapons, sheltered in comfort, and backed by all who supported the chains of slavery. They had no choice.

She reached out, her fingers skimming over his forearm, a soft touch she knew she probably shouldn’t be makin’. As if pulled by some unseen force, Terry’s hand glided down to rest on her leg, his warmth grounding them both in that delicate moment of connection.

“So they made a pact. Each full moon, the men would be trapped in the shape of a big ol’ wolf, their humanity swallowed by the beast inside. But for the rest of the month, they could shift at will—keepin’ themselves safe and protectin’ whatever was left of their kin.”

“That must’ve been downright terrifying, bein’ trapped outside their own skin,” Adla said, her mind wanderin’ to what she’d do if she had to make a choice like that.

“They weren’t about to go back to no chains or meet death without swingin’ back. That’s how I—how we came to be,” Terry said, layin’ bare the truth of his origin.

“And what about that necklace?” Adla asked, sensing the intricate puzzle was missing some key pieces. Terry’s touch and those piercing eyes were pulling her in, but her instincts remained razor-sharp. Everything he shared had begun to connect in her mind, but there was still more to uncover.

A look crossed his face, like he was digging up a memory of his own.

“That’s a whole other story. But if your daddy had it, he probably stashed away a book with a ledger too. You know where that might be?”

Chapter 6.

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[licorice-tea]

Don’t Fall In Love With Me (Yet) Pt. 2

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader

Content: mentions of fights/canon typical violence and weapons, sooo much pining, can be read as a stand alone or as part of the mini series, allies to friends to lovers (soon!?), etc!

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: hmmm where do i start? i changed the pov from third to second person, (the first part was third person) the writing style of this is a little different from what i usually do but i still like it so hopefully you do to! pls enjoy and ty for reading <333

edited 1/8/24

Part 1 | Part 3

Law finds y/n leaning on the starboard railing of the Thousand Sunny.

You feel Law’s steps on the wooden planks and look over your shoulder to see him approaching. you swear you can hear your own heartbeat, and only hope that he won’t be able to hear it, too. Your thoughts are interrupted by his presence to your left. Law leans over the railing, mug of coffee in hand. A moment of silence passes while he watches you watch the sea from the corner of his eye.

“Can you even see anything?” he questions, his words coming off much harsher than intended,

A bit caught off guard, you simply respond, “Mhm, everything.” you have good vision, so you’re sort of the natural choice for keeping watch if Zoro doesn’t feel like staying up.

You can feel Law’s gaze on your profile. You can also feel your cheeks heating up, but those two things are completely independent… It doesn’t even matter though, because the darkness of the night should be enough to hide that from him.

“Are you having a good time on board the Thousand Sunny?” 

“It’s alright. You guys are really loud.” He says in a near scoff.

“Oh… Sorry about that.” Did you really bother him so much?

Law mentally kicks himself and is quick to wave a hand in front of his face apologetically, “No, I just mean… you’re all very energetic. Not you specifically, either. You’re actually really, uh…”

You wait patiently, now peering up at him through your lashes. He meets your eyes with his own, much more frantic gaze.

“You’re… nice.” He finally averts his eyes with a turn of cheek.

“Oh… thank you.” You smile to yourself. “I think you’re really nice, too.”

Law releases another scoff, though it comes off as more surprised than mean. He struggles with accurately portraying his feelings for you, who remains equally oblivious to his feelings as he does to yours. “You must be thinking of someone else.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m not known for being nice.”

“People must not really know you, then.”

“And you do?”

“Not as much as I’d like to, but well enough.”

“… What?” He finds that you make him feel dumb sometimes, be it through quick rebuttals or patient stares.

“I just mean, we could be friends. But I understand if you don’t-“

“I do.”

“… Ok.” You grin once more.

The pair stare out to sea, and Law takes another sip of his coffee.

“How come I never see you in fights with your crew?”

“I try to stay out of the way. Plus, I don’t really like fighting in the first place- that’s not why I joined my crew. It’s more of a last resort.”

“Interesting.”

“You think so?”

“That you would rather play support than have to get into a fight? Definitely. It’s not very pirate-like.” He nearly sneers- he has certain beliefs on what a pirate should be in order to be of use to their crew.

But, ever the optimist, you simply laugh, “So I’ve been told,” you start. “I guess I’m a little… strict about my morals. Just never really want to hurt someone, you know? Even if it makes people think I’m weak, because I know I’m not.”

“At least you’re self aware.” Law begins, but for some unknown reason feels compelled to continue. To give you some little piece of himself in return for what you’ve told him. However, after he tells you, “I don’t enjoy fighting much either, I just do it to protect my crew.” he feels like he’s talking too much.

You listen intently, “And do you have a family? If you don’t mind me asking.”

He shakes his head no, “Gone.”

You nod solemnly. “Well, I’m sure they’d be proud of you.”

“Have you… lost someone?” Law immediately regrets asking such a personal question.

But, you aren't offended. “No, I’ve been lucky in that way. Though we aren’t really… We don’t… Well, we’re not close.”

“Why’s that?” he mimics your earlier question, which you pick up on and smirk at.

So you sigh; “I guess the whole running-away-with-a-pirate crew thing kind of soiled their opinion of me.”

Your eyes meet again after your confession, and after a moment of silence, you both break out in laughter. Except, Law’s is more of just the shake of his shoulders, while you actually laugh.

“It’s not funny-” Law says through broken exhales.

“No, it’s really not!” you shake your head, still caught in a fit of giggles.

Eventually you both still yourselves, and Law concentrates on his half empty mug while you look up at the stars above head. Then you look at him from the corner of their eye, just for a split second, but find his eyes are already trained on you. So you offer a smile, like always, and go back to star gazing. Another moment passes, and your enjoyment of conversation gets the best of you.

“What’s it like living in a submarine?” Law raises a brow and gives a sidelong glance at your question. “Don’t you miss land and the sky when you’re down there?”

“Yeah. I miss land sometimes, I guess.”

You explore the answer to your question further by standing up on the ledge before you, and leaning over the railing to look down into the waves being split by the Thousand Sunny. It’s not a particularly dangerous stunt at all- there’s the floor, a 3 inch raised ledge, and the railing on top of it. When you stand on it, your height is barely altered; that’s how non perilous what you are doing is, for context. You simply want to lean over to see the waves.

But Law’s hand shoots out to grasp your shoulder, acting as a tether. You look at him with a concerned expression, which turns into a smirk. You could stay up there, maybe even turn and lift yourself slightly to sit on the railing itself, but you decide to come back down to the floor on your heels instead of giving the surgeon something else to stress over. Law then pulls his hand back rigidly and scratches the back of his neck with near painful awkwardness due to his sudden display of concern for your safety.

“I don’t think I could trip all the way over the railing unless I tried.” You tease.

“No, I- I know.” he coughs. Did he really just stutter?

“See? You are nice. You care.” you punctuate your statement with a smirk and the side to side tilt of their head. An occasional habit that, if someone were around you often enough to witness, they would know signified a feeling of triumph.

Law is at a loss for words at the moment, thoughts clouded by the growing warmth in his chest that seems to fluctuate up and down his neck and face, but never disappears completely when he’s around you.

“Sure.” he takes to mumbling again.

“You know, I really like having you here with us.”

“…You do?”

“Yeah. I love the other Straw Hats of course, but… I don’t know, you’re different.”

“You’re different from my crew, too.”

“Oh yeah? In a good way, I hope.”

Law shrugs, “Yeah.” He pauses, then mutters something under his breath. “In a good way.”

You’d blurt out your feelings here and now, if it were anyone else. But this is Law, and you kind of like him a lot, so you want to do things right. Besides, that would probably only scare him away- he seems like the kind of man who carefully works his way up to a relationship. With a friendly smile, you accept his statement. Because now that you know he considers you a friend at the very least, and more than likely shares your affections… you’re in no rush.

The night goes by quickly in his company, and soon enough you spot the golden rays of the sun peaking over the horizon.

“We should do this again sometime,” you tell him as the sun starts to climb higher into the sky (quicker than you’d like), “I had fun talking to you.”

Law nods, “Just let me know when you’re keeping watch,” he waves over his shoulder as he walks away, “I’ll be there.”

And when he makes it back to the privacy of his room, Law replays the night in his head. Over and over and over again, until he comes to a not-so-shocking conclusion. “Shit:”

“I’m falling for y/n.”

[artiststarme]

Pain's An Old Friend

Based on a prompt from @nburkhardt! I hope it met your expectations. Let me know what you guys think in the comments!

Now with a second and third part!

~*~*~*~

Steve was no stranger to hiding his own injuries. Growing up in the home that he did, it was practically second nature to hide unsavory things from people in order to protect the Harrington image. From a young age, he would go to school with his mom’s concealer painted high on his cheekbone to cover the evidence of his father’s anger. He’d hide his pain during practice when he sprained a ligament so his coach wouldn’t pull him from the Friday night game. He was well used to hiding his pain in front of people that could weaponize it. 

After joining the Party though, Steve started to lower his guards. He’d speak freely about past injuries and slightly more loosely about his current ailments. He was still the babysitter though, the guy that the kids looked toward to protect them. He couldn’t be fully transparent about his migraines or the constant blurriness in his left eye. 

One day though when the kids needed a ride to the arcade on Steve’s day off, he had to be honest with them. His brain felt like it was trying to escape the confines of his skull and his vision pulsated with every heartbeat. 

“Hey, I’m sorry guys but I can’t today. My head is killing me so I need to just relax and wait for it to blow over. How about you guys ask Eddie? He got off at 4 today so I’m sure he could give you a ride.”

Dustin, Lucas, and Will were satisfied with his explanation. They wished him well, volunteered their moms to come drop off soup to him later, and got back on their bikes. Mike though was visibly annoyed. He hung back after the others and turned to face Steve with a glare. 

“Seriously, Steve. You can’t do one thing to help us? It’s not even that far out of your way!”

“Dude, I already told you I have a headache. I’m not driving anywhere,” Steve tried to explain. He didn't know why Mike was so mad. Yeah, they’d wasted time biking to Steve’s house instead of directly to the arcade but it only added an additional five minutes to their commute. It would only take them about ten minutes to get there on their bikes, a completely reasonable distance. 

“A headache? You know how pathetic that is? There’s people that are dying, Steve. And you’re complaining that your head hurts a little bit. You’re just useless!” Mike hissed at him. 

And wasn’t that a surprise. He and Mike still weren’t on great terms, obviously, but he liked to think that they were making progress. To find out that they were still in the same position as they had been all those years ago when Steve was Nancy’s asshole boyfriend and Mike was her bratty little brother, was gut wrenching. 

“Fine, I’ll give you assholes a ride. Let’s go guys. Leave the bikes, you can pick them up tomorrow. Come on, before I change my mind.”

The drive to the arcade was uneventful. They all made it to the arcade in one piece and no one said thank you aside from Will, as per usual. 

The ride home however was a different story. The sun had started to set and Steve’s headache had devolved into a migraine. His vision was tunneling and he could hardly keep his eyes open against the pain in his head. He was taking one of the back roads home and was almost there when a shadow passed in front of his car. Steve’s left fender hit the being before he could turn the wheel and when he did, he steered the Beemer directly into a tree on the side of the road. 

Steve’s head slammed into the steering wheel, hard enough to lacerate his temple and spill blood all over the driver’s side dash. Thankfully, he didn’t lose consciousness and his migraine wasn’t significantly worse than before so he was reasonably sure that he didn’t have another concussion, at least not a severe one. 

Now, a normal person might walk to the nearest house and call the police or an ambulance. Steve though, was not normal. He picked up his keys, wallet, and sunglasses, and walked all the way home. It wasn’t too far, a mile at most but with his head hurting the way it did, it felt like forever. He would call Thatcher Tire tomorrow morning and get the Beemer towed then he would call his dad to beg him to cover the damages and everything would be fine. But the second Steve got back to his house, he laid on the couch and took a nap. He’d worry about everything else the next day. 

~*~*~*~

Steve had forgotten that he made plans with Robin for today. He woke up to manic rambling that he was too tired to follow and his best friend pulling at his arms. 

“Go ‘way,” he mumbled when she once again jostled him. 

“Steve, wake up! What the hell did you do? You have blood all over your head and you weren’t responsive. You were supposed to come over to my house to pick me up so we could make cupcakes and watch movies! I walked over when you didn’t show and I had to walk in to find you dying on your sofa! What the fuck, Steve?!”

“Not dying and please stop yelling, my head hurts.”

“I’m sure it does, Steve! Your entire forehead is black and blue and there’s blood everywhere. Oh my god, I might actually throw up. Stay alert, I’m going to go throw up then I’m going to call Eddie for a ride since neither one of us has the cash to pay for an ambulance. Stay conscious or I will hurl all over you,” she promised.  

True to her word, she went and threw up in the kitchen, grabbed some ice for his head, and then used the living room phone to call Eddie.

“Hey Mr. Munson, is Eddie there? It’s Robin Buckley… I know but I don’t have a license yet, I’m poor… Touché, Mr. Munson… Okay, great! I’ll see him soon then!”

She hung up the phone and returned to Steve's side. “Okay, he’s on his way so we just have to wait. We’re both going to give you a long talk about taking better care of yourself and not damaging any more brain cells, got it?”

He tried to nod at her but the miniscule movement only caused his vision to white-out and his eyes slammed shut. The last thing he heard was Robin screeching at him to wake up before everything went black. 

~*~*~*~

When his eyes opened next, Steve was in a bare hospital room with both of his hands restrained. No, people were holding them. Upon further investigation, he noticed that Eddie was sleeping at his right side with his hands wrapped around Steve’s wrist and Robin was at his left with her fingertips pressed over his pulse point. 

With both of his friends there, the feeling of security almost willed him back to sleep once again. But then he heard loud yelling coming from outside of his hospital room. 

“Where is Steve Harrington?! I got a call about another head injury, is he alright? I will not calm down, that’s my kid and none of you goddamn idiots will tell me anything about him! Where is he?”

The door flung open to reveal Chief Jim Hopper in all of his furious glory. All of his anger melted into worry when his eyes met Steve’s. 

“Hey Hop,” Steve told him with a small smile. 

“Do not ‘hey Hop’ me. What the hell, kid? First I get a panicked call from Robin that you’re in the hospital again, then I get a call from Callahan that he found your car bent around a tree, and then I find out that I’m your emergency contact.” His eyes still held a hint of panic but now they looked tired too as if the events of today had aged him several years. 

“Okay, it’s not bent around the tree. Callahan’s a fucking liar and I keep telling you so! I lightly bumped the tree. Lightly! Everything worked out fine! It’s all good, Hop.”

“Are you not hearing me? Do we have to get your hearing checked too?” Hopper laughed sardonically and threw his hands up exasperatedly. “Steve, you gave all of us heart attacks because you didn’t tell us that you had been in a car accident! And you could’ve died going to sleep like that with a concussion! You know better.”

“Look, in my defense, I didn’t know it was a concussion. And what else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t drive myself to the hospital,” It made sense to Steve but apparently not to Hopper or the now-awake Eddie. 

“Steve-” Eddie whispered in confusion but Hopper’s screaming cut him off.

“You should’ve called someone! Me, Munson, Wayne, hell even Joyce! Wha-the-fu-goddam-ahh!” He stammered with feeling. “Why were you even driving in the first place? You were at home!”

“The kids wanted to go to the arcade and when I told them I couldn’t, Mike said that people had bigger problems than headaches. And he was right. I just wanted to do something useful and then it hit me all at once when I was driving home,” Steve shook his head. He should’ve taken a nap or something instead of giving them a ride then they wouldn’t be in this position right now. 

“Of course it was Mike. It’s always Mike fucking Wheeler,” Hopper scoffed under his breath. His profound annoyance towards the kid continued. “Steve, you can’t listen to that bitch-ass kid! He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Next time, call me and I’ll handle it.”

“Okay, well I will remember that for next time. Next time I have a migraine, I won’t give the kids a ride and I won’t crash my car lightly into a tree. Alright, when are they releasing me? I just want to go home and go back to normal,” Steve said. 

Hopper and Eddie shared a look before Eddie woke Robin and lugged her from the room. Watching that display, he knew he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear and he didn’t.

Hopper chuckled humorlessly, “I’m detaining you. You’re coming home with me when they release you.”

“‘Detaining me’? For what? I didn’t do anything,” Steve asked him in confusion. 

“For acting like a dumbass. You’re going to recover back at my place, Harrington. El and I are going to keep an eye on you.”

“I’m not going to-” Hopper cut him off with a yell that made him jump. 

“You’re detained, Harrington! No more arguments!” 

“Hop, that’s kidnapping!” He proclaimed in outrage. 

“You’re not a kid, it’s fine,” Hopper brushed him off. 

“What- that’s not even, you can’t just force me to accept your help!” 

“Watch me!” Hopper said indignantly. This was ridiculous, despite the evidence, Steve was more than capable of taking care of himself. He was an adult, dammit!

“Hopper, you can’t just hold me against my will. I-I have rights!”

“Yeah? File a complaint. I’m the chief of police and I’m basically your dad so I’m going to take care of you whether you like it or not. Now, are you going to accept this so I can let your friends in and we can all eat Jello or are you going to keep arguing with me?”

Steve looked at him blankly for a moment before he yielded. “Jesus Christ, fine. You win.”

“I know kid, I always do.” He patted Steve’s foot and opened the door for Eddie and Robin to slink back in. “Alright, you better have gotten orange or I’ll kick you both back out.”

Steve had a lot to learn about accepting help and being forthcoming about his injuries. But with his dad, his boyfriend, and his best friend by his side, he had no doubt that he'd get there eventually. He didn't have any other choice.

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[britcision]

AND NOW: Part Two! One might think I would look at the fic at some point and check what chapter we’re on, but I will not! Mostly for “but that takes effort” reasons but also because by the time I get back here I WILL have forgotten!

Part One of this chapter:

First Chapter:

———————

Well You Did Get Down On One Knee (part 2)

Tucker, Conner, and Tim had actually gotten through another round of Spiderheck in between the rabid buzzing of Tim and Tucker’s phones. 

Conner had the good sense to mute his and toss it behind the couch… after sharing the “good news” of Timblr with the Young Justice chat. Without which his phone probably wouldn’t have been buzzing at all.

He regretted nothing, despite Tim’s alternate pouting and threats. Tucker was pretty impressed, and pretty sure that it wasn’t just for the guy’s good looks this time. 

Finally, after the fourth time Tim’s ringtone changed itself and blasted at full volume (making Tucker completely drop his controller), the Black tech gave up, sighing heartily and dropping his head into his hands. 

Not least to hide the sudden wicked grin on his face as an idea struck. Because yeah, sure, he could help Tim try and unhack fucking Oracle on the sly, or… they could remove the distraction another way. 

(Tucker wasn’t a thousand percent ungrateful for the distraction; he was pretty sure even without the merry buzzing of his social life burning down around him he’d have had a hard time concentrating on the game. 

It just plain wasn’t fair; Conner was too fucking hot, and so earnest, and excited when he was doing well! All the little shouts and exclamations, the broad grins, Tucker was really beginning to doubt his own demisexual nature. 

Although, to be fair, it wasn’t like he actually wanted to… interact while Conner was being cuter than Cujo with a rubber bone. Just. It was hard to think about anything else when he could be appreciating all… that instead. 

At least while Tim’s ass was being blown off by at least three separate group chats, Tucker’s floundering was less embarrassing.) 

Tim gave him a consoling pat on the back while Conner whooped in victory, probably trying to comfort Tucker in the loss. Tucker let him for a moment, running a couple quick calculations in his head. 

Because yeah, he’d never got around to asking Danny to ecto infuse any of the Waynes’ tech; not the batcomputer nor the gaming consoles, but. Well. They’d played for hours the last two nights, and it wasn’t like Tucker had never gotten his hands through a console’s innards. 

It had to count as knowing the device, right? 

And it wasn’t like it was that hard, doing it for just three people. For just one game. 

Looking up at the other two, he gave them both a slightly shyer grin. 

“So, like… I know we’re having a good time and all,” he began, and Tim groaned theatrically as he was interrupted yet again by his ringtone. 

“I’m about to ask Superboy to toss this thing into space,” he grumbled, glowering at his phone. 

Conner reached innocently towards it and Tim snatched it back up immediately. Tucker settled back once it was safe too, grinning sheepishly even if it wasn’t his bluff Conner called. 

Conner tipped him a wink and Tucker had to clear his throat and give his head a quick shake to clear his blush. 

“Right… yeah, uh, anyway. What if I had a better way to get us away from distractions?” He asked as innocently as he could, staring at the screen instead of that far too attractive face. 

He could still see the other two sit up from the corner of his eye, both looking interested. 

“We’re not allowed to game in the Bat Cave,” Tim said quickly, with a resigned air that said the question had come up before… and enough disappointment that they’d probably done it and been caught. 

Which, yeah, thinking of the size of the screen in the cave, Tucker suddenly really wanted to try that too. 

Already banned though. And he and Danny were already on thin enough ice with Batman as it was. 

Reluctantly dismissing the thought, he returned his attention to the present moment, grin spreading as he turned to face Tim directly. 

(Tim was safe. Tim was, objectively, a very handsome young man and Tucker could appreciate that in a distant way, but being pretty was just so much less interesting that almost anything else about Tim. 

Tucker could worship him through a distant computer screen, so the pretty blue eyes weren’t much of a distraction. Looking at Tim face to face was really cool, but Tucker would be more tongue tied watching him code.) 

“Sure, but you remember I told you about my technopathy? I can interface with machines I know really well,” he added for Conner’s benefit, accidentally looking over in time to preen as his face lit up with interest. 

Tim, for some reason, stifled a snicker. 

“Yeah, you mentioned. And that it was a little more complicated, but go on,” he prodded, and Conner shot him a look that Tucker was gonna have to ask questions about. 

Later. Once he was done showing off a little. And, probably, getting his ass kicked at Spiderheck. 

Tucker Foley was a master of video game controls, sure, and that sorta helped, as did “knowing you’ve been thrust into a video game”. He just didn’t delude himself into thinking it’d be enough to counter the actual literal battle training of superheroes. 

But hey, maybe having all those extra legs would fuck them both up for long enough that he’d win a few rounds. 

“Well I think you might’ve already noticed, but I know this game really well.” 

** 

Danny was doing his best to keep a cheerful face on things, especially the weird shit. 

It had been a while since he’d had a nasty new halfa surprise of his own crop up (although he didn’t dare hope he’d had his last; that would surely bring something on), but he still remembered how it felt. 

How overwhelming, how hollow and intimidating the world could be when you were learning that you really knew almost nothing about yourself. That at any time, your body could do something totally out of your control. 

Something you might not be able to handle. 

He’d felt the fear in Jason, deep and bright and smothered a second later, but not before Danny felt it. 

At least he could be here for the other guy; he wasn’t going to be going into the whole mess alone. Danny would make sure of that. Understandable as his reservations about reliving his death were, they would face it together, and he had to hope that might help. 

Possibly with Jazz too, when it was actually time for that first transformation. Danny hadn’t even really started coping with dying when he’d first changed, and he’d been dead less than a minute; it had almost been part of the rebirth process. By the time he’d had to do it for a fight, he already knew what would happen.

For Jason… well, it had been a while, and even Danny could see he’d not done much more than paper over the cracks with bad ecto induced rage and carry on. 

He was trying not to let Jason see how much he worried, but had a feeling it didn’t matter. Jason was plenty worried already. 

Good news was… well, there wasn’t much good news. It was going to suck, no matter what, and if they didn’t do it in controlled conditions it’d be fucking awful. 

But they did have some controlled conditions, and better yet? Probably wouldn’t be a problem for at least a couple more days. 

As little as Danny wanted to talk about the whole… mess that was Jason’s death, Jason himself was all about the detailed planning. Back ups of back ups and all that. 

It probably came with the Batman training. 

(The mad compartmentalising totally did. Danny had spent enough time with Bruce in one single car ride to be sure about that.) 

For the moment, he gave Jason as much support he could; contact, a reassuring aura, and a smile whenever he could, and absolutely no oogling of his mostly naked body while they were doing the checkup. 

(Jason had mentioned a pit-related growth spurt last time, and this close Danny could see that the scars all over him were interspersed with stretch marks. Now that he actually looked the difference was super obvious; the different colour, the creasing where they indented the skin. 

Danny definitely wasn’t thinking of licking them to see if he could feel the texture. 

Or running his fingers over bared skin, which was admittedly less intimate than the licking thoughts he totally wasn’t having, but also seemed kinda more a betrayal. Because Jason wouldn’t question Danny touching him, but Danny would have Nefarious Motives. 

Of. Textures. 

But it was totally fine because he wasn’t having any of those thoughts at all.)  

He just wished he knew what had caused that sudden panic attack Jason had earlier; it had come almost from nowhere, a wave of black and crushing dread that froze Danny’s already-iced core. It filled the room, filled his lungs, and would have cost him everything to not respond. 

Part of him had wanted to shove Jason fully inside himself, store the much larger man in the hollow of his chest so that nothing could hurt him. 

(And Danny could, technically, kinda do that. Jason didn’t have to be that much bigger than him, at least while Danny was in ghost form. Ghost form was all about self perception and, well, raw power. 

Looking like his twink ass self was a deliberate choice, and one he’d never regretted until it meant not curling Jason into the infinite curls of his tail and protecting himself from the universe as a whole.) 

Danny was super great at boundaries. Yup. One thousand percent completely normal about them. 

But he’d been able to wrap his aura around Jason anyway, because that wasn’t a freakishly massive monster form that would freak him out further. They’d helped him calm down, helped him breathe, and Jason seemed… 

Way too fine, frankly, even his aura had cleared, and Danny trusted that about as far as Sam could throw him. Bat-level compartmentalizing, for sure. 

That was gonna get real weird when the more emotionally regulated ghost powers kicked in, but Danny was gonna cross his fingers and hope that it made Jason’s transition easier, not infinitely more fucked up. Jazz would be intolerable, for one thing. 

Most of the rest of the appointment went well anyway; bar the surprise “Congratulations On Your Soul Bond” news (which he would not be thinking about too hard until he couldn’t possibly avoid it), it was pretty much what they’d expected. 

Jason was doing good, Danny was gonna need to work around classes tomorrow maybe for another trip, and there was just the teeniest chance Jason’s fully formed core would manifest like, physically. 

Shockwaves had been mentioned. Danny now had questions about how much of his original death light show had been the portal itself opening. Ones that could never be answered, but hey. 

If/when Clockwork showed up, Danny was gonna prioritise Jason’s soul contract over his own curiosity for purely friend related reasons. 

Danny didn’t like soul contracts of any sort at the best of times, unwritten ones that put a friend into his service? Yeah, maybe he was feeling just a little vindicated that Jason could see what he’d been freaking out about now. 

Now that it was too late, but Danny was technically the Ghost King and Clockwork’s boss, so even if he couldn’t fix the whole mess until his coronation, it wasn’t gonna be a problem-problem. 

If Clockwork tried to use the contract to push Danny into accepting his coronation more quickly, well, Danny had a real good win streak of fighting ancients in his pocket. And he’d double never get coronated if they spent the rest of eternity playing cat and mouse for Danny to beat Clockwork’s ass, so. 

Not that Danny believed Clockwork would, really. The Observants? Abso-fucking-lutely, he’d be swinging before they finished a sentence, but Clockwork genuinely seemed to care. 

He pruned the timelines with the ruthless efficiency of a gardener, but always to make the best outcome. The one where the least people got fucked over. 

He’d absolutely fuck Danny over in the service of getting that best outcome, but Danny was also pretty sure he’d feel bad about it if he did, and that Clockwork would and had chosen to believe in him over his predicted outcomes more than once. 

Danny trusted Clockwork. 

Of course, now that he wasn’t trying to hide and actually wanted to see his mentor and regent, the bastard was nowhere to be found. 

All jokes about the “Ever-Moving Now” aside, they weren’t directly making for Clockwork’s tower; the only way to find it was with Clockwork’s permission, so Danny didn’t usually bother. As a kid they’d thought they could stumble across it and surprise him, but these days? 

Danny knew better. And Clockwork wasn’t exactly subtle; his lair had showed up around the very first metaphorical corner when he wanted Danny to come in once too often. And hadn’t been anywhere to be found when Danny searched, only to show up beside his fucking portal home. 

Where it definitely hadn’t been on his way in. 

It went where Clockwork wanted it, when he wanted it there. Danny totally wasn’t jealous. 

It had been a while since he’d bothered hiding from Danny though; these past couple months, just being in the Zone had netted him an unwanted visit from his regent. Danny was beginning to suspect Clockwork wasn’t actually all that keen on ruling the realms, and was just planning to fob the job off on him. 

Which, y’know, fair. Danny wasn’t exactly thrilled with it either. But it was his job as Danny’s mentor to protect him from this shit, right? 

Now that Danny actually wanted to see him though, of course he wasn’t around. Which probably wasn’t actually a bad sign, or that he’d done something he didn’t want them to know about. 

Clockwork was just a cryptic asshole, and apparently Jason had used up all of his “getting clear answers” cards in their first meeting. If only Danny had ever gotten a single damn one. 

There was one other detour Danny wanted to make while in the Realms, but… today didn’t feel like quite the right time. Jason had already had a fucking day of it, and Danny didn’t wanna dump any more on him. Even if Ghost Writer’s library would be a nice trip for Jason, it was something they should talk about first.

And… probably ask Ghost Writer about first too.

If Danny ever remembered to do that.

So they’d thanked Frostbite, gotten Jason a bag of ecto ice chips (Danny wasn’t allowed any, it was totally unfair because he needed an energy boost too! But noooo, his core was “stabilised” and “complete” and he needed to “sleep” and “eat” for energy like a pleb. Unfair!), and agreed to come back as soon as Jason’s core stabilised. 

Danny figured he could always come back on his own for a visit to Nocturn. That was gonna be a whole ass emotional mess; Dan was technically in the database Tucker had handed over, but Jason hadn’t mentioned it yet. Danny didn’t know if that meant he didn’t know, or was just being actually tactful. 

He wasn’t even sure what he actually wanted to say yet, how to ask for what he wanted, and he should probably do this right. Nocturn hadn’t challenged him again since he’d become king, and had actually been super helpful so far, but… well, the spirit of dreams was proud, powerful, and Danny was pretty sure he helped specifically to have something on Danny. He’d already decided that his main job tonight was to help Jason relax, feel better, and work out if he needed to sicc the Sam-Tucker combo on Bruce Wayne’s social media. 

… 

Who was he kidding. Of course they’d be setting Sam and Tucker on the guy, as soon as Jason gave the green light. 

Jason had never exactly gotten all the way through the explicit details of how Bruce had fucked up this afternoon, beyond just siccing Constantine on Jason, but honestly? 

He didn’t have to. Jason had been almost tangibly frustrated from the minute he rolled up to Danny’s dorms, though he was gonna shoot Tucker a thank you for his little “revenge”, since it had cheered the guy up right away. 

Danny was totally not considering a little spectral revenge for himself too. Mostly because Batman would probably know all about ghosts by now, and probably had Constantine doing his spectral condom act all over the cave. 

But it wasn’t like Bruce liked Danny anyway, so really, what did he have to lose? Not like Jason hadn’t already shown whose side he came out on on this one. 

Danny didn’t exactly know what having over protective parents was like, but Jason could not be more clear that he didn’t appreciate Bruce’s interference. There was clearly a lot going on with those two, and while they’d already talked about Jason’s death and technically he had permission… 

Well, Danny didn’t wanna push. Ask literally any ghost, dying could leave you with a whole stack of issues. Jason wasn’t even close to the most homicidal Danny had met. 

That poisonous rage, though… Danny pushed it from his mind. It didn’t matter, wouldn’t matter, Frostbite said Jason was doing well and Pitty would be out of him soon. 

… 

Maybe, just maybe Danny was also starting to worry what that might mean, since it sent Jason into a full panic attack and he’d seen what the rage was like when fully under control. 

Maybe they’d bump up the schedule on taking care of those Lazarus pits. Get that Obsession dealt with, see if it calmed things down. 

Yet another thing Danny would have to talk to Clockwork about, and was his irritatingly omnipresent mentor anywhere to be found? Of course not. 

Which probably meant this wasn’t a timeline threatening problem. Yet.

What a comfort. 

Which left them flying home through the Zone, and Danny totally wasn’t overthinking literally everything. He was being considerate, quiet, giving Jason time to process everything they’d seen that day. 

Maybe himself too. Just a little. But it wasn’t like Jason was hurrying to start a conversation, and they both had a lot on their minds. It was a good, comfortable silence. 

They had nearly reached his preferred portal spot too, so today’s quick trip to the Ghost Zone was nearly over, unless Danny actually wanted to go Clockwork-hunting… which, while probably less emotionally fraught, wasn’t likely to go great. 

(Realms geography could be more than just hinky; they were infinite after all, so he tended to open portals back out in the same place he’d previously opened a portal from the living world in. It seemed to help, and he didn’t usually wind up in the wrong dimension that way. 

Especially if there was a nearby, powerful anchor.

Going searching up and down the whole ass Zone for the Ever Moving Now? Yeah, that’d fuck his portal plans right up.) 

Danny could feel a steady building trepidation rising in Jason like the tide, but he had no idea what the hell to do about it. Back there in the world were Bruce and Constantine, and all the problems that kept Jason balanced precariously on a knife edge. 

Here in the Realms, all the problems were new and interesting and could almost all be solved by punching, which really suited both of them. Danny would have been tempted to suggest that sidebar to see Ghost Writer, but it was late, he had school in the morning, and his super handy time manipulating mentor was being a dick and wasn’t here. 

A couple years ago, he’d have said fuck it and gone on the sidebar anyway, and probably not slept all night to help his friend. And had Jazz harping in his ear about “developing bodies”, “needing his sleep”, and “this is why you haven’t had a growth spurt since you were fourteen”. 

Which totally wasn’t a valid argument or at all what had made him start taking care of himself. He just… well, he just actually really fucking liked his classes these days. 

Against all the odds, Danny Fenton had gotten into a prestigious college, into an engineering program that actually let him stretch his talents. And take apart old or broken lab equipment from the other buildings for fun and profit. 

And if he hadn’t slept the night before, they didn’t let him use the welding torch. Danny was pretty sure Clockwork might be behind that, since they somehow always knew. 

Maybe that was how Nocturn was already betraying him… conspiring with Clockwork to make Danny sleep more and absorb his power? 

Danny considered that seriously for about half a second before discarding it. Sure, Nocturn was the King of Sleep and an ancient, but he was also a canny motherfucker and not likely to mess up badly enough to accidentally become King of the Infinite Realms too. 

For all that he wanted power, fucking no one wanted to deal with the Observants. Danny had practically begged. 

It wasn’t like they had to go back to Gotham and then immediately straight to bed though. Just, y’know, something that wouldn’t take hours and hours. There had to be something they could do in the city that wouldn’t keep them up all night, but would keep Bruce Wayne off their asses. 

Unless Jason had shit to do. Danny… kinda hadn’t asked. The only plans he’d known about for the day was busting out Waylon, and then the potential trip to Frostbite. 

Maybe he hadn’t meant for it to go so late? Maybe Danny should ask? 

Maybe Jason was getting sick of him. 

Maybe Jason was getting a little too good at reading auras, since that thought barely settled in before he broke the silence. 

“What the fuck?” 

And alright, that might also have been a coincidence Danny decided, brows furrowing as he looked for what had caught Jason’s attention. 

It all looked normal up ahead to him. Bright green zone, a couple purple islands (was that the ghost of a Bat Burger? Maybe they should check this place out more), the haze of black smog that always surrounded… 

Ah. 

Yeah, they hadn’t really had that conversation yet, though Danny had meant to bring it up on the way home. Riiiight up until all that overthinking started.

Guess that made this introduction time. Sort of put a stop to wondering how to cheer Jason up… although depending on how Jason felt, it might just be a distraction. 

Danny pulled to a stop, Jason coming in close before stopping alongside him, just in front like he might need to protect Danny from something. 

Or like he overshot the stopping. Could be either, really. But Danny had a feeling it was at least a combo. He and Jason were just too alike, but it looked almost automatic. Vigilante training, and Danny’d bust his ass later about treating him like a civilian. 

Jason was the civilian here, and his citizen. 

He cleared his throat, wondering how exactly to go about this, since ghosts didn’t have an introduction protocol that wasn’t “throw down”. And spent about half a second wondering if that was actually on the table before deciding against it. 

Sure, most ghost introductions involved a friendly punch up, but Lady Gotham had always been a little different. And this wasn’t exactly your standard “new ghost who dis”. 

“Right, yeah… we didn’t see her last time we were in the Zone. Jason, this is-” 

“You think my own boy wouldn’t know me, Phantom?” 

The voice came from all around them, low and dark and smokey sweet like molten chocolate with just a hint of whiskey. Jason stiffened and glared around harder, conscious caution battling with the sudden wave of relief from his core. 

She spun herself from the smog of the city, like she always had. A tall, curvaceous woman built to Jack Fenton proportions, easily seven feet tall with dark mahogany skin and pitch black lipstick, perfect black hair coiled tight into an afro about her head. Smoky black makeup lined her eyes and caressed high, generous cheekbones in a line of clouds. 

Long black gloves covered her hands and arms, one of which was held across her body, hand cupping the elbow of her other arm while the other held what probably was a full sized orange traffic cone like it was a cigarette holder. It looked wrong clasped in her hand, scale thrown off by her size. A thin plume of white smoke even spiralled from the wider end. 

She wore a short flapper dress covered in layers of tassels, each of which flashed with beads of jet all along the length except for the last bead on a scattering of the strands, which were large, blood flecked pearls. Below the end of the skirt, her legs were lost in the spills of black smog surrounding her, though occasionally more flashes of pearl could be seen shifting through the murk. 

It was her eyes that captured all of the attention though as she caught and held Jason’s gaze, a sly smile on those black lips. They glowed yellow from lid to lid, each pupil shaped like a bat. 

The fight dropped out of Jason instantly, jaw dropping. 

And yeah, maybe Danny should have expected that he’d… sort of recognize her? Jason was a Gothamite to the core, had been one of her true defenders since pixie boots were in style… right up until his own death. 

And if Danny read that twitch right, it was costing him an effort not to automatically drop to one knee. So apparently that was just wired into him, and not just a Clockwork-thing. Good to know. 

Her smile spread, showing sharp white teeth dripping with tar. 

“My son,” she purred, her voice filling the air around them and sending almost visible ripples through the ectoplasm of the realms, “it is so good to finally meet you in person.” 

In front of Danny, Jason tensed again. Whatever he’d recognized didn’t quite cut through bat-paranoia, apparently. 

“Danny, who is this?” He asked cautiously, his voice low and not taking his eyes off the twin bat signals pointed at him. 

Lady Gotham sighed heavily, taking a deep pull on her traffic cone and blowing out a billowing plume of smog. She gestured to Danny, who nodded quickly. 

Totally not gonna “I told you so” the city spirit for the city he was living in. King or not, he had some manners. 

“Jason, Lady Gotham. She’s…” he hesitated, not sure how exactly to phrase it. 

Had they talked about city spirits? It felt like they had? But it had been so little time, he wasn’t sure. 

Lady Gotham stepped back in smoothly, shooting Jason a laconic smile and spreading her arms. 

“I am exactly what it sounds like. The beating heart of the city, born from the well of souls and desperate hopes of those who call it home. Every shadow in the alley, every gargoyle you shelter under, every parapet that caught your grapple and let you fly…” 

Jason had stopped breathing, which was alright as long as they were in the Zone but might not be later, his eyes tracking desperately over the ghost before them. Her smile softened, becoming fond, tender, her free hand now reaching out towards him. 

“… and you have been mine since the day you were born, Jason Todd.” 

** 

Jason was… 

Jason was. He didn’t know what he was. 

He hadn’t realised just how much noise his heart made thumping until the first time it stopped. Until he’d slammed back to life, heard its drumbeat thudding in his head, every second of every day. 

This felt a little like that. 

Like a sound he’d been hearing all of his life had gone quiet, and then come roaring back in full swing. It was too much, and not enough, and everything he’d missed in Nanda Parbat and around the world when he’d been training, left with only the thudding of his heart. 

The sounds of Gotham. Normal city noises, most of them; the honks and occasional screeches of cars, the buzz of people. And then the screams, gunshots, mad cackling laughter that most cities usually only saw in designated areas. 

And underneath it all, a low, throbbing pulse, a hum in the back of his head that meant he was home. That told him where he was, every street corner or shady alleyway. 

He could navigate the city blindfolded, knew every gargoyle, every running gutter and rusty grate, listening to that beat. That beat that told him it was his place, the one thing that nothing and no one could ever take away from him, not even all the bullshit with the League of Assassins. 

He hadn’t really noticed it going quiet in the Ghost Zone before. Which, y’know, they’d been busy. He’d had a lot on his mind, and… well, it happened any time he left the city. 

Going away with the Outsiders, it didn’t matter if they crossed the bay to Metropolis or went to space, Jason knew when he wasn’t in Gotham. Knew when he woke up in a hospital bed whether or not he was home just from that beat. 

He’d started thinking it might be the city’s ectoplasm, since Danny was so sure that was why he’d risen before. Might have explained why the Zone was a little different; it was all ectoplasm. 

And then he’d looked at this woman made of smog and shadows and smoking a fucking traffic cone, and the beat almost brought him to his knees. 

How could he not know her? They danced every night, her hand in his, guiding his guns, his grapple, cupped gently around the back of his neck and showing him where to look. Hiding him from Oracle’s cameras, pointing him at those who attacked the weak like he was the gun himself. 

Familiar as his own shadow. Constant as gravity. 

And it was that familiarity that pulled at every ounce of Bat training, that unconscious recognition and trust that forced him to doubt. 

Hypnotists were the fucking worst. Magic users were all annoying, but Jason would tangle with any of the rest before dealing with a hypnotist. They were worse than Condiment King and Kite Man combined into some ketchup splattered hell kite. 

And the more something deeper than the Pit whispered that this wasn’t hypnotism, wasn’t an outside influence, was just the deepest part of himself recognising the deepest part of his home, the harder he fought that feeling. 

Until her hand reached for his, and she said his name, and his hand was in hers before he could stop himself. 

Contact was… it was a lot. 

A barrage of sounds, smells, the backs of every alley flashing through his mind as he was bombarded with memories. Memories? Or was that what was happening now? 

Flashes of rooftops, bodies tensed in the shadows, goons working below in blissful ignorance that was about to be shattered. Breaking windows, sprays of bullets or gas or worse, moving and punching and taking down without killing. 

He caught sight of Cass for a brief moment, her shape outlined in glowing shadows that definitely weren’t visible to the men running past her hiding place. But of course they weren’t; that was the point. 

Cass was the perfect shadow anywhere on Earth, her stealth unparalleled by anything but actual magic, but in Gotham? In Gotham the darkness wrapped her in loving arms, held her close, made sure she was never found. 

His baby sister, Gotham’s child even if she’d never been to the city until she was nearly an adult. 

More flashes, Dick flying across an alley in Bludhaven (thankfully in his current suit, not the Discowing, which might mean this was the present? Or just that Jason had been seeing him so much more lately that there were just more memories of him like this?), and that made Jason pause. 

Bludhaven wasn’t Gotham. That was literally the point. That was why Dick lived there. 

And he heard her low chuckle, smoky and soft in his ear. 

*Just across the bay, my dear? No, he would have to go so much farther to be free of me, to stop being mine.*

The voice was warm and fond, soft like crushed velvet and so full of affection and pride it tugged at something in Jason’s core. 

Something from the little boy who’d watched Robin fly through the air and could barely believe he’d touched the same dream. 

Lady Gotham hadn’t moved, her hand still in his in the exact same position, and while he couldn’t see her past the images to know if she’d spoken with mouth or mind he had a feeling he knew. She was in his head, in his heart, and he’d not spoken aloud. 

Before Jason would work out how to reply, if he even wanted to reply, his attention was caught by something else in the cascade of images. 

A dark spot, not in every scene (at least not that he noticed), but often enough. Something that looked like a shadow, but just a fraction deeper than the rest, a fraction darker, that moved when all the shadows around it were still. 

Now that he looked for it he could see it everywhere, the sight of it sending a shiver up his spine that made his hair stand on end. It wasn’t fear; Jason was well acquainted with fear, as little as it bothered him. 

This was… tension, anticipation, recognition, the same thing he’d felt when there hadn’t been an Outsiders mission in a while and Roy had decided to hunt him for sport. Something, someone so familiar, with such a strong place in his life, someone he knew was damn capable, setting their sights on him. 

(It was always play when Roy did it, a game to keep them both on their toes and get a different kind of training in. Jason didn’t know if Roy ever hunted the others; asking felt like cheating somehow.) 

And then suddenly the shadow turned in a different way, its attention locking on to Jason in return and adrenaline shot through him like a bolt of lighting. 

It had to be live. Or the shadow knew when someone saw its image. But it had looked back, raising the hair on the back of his neck until it felt like he’d become a Studio Ghibli character, and it was still looking at him. 

His hands itched for his guns, the All-Blades, the Fright Gun, and he felt the large, hot hand still holding his tighten for just a second, felt Lady Gotham’s chuckle through his whole body like he was a speaker, and then he was looking at her face again, fond and smiling and larger than life. 

“Now now, my sons,” she purred softly, definitely speaking with her mouth this time even if it was just as warm as when he’d heard her in his head, “play nicely.” 

Had she been that tall before? She’d been taller than him, certainly, her hand completely enfolding his the way Bruce’s had when Jason had first come off the streets, but now she loomed almost twice as large. 

Still holding his hand in hers, only now his was positively dainty, a doll’s hand held by the child who adored it. Her thumb was almost the size of his whole hand, brushing gently over the back. 

She could probably snap him in half in an instant. 

He’d probably let her. 

Her smile spread, reacting to the thought, and her other huge hand came up to gently cup his face, all the pride and love he’d only ever seen from Catherine Todd before. 

“My brave little knight…” her eyes closed for a moment and she sucked in a deep breath, her whole body gently expanding as she savoured… something. Then those signal eyes opened and fixed on him, full of lazy satisfaction. “Your belief is so sweet.” 

The effect was somewhat spoiled by the traffic cone now pinched effortlessly between two fingers. It hadn’t changed size, which Jason supposed had to be his answer. 

She totally wasn’t that big before. And apparently it was his fault? His… belief? 

Danny was hovering in the more figurative, mother hen way now (literal not being optional at the moment), and Jason could feel his tension now that he was focused. He’d gotten closer, his aura putting him just behind Jason’s shoulder, but hadn’t gone further.  

Not moving between them, which he already had the feeling would have been Danny’s preference after the gala. Jason would tease him about that if he hadn’t already put himself between the stranger and Danny without thinking. At least Danny hadn’t actually done it. 

Whether that was because they weren’t in any danger or Danny was waiting for his go ahead didn’t actually matter; Jason couldn’t quite believe either of them would walk away from a fight with Lady Gotham no matter that Danny was the king. 

A part of him deeper than the pit knew that she would never fight him. That it was his job to fight for her, to make sure she never dirtied her hands more than the streets already did. 

Forcing himself to suck in a breath - and wondering why his lungs ached - Jason gave her hand a hesitant squeeze. Tried not to think about how ludicrously small his hand was tucked into the curl of her fingers. 

“Uh… I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but…” he paused, words failing him, and wondered how the actual fuck you were supposed to talk to a whole ass city’s soul all at once. 

Lady Gotham laughed softly, giving his cheek (and consequently whole damn head) a gentle pat before pulling away, leaning back to sit as if in an invisible chair and regard him. 

“But we’ve known each other from the day you were born,” she agreed gently, her voice still heartbreakingly warm. 

No one had ever been so open in their love for him. It all but coloured the air in a rosy pink. 

And alright, that was probably at least 90% because his family were in constant contest for Most Emotionally Constipated Soul On Earth and Alfred was British, but Jason still had no idea how to handle it. He had her full, undivided attention, which part of him knew he’d never had in the physical city. 

She had so many protectors watching over her, even the crankiest parts of Jason couldn’t begrudge her that. He wasn’t exactly sure he was enjoying it now. 

“Ask,” she said softly, gently, the word still echoing around them but in a way that suddenly seemed more enclosed. More private. The echo of a bathroom instead of a grand cavern. 

Sucking in another deep breath, Jason realized he had about a thousand questions. But he had to start with the most pressing. 

“That shadow, what was it? It was… following the others, all of them. And you called it your son?” 

She’d called him her son too, and for the first time since he’d died the word didn’t rankle. But that could be the next question. 

The smile she gave him was blatantly approving and she waved a hand gently, a patch of smog in her surrounding cloud suddenly taking on a darker, more solid shape. It wasn’t the shadow itself, there was none of the buzzing adrenaline or life in its movements. Just a facsimile. 

He still kind of wanted the All-Blades. Just, y’know, for evil testing. 

“Yes, your… brother,” Lady Gotham said slowly, rolling the word over her lips as if tasting it. “That is the Curse of Gotham. Older than the city itself, technically, but before more people came it was simply a malevolence on a patch of land.” 

She waved a hand, dispelling the temporarily solidified smog easily. 

“It was only once the city was founded, then filled with souls and then despair and superstition and belief that he became a true Curse. As you are mine, the rogues are his. Bearing his mark, flying his flag, putting fear and doubt into every soul as they huddle against the chaos and swear to each other that there is a darkness here like no other.” 

Somehow, this did not endear Jason to his “brother”. It didn’t please Danny either, who leaned just a little into Jason’s shoulder, a sudden wariness pinging through his aura. 

“Wait, so the curse is older than you? Then why are you…” he trailed off, cheeks flushing suddenly as he asked what Jason was pretty sure was the least important question. 

Gotham bestowed him with a gentle, somewhat less fond smile too. Favouritism where he was the favourite kinda make Jason’s skin buzz. 

“As I said, it was the city which gave him form. Land can hold a myriad of curses, and any city built here would certainly have felt his affects. But belief…” she paused for a moment, lips pursing as she considered her next words. 

Yellow eyes flicked back towards Jason, measuring him, and her smile spread into something distinctly self satisfied. 

“Belief matters, for the Neverborn. It’s food and drink, our lifeblood, a source of power. And people believed in Gotham long before they made more than jokes about the curse. No one says that Gotham is on cursed land; they speak of Gotham’s Curse. And so he is mine.” 

Jason got the distinct impression that while everything was well established now, it had been more touch and go at one point… close enough that having won was still a point of pride. He didn’t even realize he was smiling back. 

It was also probably what she’d meant before… when she’d grown. His belief fed her. Which… kinda meant that him thinking they couldn’t possibly win a fight was a self fulfilling prophecy. 

Not quite sure if that was funny or worrying, Jason dismissed the thought and refocused. Some curse was still stalking his family after all, and probably him when he went back to the living world. 

“So if this Curse owns all the rogues… is he going to try and hurt the others?” He asked cautiously. Because if none of this was new, the Curse had been stalking them all since they put on the cowls. 

How many close calls… 

No. Jason hadn’t been in Gotham when Joker got him. He’d thought it was the arrogance of youth that had made him feel invulnerable in Gotham as a Robin, but now he knew there really had been hands hovering over him. 

Hands that hadn’t dropped him until he’d left the city. Half the world away and all alone, still sure he was invulnerable… right up until he wasn’t. 

He only realized his attention had been drifting when he snapped back, a large and achingly gentle thumb brushing his cheek. Now bigger than his head, still smelling of the smog of the city. 

Lady Gotham smiled gently, the dark bats in her eyes crinkling. 

“He is no danger to you,” she told him softly, focusing on the question that was asked. Not his wandering thoughts, though he got the feeling she knew anyway. 

Drawing back, she looked thoughtfully from him to Danny, taking another drag on her traffic cone, apparently thinking. Held the smogs in for a long moment, until she seemed to come to a conclusion and blew out a long stream. 

“The Curse makes the rogues; takes those already on the edge of something bad, and pushes them over. Turns the stagnation of despair into frantic, violent action. It is what he is, what he does… a lingering rot land deep, which feeds on the darkness and breeds more in the souls of Gotham’s inhabitants.” 

That definitely sounded like something dangerous to Jason, but who was he to interrupt Gotham herself? A sidelong glance made him wonder if she’d caught that thought too; just how well could she read him? 

She waved the smouldering traffic cone in his general direction, blanketing him in a wave of almost comforting black smog. 

“And yet, you notice, so few of the rogues seek to  permanently remove any of your heroes from the board?” 

Danny sucked in a sharp breath beside him, Jason’s heart clenched, but before either could protest, Lady Gotham gave a heavy sigh and inclined her head, smile slipping entirely for the first time. 

“The Joker is an unfortunate exception. There is… something worse there, deeper, darker, but I will explain later. For now, consider the others. So many who could, so many chances that they could have taken to kill each of you. I would not allow it, of course, yet even those who wish to see Batman permanently defeated rarely even try to end his life. It is not for no reason.” 

There was a true solemnity, almost pain in her face as she spoke of the Joker, eyes fixed on Jason and full of sorrow. Yet nothing in her aura, no push of regret-sadness or anything similar. Nothing to affect his own emotions, and Jason had the feeling that that was deliberate. 

As if she knew how much he hated being controlled, pushed around. Or she just… didn’t want to do that to him. It was tough to say, but he was also self aware enough to know he was puzzling that out rather than thinking much about her words. 

Of course the Joker was something worse than the fucking Curse of Gotham. Naturally. And y’know what else he was? 

Not Jason’s fucking problem right now. 

Lady Gotham had paused with him, waiting for his acknowledgment apparently, and Jason gave a stiff nod for her to continue. He’d asked the damn question. He needed to focus on the answer. 

A gentle incline of her head the only sign she’d seen anything at all, Lady Gotham continued. 

“The Curse will not harm your family, and nor do most of the rogues seek to actually remove you, because your family’s activities are integral to powering the Curse,” she said simply, and that snapped any fragments of Jason’s attention firmly back into place as he stiffened. 

Danny tensed beside him as well, still hanging back, but it was Jason who spoke. He didn’t need help on this one. 

“Wait, what? How the hell are we helping the Curse?!” He demanded, brows furrowing. 

If the Curse made the rogues by taking people on the edge and throwing them off, sure, that kinda made sense. Gotham had always been a cesspit of crime, but it used to be at least 85% less brightly spandex coloured before the Bat came along. 

Much as Jason didn’t think Bruce took his mission far enough, he could admit that at least the “normal” gang violence had died down significantly. For one thing, most of the old gangs had been driven out by the rogues, or absorbed by converts like Penguin and Black Mask. There wasn’t much space in Gotham these days for just run-of-the-mill crime. 

And Jason himself had gouged a chunk out of what was left, which he used to find extremely satisfying… but how would that help the Curse? Unless… the Curse had pushed that darkness in him…

Lady Gotham shook her head, that fond smile curling sadly at her lips as she reached down to gently tip his chin up with a massive finger. 

“No, my dear… you are not helping the Curse. He could no longer exist without you,” she explained softly, the dark and dusty smogs building heavily around them. Just seeing them made Jason’s throat itch… 

He clenched his jaw shut, focusing on her face instead. Waiting for that to make some fucking sense. 

Lady Gotham hummed thoughtfully, holding his chin a moment longer before releasing him, waving a hand vaguely through the smoggy air. 

“It is… contrast. There are no shadows without the light, no sweet without bitterness, no… no hope without despair. And no despair without hope.” She seemed pleased with the metaphor, bat signal eyes bright in suddenly building gloom. Which then fixed on him. 

“When people lose hope… when they give up on Gotham, accept the awfulness in their lives as mundane, it drains them of their will, their power to believe. If nothing fights the Curse, pushes back on the tides of corruption, then who’s to say there is a curse at all? Just mundane bad governance. Certainly nothing unique about that, in this world.” 

A hand cut through thick black clouds and Jason realized abruptly that he’d lost sight of everything but her eyes, shining in the darkness. And then the shadows spiralled in front of him, whipped by her fingers into a familiar black silhouette. 

“But the Bats… the birds, all of Gotham’s caped defenders? No other city in the world could fail to be safe under your constant attentions. No other city could take the stream of wealth and charity Bruce Wayne pours into it and be less than utopian. And yet Gotham remains, a far better city than the one you were born in, but still one of the most dangerous places to live in this country.” 

The shadowy bat began to glow, lined in a bright golden light, yet somehow it only made the surrounding shadows all the darker. It swished its cape, striking at invisible foes, and the clouds curled in around it. 

“What else but a curse could cause this? And what a powerful curse it must be, with a new vigilante showing every month, and still not a dent?” 

The blackness around them grew darker still, the bat’s glow suddenly seeming weak and fragile. Jason’s chest lurched, his heart screaming to reach out and catch the faltering figure, pull it close and keep it safe, but he stamped it down. 

It wasn’t Bruce in danger. It was just a light-show, a visual demonstration. And it sure as hell didn’t need his protection. 

And then a skewer of pure blackness plunged through its heart and the golden glow winked out, leaving them in pitch darkness. 

Jason’s heart clenched, a dread chill running down his spine and he spun around, searching for Lady Gotham and her searchlight eyes, but he couldn’t see anything. Not even Danny, who always glowed faintly in his ghost form. 

Still, her voice continued, completely calm and unshakeable. 

“If the symbol falls… if the Bat is broken, the Curse will gain a great deal of power for a day. Perhaps a generation. And then people will forget, and forget that they believed, and it will wane once again. A much worse loss, now that he knows the power he can have.” 

The billowing clouds of darkness pulled back and the glowing green of the Ghost Zone almost made Jason shield his eyes. They hadn’t moved, of course they hadn’t; Danny was still right beside him, his aura a heavy throb of new understanding-exasperated-mildly amuse.  

Which… well, yeah, now that he could breathe again Jason could admit it had all been pretty dramatic. If she was his first ghost, he’d have assumed it was just a Gotham thing, but Danny was also a dramatic little shit, so. 

Sucking in a deep breath, Jason blew it out slowly, calming the beating of his heart. Lady Gotham looked quite pleased with herself, still sat reclined a little ways away. 

It was one hell of a powerpoint, and he was pretty sure he’d got the gist of things. Not that it made any of this make sense, but it was pretty much what he’d expect from magic. 

“So… the Curse makes the rogues, to make people think the city is cursed, but it also wants to keep the vigilantes safe…” a phrase from an old book tugged at his mind, and Jason couldn’t resist a slight smile, “because you gain status by the quality of your enemies?” 

It startled a short laugh from Danny, quickly stifled as Lady Gotham beamed her approval. 

“In essence, yes. The struggle will be unending, because it must be, but we have come to… an understanding of late. Despair and death feed my Curse in the immediate sense, but when both are only to be expected… it’s a paltry meal. There is inevitability, even boredom, when it’s all despair all the time. So now the city has hope, and I prosper.” 

Lady Gotham preened, plumping up her perfectly round curls, the same self satisfied smile she’d had when mentioning how she had become the dominant spirit. Maybe the Curse hadn’t quite worked out just how much she got out of their little understanding too. Then she shrugged. 

“And the rogues have their little obsessions, their tricks and games, and sometimes there is despair and sometimes there is death. But what matters is that you are there to fight against it, to nobly win the battle…” 

“Even if we’ll never win the war,” Jason finished grimly, his mood souring. 

Wasn’t that what he’d always told Bruce? That his damn rules, his “No Killing” standard meant that everything else he did was pointless? That just locking people up in the bloody sieve that was Arkham was never going to change anything? 

Lady Gotham’s smile softened to something bittersweet and sad, and she nodded gently. 

“Gotham city will never know peace, Jason,” she told him gently, and suddenly she was smaller again, scant feet taller than him, and holding out a hand he’d be able to close his own around. “It will never be like any other city. But the only reason I stand at all is because people like you will look at this city, with its soot and its smuts and its people who have nowhere else to go, and decide that it is worth fighting for.” 

Those eyes were fixed on him again, black bats on yellow lights, and then suddenly… suddenly the irises were black, and the bats a familiar deep red. It might have been a blink; it might just have been that sharp moment of change. 

“There is one way that the war will end,” she told him softly, stepping closer through the void until he could have counted the pearls skittering across her dress, and every jet bead around them, if he could have looked away from her face. 

“On the day that those heroes turn away, that all else give up on Gotham and turn their backs. When no one stands against the tide of night and it is dragged down and away into the dark heart of the Cursed land beneath. It is only hope that stands in the way of that end, my Jason Todd… my Robin.” 

His brow furrowed and a fleeting smirk dashed across her lips, the faintest flicker of her gaze to Danny beside him, and Jason understood. It wasn’t Robin’s colours in her eyes, no matter what Damian had done to the suit. 

Her Red Hood. 

But she wouldn’t out him to Danny, not even now. 

His gaze fell to her hand again, suddenly bare and dark and open and nails that were a rich, bloody red. His blood, and Bruce’s, and every vigilante, and every citizen, and every rogue that stood, and fought, and died for her. Every life that was ruined or ended, all in this fight that could never be won, only lost. 

He met her gaze again, felt the red bat he’d emblazoned across his chest once more pierce his soul. 

Because… this was what it really meant, to wear the bat. Not just that he had forgiven Bruce, that they’d reconciled, that he’d rejoined the family. That he wasn’t going to kill unless he had to, and there was no other choice. 

No. 

He wore the bat because he wasn’t just the Red Hood, a name he’d stolen from the damn clown and carved across the city in blood until people only thought of him when they said it. He wasn’t the crime lord who’d filled a bag with the heads of his rivals’ best lieutenants, took Crime Alley in a bloody fist, and was just another gang leader. Just a bigger, scarier, nastier guy than the people who’d wanted that alley before to strip mine its people and poison its kids. 

And sure, being that guy had worked. It kept the worse gangs out. Kept his street kids fed and occupied, and mostly out of jail. Did what all of Bruce’s crusade had never managed to do; he’d cleaned up Crime Alley. 

And it hadn’t been enough. 

Hadn’t made anyone feel safe; not when all they had was Red Hood’s whim that kept them from going right back to the mess they’d been left in. 

The Alley was different too, this last year. He’d always tried, as Hood and Jason. Wanted people to come together, build a community, to feel safe in their home and protect it. 

To feel like someone finally, actually cared about them. That someone cared about Crime Alley for its people, not what they could take from them. That they would be defended. 

And people had played along, back before he took the bat. They’d come out, cleaned up the street, fixed up some store fronts and made careful conversation, because that was what you did when the man with the big guns said he wanted you to play nice.

And they’d been wary, cautious, watching the Hood like he’d snap at any second no matter what Jay told them. And he’d known they were just… humouring him. Didn’t believe in it. And he’d thought the only way to get them to see was to keep going, keep giving back until they realized he really meant it all.

He’d patrolled since the first day he’d come back, but it had been the day he’d gone out in his modified uniform, the red bat on his chest, that things finally changed. 

His working girls and boys didn’t straighten up when he approached. The street kids didn’t run when his shadow passed overhead. People looked up into the night and they smiled, thanked him, reached out to the gang and left little red bat signs in their windows. 

With the red helmet and black body armour, he’d been just another thug to fear. And oh, he’d fucking hated it at first, turned his vision to sickly green that all this acceptance only came with B’s goddamn bat on his chest. 

When the kids tagged it on walls, dumpsters, taunting threats at the edge of their territory to every other gang in Gotham, they finally had a bat-approved protector. 

Never enough that he’d taken the bat off, though, and now he could see what all those little signs really said. 

“We have a protector too.” 

“Someone will find justice for us.” 

And, his personal favourite (love those little Alley bastards), “Our bat’s bigger than yours.” 

Bruce had put the shape on the symbol when he became the night and wanted to drive fear into the hearts of criminals instead of the ordinary citizens, but it wasn’t really his. It was Superman’s S, the symbol of the House of El, the symbol of Lady Gotham turned to something humans could see. 

The symbol of a protector, a guardian, and uniquely Gotham’s own. 

It was all there, in those red on black eyes, in that soft, knowing smile. 

“Have you ever backed down from a fight just because you knew you couldn’t win, Jason Todd?” She asked softly, so softly, and he had to smile back. 

She’d known him since the day he was born, and there was only one thing he could say to that.  

He took her hand. 

“Never.” 

——————

LISTEN Y’ALL I HAVE BEEN HOLDING THIS LADY GOTHAM REVEAL SO CLOSE TO THE CHEST.

HER DRESS. HER HAIR. HER GODDAMN TRAFFIC CONE! Anyway she’s wonderful and she’s perfect and she will be back next chapter too, but fuck knows when that will be, so! Hopefully a little less time than this last one, but We Shall See.

This chappy will go up on AO3 tomorrow, I usually try and do same day but I gotta be up early Yet Again and I still…. Haven’t done replies on the last one, so 😅

Wish me luck for the next chapter, I have SO MANY things planned and the outline is just sizzling and we are finally out of introductions territory and it’ll be time for the Plot! Ah, my beloved plot, which will hopefully pick up and speed things along a little more in-fic timewise…

Next Chapter:

Tag List: @welcometosasakiworld @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf f @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake e @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish h @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof f @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 9 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778 @why-must-i-be-like-this s @tkiesai @greenpyrowolf @frivolous-pastel @honeysuckletook @adorkable1291

[xdacted]

Of Strangers and Rain Delays

Paring: Reader x Lance Stroll

Warnings: slight angst, fluff, meet-cute, pure fluff, first-meetings

Word Count: 2,383

Status: Complete

___________________

With another crack of thunder, Lance spares a glance at the wide window paneling of the Montreal airport. The skies are so dark it’s nearly black, thick clouds hanging over the runways, raindrops smacking against the pavement. The wind billows on, threatening to lift the tarmac that lines small carts zipping across the barely visible rows of lights, emitting a weak hue consumed by the onslaught of rain. 

He can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

Somehow, he knew this would happen. 

From the moment he’d received word that their private airfield was closed, to the moment that his team was ushered to a quiet, empty terminal. He knew that the rain would keep him stranded in Canada. He had no real reason to worry, when Aston Martin constructed his travel plans, they always did so with the weather in mind. 

He looked over at his P.R. manager. She sat across from him, her legs crossed over one another, staring down at a tablet. The glow of the screen cast a shadow over her concerned face, moving when her fingers worried at the skin of her lips. 

“Something the matter, Charlotte?”

She flicked her eyes up at him, “Nothing that isn’t already my job, Lance.”

He snorts. 

There were very few people who would have the backbone to speak to him so freely. It wasn’t that Lance thought of himself as above them, but the world seemed hellbent on making it so that was all anyone ever said. What they said to him couldn’t be worse than what he had said to himself. 

There was a reason why he pushed himself into the car, forcing his freshly broken wrists to work just as hard as they had before. Everyone was watching him, everyone was judging him. He could feel their eyes, burning right through him. It stung. 

But he was used to it. 

From the very moment he’d gotten his seat, it was all Lance has ever heard. 

Just a rich kid running with daddy’s money. That’s all he was to them. 

Lance looked back down at her phone, a lump suddenly in his throat, “Did they say how long we’re going to be here?”

“I’m not sure,” She looked over to her left, her assistant - Mary - hunched over a computer, “Did they say?”

“We won’t have the clear for hours,” Mary muttered, her heavy bangs falling into her eyes, “Sorry.”

“‘S okay,” He clicked his phone off, pushing it into his pocket. 

“Think I’ll go walk around,” He began to stand, catching the way that Charolette’s eyes widened, “ You can’t expect me to sit like this for hours.”

She let out a heavy sigh. 

“Lance -”

He knows. He knows what it is. 

“I won’t be far,” He tries to offer her a smile, “I’ll get you something to drink, you want something, right?”

She hesitated, she knew that he was aware. Regardless of what people liked to say, Lance wasn’t an idiot. 

“I do,” She puts her hands over her tablet, leaning back in her chair, “Diet Coke, please?”

“You got it.”

_________

He can’t shake the look on Charolette’s face. It circles his mind as he walks down the long stretch of the airport hallway. The walls are painted a soothing tan, with bright lights overhead. He reaches over to skim his fingers along the dips within the paint. 

It isn’t until he approaches the end of the hallway that he begins to hear chatter. It grows louder as he gets closer, and eventually, he’s standing right in the middle of the bustling terminals. He had no idea that they’d managed to hide him so well. 

It wasn’t like he was Charles or anything, he didn’t have fans clamoring over themselves just to see him, but there were certainly weirdos. It had been a while since he’d seen one, surprised that he would’ve been allowed to go this far without seeing one of Aston Martain’s staff rounding the corner with him. 

He shrugs it away. 

People are much too preoccupied with themselves to notice him. He can hear people shouting at flight attendants from across the wide space, bags thrown around the floor. So much rain wasn’t typical for this time of year, but Mother Nature was simply an unstoppable force. 

It isn’t before long that he spots a small cart of drinks with a bright orange umbrella in the air. He sidesteps people, offering small, ‘excuse me’s. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, not after last weekend. 

He wasn’t the most popular of drivers at the moment. 

Charlotte tried to hide his phone from him after the race, saying he needed to focus on recovery. Lance saw right through her and refused to leave without it. With a slight quiver in her lip, she pressed it into his palm. 

“Don’t look,” She said, her hand tight around his, “It won’t do you any good, Lance.”

“What haven’t I already heard, Charlotte,” He slipped his hand away from hers, stuffing his phone into his pocket. He would have plenty of time to look on the plane home. 

He did. 

Lance scrolled on Instagram and Twitter, trying to bite back the anger that rose from within him again. That video - that stupid video - of him with Henry. The camera shook as he just left the frame, only the sight of his green racing suit racing out. There was the rattle of the large toolbox beside him, and the movement of Henry’s body. 

Shit.

It was everywhere. 

And so were the comments. 

They called him spoiled, a monster, a cheater, a loser - everything under the sun was thrown at him, and he just kept scrolling. 

Reading word after word, until his eyes began to burn. Lance deserved worse than this. He was a professional, Henry was his trainer, and he shoved him. 

Like a dick. 

Lance sucks in a deep breath when he gets to the cart, surprised to see no line. He digs into his pocket, “I’ll take a Diet Coke and two waters, please.”

The cashier nods along, ringing him up with a polite smile. He reads Lance his total, opening a plastic bag to place the drinks in, “Thank you, have a good day, sir.”

“Thanks,” Lance mutters, reaching for the bag, “You too.”

As he turns to walk away, he notices a kid, no older than 9 or 10, running around with an Aston Martin sweatshirt on. The green is bright against the dull furnishings of the airport. Lance can’t fight the smile that makes its way on his face or the embarrassment that begins to bloom in his gut. 

The seats scattered around the terminals are packed, filled to the brim with stranded passengers. Pieces of luggage are scattered about the floor, little kids jump over them in an attempt to entertain themselves, people are engaged in rapid conversation, and some are slumped over the small armrests, asleep. 

It was nice, to fade into the background. 

He loved the fans, but Lance has always been a quiet person. His personal time is sacred, his downtime is sacred. He had his obligations on race weekends, signing hats and shirts blindly, but here, he was just a guy trying to get drinks.

He turns back towards the exit, the walkway seems to get more crowded. Lance lets out a sigh before he can stop himself. If he goes now, he’ll be discovered. 

Fuck. 

Looking around him, there are no spaces not taken by bodies. He tries to round a corner, keeping the bag tight to his chest. 

He spots an empty seat, well, one without a human in it. 

 It’s only a few steps away from him, he’s there before he can turn around. 

There’s a girl, headphones around her head, hoodie pulled over them. Her glasses reflect the screen of her laptop, positioned on her crossed legs. She’s invested in something, a hand cupping her chin. 

Lance debates walking away, but she notices him before he can. 

She looks up at him, pulling one of the slides of her headphones back, eyes widening slightly.  

“Yes?”

“Sorry,” He says, jostling the bag in his hand, “Is someone sitting there?”

She looks over, and immediately reaches to grab her backpack, “No, no, sorry.”

He waves a dismissive hand at her, “It’s ok.”

He settles beside her, sliding down in the seat. The noise of the space fills his head, he doesn’t have to think any thoughts of his own. Minutes tick by, the bag resting against his legs. His phone buzzes. 

Charlotte.

“Where did you go?”

“I just needed a break, sorry.”

The three bubbles dance across the bottom of his screen before disappearing and reappearing. 

“It’s ok. Come back when you’re ready, kid.”

He smiles. The lump in his throat back again. Lance knows that he’s made her job harder, he knows that as she scrolls on that tablet of hers she is trying to manage the damage he’s caused. She has been nothing but supportive, a guiding hand during interviews, and he does nothing but make her life harder. 

He sighs. 

Lance tries to forget himself. He takes in the room once more, eyes trailing over the streaks of rain, over the fluorescent lights, the people. He tries to forget the last race week. He looks over at the girl beside him, catching sight of her screen. 

It’s a movie, he’s unsure if he’s seen before. The two characters on screen stalk around each other, weapons at the ready, blood dripping down their temple. Looks intense. 

He begins to pull his gaze away when he catches sight of shimmering Formula One helmet stickers. The glossy sticker glitters in the light, dark forest green mimicking the design of his helmet, with ‘Stroll 18’ written beneath it in bolded letters. His isn't the only one there, Max and Fernando among the few, but it’s the only one he cares to see. 

When he looks back at her, she already staring at him. 

There’s clear embarrassment across her face, a dark blush across her cheeks. 

She pulls her headphones off as she begins to speak, “I - I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable -”

“It’s okay,” He stops her before she can continue, a smirk pulling at his features, “You didn’t know I was going to be here.”

A beat of silence passes before he adds, “Or did you?”

She gapes at him, “Of course not! That’s so weird. Don’t even joke like that.”

“Sorry,” He mutters, trying to hide his smile with his hand. 

“No, you’re not,” She lets out a small giggle, and Lance can’t help but want to hear it again. 

With her hood pulled down, he can see her more clearly. She’s beautiful. 

The lines of her face, the curve of her lips, the slope of her nose. Even with her face glowing, her smile is all he can see.

“You’re right,” He shrugs, tucking his arms into his sides, “I’m not.”

“That’s rude,” She’s quick to answer back, movie paused. 

“I’ve been told I’m rude,” The words slip from him. 

The look on her face changes, the slight drop of her lips. She just stares at him, but it doesn’t burn. 

“Maybe you are,” She says finally, looking down at the ground before back up to him, “Doesn’t mean you’re a bad guy.”

Her words pierce him. 

The lump in his throat is thicker than before, he nearly feels like he’s choking on it. It means more than she could ever know, a stranger’s opinion. He doesn’t even know her name. He wonders for a second if she can hear his heart pounding, ears burning. 

“Thanks,” He forces out.

“‘Course,” She smiles. 

It feels like the sun on Lance’s skin.  

“Are - Are you a fan?” He tries to change the subject.

“Yeah,” She mutters pulling her laptop to her chest, “Sorry about the - the stickers…”

“It’s ok,” He laughs, trying to rub away the tightness in his chest, “It’s nice to meet a fan.”

She smiles, picking at the sleeves of her sweater, “Well, I never thought I’d be able to meet any driver.”

“Why’s that?”

She looks at him and rolls her eyes, “Are you kidding? The cost of a grand prix is more than I make in a month.”

She fixes herself on the seat, tucking her leg around the chair, “Can’t afford it.”

He hums. 

There’s a certain guilt that builds up within him. There was always that saying, ‘Cash is King.’ He has known so many talented drivers forced to leave the sport because it demanded more than they had. The prices got far too high and the rewards were far too little. He knows more than most give him credit for that he’s privileged, his father’s money has allowed him to fail more than some ever get the chance to. 

“So then,” he continues, “Where are you headed to?”

“Mr. Stroll,” She stares up at him through her glasses, “Do you know that you’re not supposed to share that information with strangers?”

The laugh that is pulled from him is far louder than he means for it to be. It draws the annoyed glances of a few people around them, but it makes him double over. She laughs too, failing to smother it with her hand. 

It isn’t funny, but it’s perfect. 

“So you get to know everything about me, but I know nothing about you?”

“You’re famous,” She mutters, pressing a hand to her chest, “I’m just a fan.”

Lance shrugs. He didn’t want her to be just a fan, but maybe that’s just the rain talking.

“Still. I think it’s only fair,” She opens her mouth but Lance adds, “And anyway, I’m just a guy.”

Her mouth clicks shut. She stares at him again for a second, that same look returning to her eyes. It’s almost as if she can see right through him, but he doesn't mind. 

“Then,” She puts her hand out, “How about this…”

She introduces herself, telling him her name before saying, “It’s nice to meet you, stranger.”

Lance looks down at her waiting hand. Her smile is dazzling. It’s bright against the dark murkiness of the rain, it balances him. 

Lance breathes out. 

“I’m Lance, nice to meet you too, stranger.”

_________________________

A/N:This work has been cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name XDACTED. Thank you for reading and feel free to request fics about any of the drivers <3

I also feel the need to remind some people that these are FICTITIOUS pls remember that

[aayakashii]

So I was thinking abt Yuri’s theory abt pacts and most humans being allergic to demonic particles causing them to die. If his speculation is correct then doesn’t that mean people planning on making pacts could try using immunotherapy?

Sooo just imagine. A few months pass and there’s still no hint of her curse being cured. MC doesn’t want to jump the gun but she wants to have a back up plan of her own instead of just trusting the institute to cure her curse, so she starts considering making a pact. She doesn’t wanna risk just happening to be one of the few that aren’t allergic to demonic particles (it’s not like her lucks all that great after all) so she seeks a ghoul who has a blood type that is compatible with hers (or she just has AB+ blood so she can accept any blood) and is just trying to not seem suspicious as she awkwardly asks if they’ll let her take their blood samples for months until the last week (or earlier depending on wether she even knows how to find a demon to make a pact with) before her year limit is up so she can build resistance. Whether she tells them her true or intentions or not tho may depend on the person.

Like I can just imagine that she’s type O (O- if you wanna give her less options) so she’s forced to ask Tohma, Ren, or Taiga who also have type O blood.

Or having to ask Leo or Romeo for whatever reason and you can only convince them by:

A) Giving them a reason they’d believe and care enough about

B) Telling the truth

C) Doing their bidding

Or

D) A combination of C and another one

It also makes me wonder how Yuri would respond. I’m guessing he would know why without having to question you for long since he is the one that told you about his hypothesis. Now whether he would initially refuses cuz he knows he can find a cure or he agrees right away to prove his conjecture is the question.

Sorry for rambling I know this is long 😭

I think it’s a pretty cool idea though, thx for reading it!

PLEASE I LOVE LONG ASKS LIKE THESE, KEEP SHARING IDEAS WITH ME!!!!!

That's actually such a good theory, too! I honestly think MC could be honest with almost all the ghouls, except Kaito and Luca. They would most definitely be 100% against the idea of her making a pact. Maybe Alan and Haru too, since they have a protective streak on them that would probably make them very against the idea. So maybe she would have to hide her intentions from these guys. But the rest could pretty much be aware of her goal. Some would be more resistant, but then they could just shrug and think "ah whatever it's worth a shot ig 🤷"

It would still force her into a bind, though 💀 it's not like Leo or Romeo would just accept it without getting something from it. But I don't think they would be against her using their blood like that. They would call her crazy for sure, but they would hardly stop her. It's not like they care about the poor girl all that much 😭

I think Yuri would be very conflicted. In one hand, he is adamant that he can cure the curse. But in the other, this would be the perfect way to prove his theory. He doesn't seem like a person who creates a plan B for any of his scientific endeavors, but maybe because it plays into something very important to him, he could accept it.

Although I wonder if he ever tried using his own blood to search for the specific antibodies in order to check whether or not his theory is valid.

Oh, but he would definitely need demon antigens to see which antibodies latch on them, and getting that must be very hard (I don't think Darkwick has a demon sample at all). yeah nevermind, immunotherapy for a probable allergy is the only option 💀

I wonder what types of adverse effects she would have to face though! Like, since she'd be building immunity, her body would be working overtime to fend off those antigens. How would that appear in her body? Would she get high fevers, vomiting, weakness, and other cold-like symptoms, like when we take a flu vaccine?

The thing is, she would need to start the therapy right away, so she can have at least those last 10 months of intense treatment. The mermaid guy did it for only a few weeks I think and it went horribly wrong 💀

But all in all, that's such a good theory! I love how they're pushing a medical pov through Yuri! It kinda gives me war flashbacks because I immediately think of work but that's okay dkjdsjdjd

[sequinsmile-x]

Tougher than the Rest

Aaron volunteers to chaperone his daughter's field trip to the zoo. He's handled serial killers and terrorists, he can handle a bunch of first graders for one day...right?

-x-

Hi friends!

This is a birthday fic for lovely, incomparable @jetaime-jespere . You are such a light in my life and I am always so grateful that this fandom brought me you.

I hope you've had a day as lovely as you, and that you enjoy this <3

-x-

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: None. so very fluffy you should probably floss afterwards

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily yawns as she waits for the coffee machine to brew, her eyes fixed on the drip as if she could will it to go faster. 

“Still not getting any sleep, huh?”

She groans, not even turning to look at JJ as she appears next to her in the kitchenette, her hip resting against the counter. 

“No,” Emily grumbles, casting a glance at her friend before she looks at the coffee machine again, “Benny hates sleep all of a sudden,” she fights another yawn, “It feels like this is karma for him being such an easy newborn.”

She’d almost let herself forget about the two-year sleep regression. It felt like a lifetime ago when Violet was that small, the six-year-old now fiercely independent and sure of herself in a way Aaron always said was all her, and memories of her being that small, as dependant as her little brother was, felt faint. Out of reach in a way that made her ache for the days when her babies were still babies. 

Then Benjamin just stopped sleeping. He was exhausted, overtired and furious, unaware that doing the one thing he was fighting would make him feel better. She’d spent the last several nights pacing his bedroom with him in her arms, her lips against his forehead as she slowly, but surely, soothed him to sleep for a few hours until they went through it all again. Aaron offered to take it in shifts, to carry the load equally as they always had, but she’d refused. Benjamin was all about her, the last remnants of separation anxiety she knew she’d one day miss making him impossibly more fussy if Aaron went in to calm him down. It was easier for everyone to do it herself, but she was exhausted - relying on coffee and the knowledge this would only last a few weeks. 

She jumps into action the moment the coffee machine beeps and she pulls it out to pour herself a cup, only remembering her friend is next to her when she clears her throat. She smiles apologetically at JJ before she pours a cup for her too.

“At least he’s cute, right?” JJ says, a knowing smile on her face as Emily chuckles and nods, throwing an extra Splenda in her coffee than usual for good measure. 

“I said that to him at about 2 am,” she says, sipping her coffee and sighing contentedly, “And then again at 5.” 

JJ laughs, but she’s cut off as Aaron walks over to the kitchenette, already talking to his wife before he pours some coffee, “I spoke to Cruz and moved the budget meeting to next week, so I’m good to go to the zoo tomorrow.” 

“The zoo?” JJ asks curiously.

“It’s Vi’s school trip to the zoo tomorrow,” Emily replies, “They asked for parent volunteers.” 

JJ hums, her lips pressed together as she nods and looks back at Aaron, “And you’re going?” 

“Yes,” he says, his eyebrows furrowing slightly, “Why?” 

“No reason,” JJ replies, clearing her throat to hide a laugh, “Will went on Henry’s trip a couple of weeks ago and he had…fun.” 

Emily knew that was far from the truth. JJ had explained, in detail, how Will had come home from the trip a shell of himself. Exhausted and worn down by a group of kids he swore he could handle, his eyes wide as he told his wife about everything that had happened in the few short hours he was in the zoo. 

Emily loved her husband. He was an amazing man, an incredible father and he was excellent at his job. But he was wildly underprepared for what he was about to walk into. 

He’d never ended up needing to go to any of Jack’s trips as a chaperone. They’d always fallen at a time when he wasn’t around, a case falling at just the wrong time, or other parents simply volunteered first. It was part of why he’d made a point of clearing his schedule for Violet’s trip, a sense of guilt he could never quite shift for not doing the same for his eldest driving him to insist that he’d go this year. 

“I really don’t mind going, honey,” Emily says, trying once again to gently talk him out of it, something she’d tried countless times over the last week or so, “I went last year and it was fine.” She hears JJ barely cover a laugh next to her, her face half covered by her coffee cup, and Emily elbows her, “It was mostly fine.” 

The kids had been a little more out of control than she’d anticipated when she’d volunteered on last year’s school trip, but once she knew what she was dealing with she had it down. It helped that Violet was glued to her side, a little more shy than she was now, still finding her feet at school at the end of her kindergarten year. She was wilder now. More rambunctious. And, according to her 1st grade teacher, always at the centre of whatever mischief was going on in her classroom. 

Emily had a feeling that this year's trip would be more to deal with, and something told her that their little girl would be right in the middle of it all. 

“Em,” Aaron says, picking up his coffee, “It’s a bunch of 1st graders. I’ve interrogated serial killers and negotiated with terrorists,” he starts to walk away, throwing the rest of his sentence over his shoulder, “I can handle it.” 

JJ leans in close the moment he’s out of earshot, speaking low as if they were conspiring, “They are going to eat him alive.” 

Emily hums and nods, lifting her cup of coffee from the counter, “Yes they are.” 

___

Almost immediately a kid drops their water bottle into a pond. 

It’s a boy he’s met a couple of times, a kid called Theo who Violet talked about sometimes after school. Theo bursts into tears the moment he realises his water bottle is missing and Aaron ends up buying him a new, overpriced one from the gift shop, to cheer him up. One of the other parents looks at him like he’s insane and he realises then and there that he’s in way over his head. 

The kids are everywhere. Barely paying attention to what the teachers and other chaperones are saying, and more than once he witnesses Violet whispering to her friends, a sparkle in her eye she’d inherited from Emily, that only ever meant trouble. She smiles widely when she feeds her snack to one of the goats in the petting zoo, her laugh so full of joy and delight as the goat tickles her palm that he can’t even bring himself to chastise her. 

He’s just setting down all of the lunchboxes he’d been carrying, his agreement to carry Violet’s and then Theo’s leading to him carrying half of the classes, when he feels a tiny hand tugging at his sleeve. 

“Daddy,” Violet says, looking up at him through wide eyes, “I need the bathroom.” 

He smiles at her, tugging at one of her braids to straighten it out, frowning in confusion as he pulls a leaf out of it and drops it to the floor, “Okay, Vi. I’ll ask Miss Heather to take-”

“No, Daddy,” she exclaims, sinking into his side, her arms wrapped tight around his arm, “I want you to take me.” 

“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll take you,” he says, looking over his shoulder and making sure he’s got the attention of one of the other dads before he heads off so the children he’d been looking after are still being supervised. They are barely a few feet away when he hears a voice from behind him, one of the moms who Emily always insisted had a crush on him, catching up with him and Violet, a group of little girls around her including her daughter Cora.

“We have a few more for the restroom break,” she says, her smile wide as she places his hand on her arm, “I’ll come with you to help.” 

“Thanks, Melissa,” he says, subtly stepping away so her hand slips away from him. He looks down at Violet and smiles, “Come on, Vi. The sooner we go to the bathroom the sooner you can have the lunch Mommy packed for you.” 

“Mommy makes the best lunches!” She exclaims, a skip in her step as she pulls him forward, her endless energy in no way dulled by the long day and the summer heat. 

He hums, covering a smile as he thinks of the candy Emily had hidden underneath Violet’s sandwich, “She really does.” 

“Your wife couldn’t make it today?” Melissa asks, shepherding the gaggle of girls in front of her, the chatter between them full of excitement.

“No, Emily had work,” he replies, “Plus, our youngest is having some trouble sleeping right now and she’s his favourite by a mile.” 

“Benny can’t help that he isn’t sleeping,” Violet chimes in, repeating what they’d said to her and Jack over and over again the last few days, “He’s too small to understand.” 

“Exactly, princess,” he says, smiling as he squeezes her hand. They make it to the restroom and he lets go, stepping forward to push the door open, “I’ll clear the restroom.”

Melissa frowns at him, her eyebrows pinched together curiously, “Why?” 

He suddenly remembers where he is, at a zoo and not at a crime scene where an unsub could jump out of any shadow. He clears his throat and holds the door open, his arm high up enough that all the girls can walk right under it, “Sorry. Force of habit.” 

She smiles, stepping closer as the door closes behind the girls, “Of course, you’re a federal agent.” 

He nods and takes a step back, the back of his neck warm from more than just the sun beating down on it, and he realises that his wife may have been right about Melissa having a crush on him.

“Yes,” he replies, “As is my wife.” 

The conversation abruptly ends when Violet walks out, “Miss Melissa, Cora dropped her Nintendo down the toilet.” 

Melissa sighs and shakes her head as she disappears into the bathroom, muttering as she goes, “I told her not to bring it with her.” 

Aaron feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and he digs it out, smiling at the sight of a text from his wife as he types out a response. 

How is it going? 

It’s fine sweetheart. Vi fed one of her snacks to a goat. 

He knows his wife well enough to know when he gets home she’ll see the exhaustion written all over him. That she wouldn’t say I told you so, but that it would be written all over her face, her smile wide as she sympathetically listened about his day. She responds so quickly he doesn’t even have time to lock his phone.

Just make sure she doesn’t try to bring home a snake this year. 

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead, a laugh catching in his throat, but before he can type out a response Violet is tugging at his belt loop to get his attention. 

“Daddy? Do cats like lizards?” 

“I don’t know, Princess,” he replies, not looking at her as he types out a response to Emily, “Why?” 

“Because I found one and I thought Sergio might like a friend.” 

He cricks his neck he looks up so quickly, his eyes wide as he looks at the tiny gecko his daughter was inexplicably holding. He sighs and tucks his phone back into his pocket, silently wishing the last few hours of the trip away. 

She is all you sweetheart.

___

To his credit, Aaron holds it together until the kids are in bed. 

He looks exhausted the moment he gets home, his hair ruffled and his black polo shirt somehow stained. It’s a startling contrast to Violet who was practically bouncing off the walls after the fun day she’d had. 

When she sneaks downstairs after putting Benjamin to bed, for what she knows will only be the first time that evening, she finds Aaron lying on the couch, his legs hanging over one of the arms as he stares up at the ceiling. She presses her lips together as she approaches, suppressing a smile she’s sure might split her cheeks open if it gets any wider, and she leans on the back of the couch.

“You okay, honey?” 

He hums, “There were so many of them.” 

She coughs to cover a laugh and rounds the couch, encouraging him to lift his head just enough for her to slip under it. She immediately runs her fingers through his hair as soon as his head is in her lap. 

“Tell me all about those mean 1st graders,” she says, unable to stop herself from laughing when he glares half-heartedly at the fake sympathy in her voice. 

“They just move so fast,” he says, leaning into her touch, “And they don’t listen.” 

She hums and reaches for his hand, linking them together on his abdomen, “It’s chaos,” she says, pressing her thumb into the crease between his eyebrows, “It makes you respect the teachers even more, huh?” 

He chuckles and nods, “Give me interrogating a serial killer any day,” he says, “I think Vi is some kind of ringleader by the way.”

“Oh, she for sure is,” Emily chuckles, “Let’s just hope she uses those skills to be a CEO or something and not a leader of a prison gang.” 

He smiles and lifts their joint hands to his lips, stamping a kiss against her knuckles, “She’d be a great gang leader.” 

She scratches his scalp, “Want to try to get an episode of that reality show you pretend to hate in before Benny wakes up?” 

He nods, kissing her knuckles again, “I’m not moving though,” he says, winking up at her from her lap “This is my favourite place to relax.” 

She rolls her eyes at him and briefly untangles her hand from his hair to reach for the remote, “You’re lucky you’re cute.” 

He hums, “I don’t think you’re the only one who thinks that.” 

“What do you mean?” She asks idly as she flicks through the programmes they’d recorded. 

If he wasn’t so tired, if he didn’t feel so entirely wrung out, he never would have said it, his wife’s jealous streak well known when it came to the other moms at school. When she was pregnant with Benjamin she’d practically mounted him to make a point at one of Jack’s soccer games when she thought a few of the moms were flirting with him. But he’s relaxed, lulled into it by her touch and her warmth, and the safety of their home.

“Melissa was definitely trying to flirt with me earlier. I shut it down though. Told her my wife is a federal agent.”

There’s a beat of silence, a moment of quiet, before she reacts, clearly having only listened to the first part of what he’d said. 

“She was what?” 

-x-

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[anitabighug]

❥ A Perfect Experiment : Wally x Reader (She/Her Pronouns, Named) ✿

Chapter Masterpost: [  ♡   ♡    ♡ ]

Chapter Five; Can’t Help Falling in Love ( A/N: This chapter has a lot of music involved with it! If you’d like to listen along, click the [♫] SONG NAME - ARTIST as you see them! ) ●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● The four of you arrive in the square, and go your separate ways. Barnaby, who had carried Wally limply under his arm all the way over for some reason, dragged the boy over to the snack table to start the party up straight away. Howdy had his work cut out for him, that was for sure. You and Poppy scooch over to an empty table, and are quickly met by Julie, hiding her intentions with another pot of flowers that she sets up next to your record player. “Did you bring the goods, Buttercup?” She asks in a hushed tone, pupils darting from side to side. “Buttercup?” You raise your eyebrow, and Poppy pulls the cable out of your hand to start plugging things in. “Its your code name!!! I thought of ‘em myself. You’re Buttercup, Poppy is Pigeon, Sally,” She points across the field where Sally is, running an extension cord from Home to plug in the lights, “Is Honey, and I’m the Captain!” She shoves a thumb against her chest proudly. “Why do we need code names?” You settle into one of the folding chairs, and rest your head on your hands, peering up Julie. Your eyebrow remains cocked. “Every successful mission has code names. Scientific fact.” Julie waggled her eyebrows at you oh-so charmingly. Well, you can’t argue with that logic. You lift the record up from its resting spot, and Julie squeals, grabbing it from your hands and spinning. “There he is!!! The King Himself! This is going to be PERFECT!” She hands it back to you, bouncing up and down vigorously. Elvis’ face gives you a suave smile from the record sleeve where he rests, and you nod. Excellent choice. “Now!! Here's the plan.” Julie slaps a crudely drawn crayon map onto the table, pulling the two of you in close… ●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● Julie’s plan had you DJing the event, to wait for her signal. This was more than fine with you, you loved your record collection and were beyond psyched to show it off. Besides, you could dance just as well from the comfort and privacy of your chair. The sun had just set, and with a nod and a flourish, Frank had lit his project ablaze. It turned out to be an intricate bonfire, and it lit up the clearing beautifully, well worth his hard work. The beats from your speakers bounced around your neighbours, their booties shaking wildly. Phase one; Lull them into a false sense of security. It takes a boatload of willpower to keep the malicious smile off of your face. Something about this secret agent mission thrilled you, though you would never admit it. You’d gone home earlier briefly to change into something more party-appropriate, as had everyone else, it seemed. Your party outfit was based on extensive testing and focus groups, discussed amongst groups of experts, and had 100% chance of making you look ‘Just cute as a button!’ according to the top expert, Julie. By ‘extensive testing’, you of course mean that it won third place in the fashion show that you, Julie and Sally had put on in the comfort of your home. You’d claim nepotism, but the way the girls had looked at each other, it was obvious that they’d already tied long before you’d even moved to Home. The dress itself was pastel pink, some sort of pleather, tighter than you’d like, with a tall white collar and no sleeves. What it lacked in sleeves though, it made up for in a big poofy skirt, pink with a white underskirt as well. You paired it with a white belt, a pair of go-go boots that Julie had gifted you, and a bow sitting off to the side of your short hair, feathered back for the occasion. Just perfect, you concluded, and perfectly matched to your classy, fashionable friends!!! Sally’s outfit was out of this world. She had glitzy striped pants with frills going down the side, and the poofiest blouse you’d ever seen. Next to her, dragging Frank on to the dance floor, was Julie. She was absolutely dolled up, taking every advantage that this party gave her. You didn’t think her hair could get bigger before, but seeing it curled up into a beehive proved you wrong. No amount of science would be able to figure out how she got it to stay in place with all that crazy dancing. Frank had barely changed up his own outfit, merely opting to swap out his dress shirt with one with shorter sleeves for the heat, and leaving his bowtie at home– you weren’t sure what you preferred! You watched as Julie popped his collar, causing the two girls to start to giggle madly. Poppy’s usual shawl had been switched with one made of a beautiful lace, and the pearl necklace she’d included added that touch of grace and maturity you expected from her. Howdy had a short-sleeved dress shirt on, burgundy with little white flowers on it, and you had to admit he looked so charming with his hair slicked back like that. Barnaby might’ve been your favourite of all of them, you took one look at the vest he was wearing and wheezed out a laugh. It was the EXACT same as his usual vest, but with layered frills for days. It was probably to match Wally’s outfit, an expertly starched white dress shirt, and striped pants with the same layered frills on the ends of the legs. They looked adorable apart, but together it was almost too much for you! That left Eddie Dear, who had apparently only left to finish his evening rounds for the mail, returning a little shocked to find that everyone else had dressed up so fancy. Julie had a solution, however, discarding his cap and bag and setting a flower crown on his head. He looked absolutely delighted by it. [♫] Jailhouse Rock - Elvis Presley “Well don’t you just look cute as a button,” You almost couldn’t hear Wally’s suave tones over the music, but the compliment made you light up. “Th-thank you, Mr. Darling!!! I was a little worried I’d never get the chance to wear something like this,” You admitted with a laugh. He settled in next to you, and set a plate of snacks down beside the record player, “Ha ha ha. Who would’ve thought a little spit and polish would make everyone so happy?” He wondered aloud, “I thought you could use some company. You looked awfully lonely over here.” “Who could be lonely when they’ve got the king around?” You ask with a cheery laugh before lifting and taking a bite of one of the sandwiches he’d brought, following it with an appreciative ‘Mmm!’. Wally started looking around, checking behind your chair and frantically checking behind the two of you. It takes a few moments before you realise he’s looking for the King, and you nearly choke on your bite when it comes to you.

You manage to swallow it, and reach over, lifting up the record sleeve and pointing at the picture on the cover. Realisation floods the puppet’s face, followed swiftly by a blush across his cheeks. How cute… You hand him the sleeve to examine further, returning your attention to the sandwich he’d so kindly brought for you. Wally checks the sleeve over thoroughly, making sure that this ‘king’ wasn’t some strange intruder he had to be wary of. When he was satisfied of the lack of sentience, he finally took a good look at Elvis himself. He sure had excellent taste in hair, that was for sure. It was weird, though… Why was there a big lipgloss mark on The King’s cheek? You seemed to be so protective of your record collection… He felt a weird feeling shoot through his heart, and shoved it along with the record sleeve away, turning his focus on the rainbow monster that had scurried to the tableside. “Are you ready for phase two, Buttercup?” She asked, slamming a hand on to the table. The record skipped, and it only took one sour look from you to get her to apologise, giving the record player a gentle pat. “Ready and waiting, Captain!” You give her a lazy salute, and are given a determined nod from her before she hurries back to her station. You hear another monotone laugh from beside you, and peer back towards Wally. “Buttercup?” “... Its my code name,” Your cheeks feel red hot, and you reach up instinctively to cover them. He laughs again, and you swear you hear him mumble ‘Adorable.’... But that just can’t be right. Ugh, you can’t afford to be distracted now, no matter how sweet his compliments were!!! You take in a deep breath, and take note of where everyone is on the dance floor. It was time for phase two. Group one had Honey and the Captain herding the target to the center of the dance floor; distracting him with hijinks and pranks and lightening his usual dour mood. They were right on track, and you make a mental note to compliment them on their excellent espionage. Group two was doing even better! Pigeon had lured the bait into the perfect spot, the two of them bounding to the beat almost next to the bonfire, and Howdy gave you a nod from where he stood, ready to swoop in. “Just.. A second… More…” You mumble to yourself, your trigger happy hand sitting above the needle. You’d know where to move on the record even if you were blind and deaf; the trap was only the most beautiful song that the King had made, and you’d get this to go off without a hitch. You’d promised her, after all. Wally squints at you, and only just manages to start asking you what on earth you’re up to when you see it; the signal. Frank’s back is turned to you, and Julie gives you a spastic wave. Not the most subtle, but y’know, it worked. The record scratches. The music stops. Everyone stops dead in their tracks. The Bait and the Target look around with concerned expressions, and Howdy dives from his hiding spot. [♫] Can’t help falling in love - Elvis Presley The music starts back up. The piano is soft. Dancers pair up as if it was planned– even though it totally wasn’t, you swear. Sally grabs Julie, squeezing her girlfriend close and leaving Frank floundering. Poppy is scooped by Howdy in a very, very subtle move that leaves Eddie flushed. You’re on the edge of your seat, squeezing the tablecloth anxiously in your hands. Eddie seems to realise whats happened first, and with a nervous laugh, he turns to Frank, offering a hand. But… Frank hesitates. Your heart stops, and without thinking, you’re gripping Wally’s shirt and sinking back in your chair. Oh, you didn’t think of this happening. What if he blows it? What if he gets mad? Oh, you can’t watch. But you also can’t look away. You feel Wally’s other hand rest on your head, not petting or rubbing, but just resting. Even that kind gesture couldn’t pull you from this train wreck. “OOPS!” Julie to the rescue! She shoves Frank hard with her hip, the puppet stumbling forwards into Eddie’s arms. Yes!! The whole neighbourhood watches with baited breath. Eddie laughs heartily, and takes that as a yes, starting to move backwards to get Frank back on his feet, and leading him in the dance. You can’t contain your excited wiggle. Yes! Mission accomplished!! Julie and Sally each shoot you a wink, and you give them two big thumbs up. Wally is practically in stitches next to you, and wipes a tear from his eye,

“Is this what her big plan was?” He asked, peering over at you quizzically. You laugh, and nod in response. Wally scooches his chair closer to listen as you explain the plan quietly to him. You lean a little closer to him, your arms brushing against each other as you watch the fruits of your labour. The two of them look to be having a serious conversation under their breaths, both with blush tinged cheeks, and tiny smiles across their faces. Absolutely flawless. You take in a deep, calming breath. Wally smells like apples, naturally, along with distinct undertones of… licorice? Haha, weird. It suits him, strangely enough. You wonder briefly what you smell like. Probably latex gloves? How disappointing. You wish that there was a nice smell that late nights at the observatory could give you, aside from graphite and notebook pages. “Weird,” You mumble under your breath, eliciting a questioning noise from Wally. “Oh. Well, the lights can make it hard to see the stars, but… Ah, it must be a new moon. Silly me.” Wally stiffens next to you, but you don’t have time to question it before you’re scooped up unwillingly into another puppets arms. [♫] A Big Hunk O’ Love - Elvis Presley “C’mere, you!” Barnaby sets you gingerly on one of his arms, lifting you out to the dance floor and the giggles erupt from you, no matter how hard you’re trying to hold them back with the nervous hands over your face. “You didn’t think you’d get to just sit there all night, did’ja??? Time to boogie!” His laugh was deep and you could feel it through his arm, him not even bothering to put you down before he started shaking his booty to the new song. You can’t! It’d be too embarrassing! You can’t see them, but there are definitely eyes on you. No… Noooo! The boogie, alas, was too infectious for your weak heart, and you felt the wiggles overtake you in Barnaby’s arms. Your shoulder dance seems to be the secret key to him putting you down, and he gives you courage in the form of a hand held and a big grin on his face. Can’t say no to that face, or the king’s bouncy tones, for very long at all. Before you realise what's happening, you’re swinging to the music, and the idea of embarrassing yourself has floated somewhere into the upper atmosphere. Maybe you’d find that fear again one night while stargazing, floating through the stars where no one can hear it. ●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● Wally relaxes through the next few songs, leaning back in his folding chair and taking the occasional unseen bite from the remaining sandwich on the plate. Barnaby was right, of course, he was going to be sore in the morning. Maybe for a few mornings after that, too. Something about the reckless abandon with which you took to the dance floor, though… He couldn’t take his eyes off it for more than a moment. You look so, SO unbelievably silly. Like you’d practiced these spastic wiggles a million times before. He leaned forwards, setting his head dreamily in his hands. Ha ha ha… Was that an air guitar he saw? “Absolutely… Adorable.” He drolls, and his brain takes a quick halt. Adorable. It wasn’t the first time he’d said this about you, not even tonight. And it's not like he didn’t compliment his other friends… A pang shook through his chest, and he clutched the front of his shirt… No, something about this was different… And something about your questioning gaze earlier… This was oh, so dangerous for him. So why hadn’t he stopped you yet? There were countless ways, methods he’d used before, methods he’d use again… Maybe you just needed… More distraction. Right; that was the problem. Well, that much he could do without arousing too much suspicion. He unbuttoned his top button, and smoothed his perfect hair, and stood up. If there was one thing Wally Darling could do, it was dance. With a pop of his collar, he strode on, ready to show these kids a thing or two. ●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● [♫] Devil in Disguise - Elvis Presley You’d been tossed between a few eager partners at this point, including but not limited to: A dance with Julie in which you’d mostly just shook your hair, a brief exchange with Eddie Dear, who’d thanked you under his breath while staring across at a certain someone, and a wild dance with Poppy who shook her feathers in ways you hadn’t even imagined before. This latest one was graced with Howdy, and you’d made a comment about how you needed to run an experiment to see if your hypothesis was correct; more limbs DEFINITELY made for more fun in a dance partner! You had him almost completely hysterical when something stole his attention away. Apparently it was someone cutting in, and you’re shocked when one of your arms is pulled upwards, giving you a spin and a dip. Wally Darling grins down at you, and you melt in an instant. Whoa. He gives one of his slow, droning laughs and pulls you back up, leading you with both of your arms now, swaying you quickly back and forth with the bouncing melody. It was as if he was shaped perfectly by the gods to swing it to Elvis. He switches from a slower portion of the song, swaying back and forth with you, to effortlessly spinning you out and then back in, your hand landing smack dab in the middle of his chest. You felt like your brain was going to pop. He lands the finishing blow perfectly, and as the song ends, he bonks his forehead against your own, staring in to your eyes briefly before stepping back. He pats you on the shoulder and moves on to his next victim; leaving you standing there as if nothing had ever happened. Your hands fly up to hide your red hot face. Uuuugh! You deserve a good sit down after that. (A/N: I was asked to tag @elegantkidfansoul with the update! If you’d also like to be tagged, feel free to let me know! ^v^ This update was a little long, but it was so fun to write eeee!!!)

[tinyinvadr]

Psychonauts brainrot is in full force! I finished the first game recently and I’m probably gonna start the second one tonight! So, here’s a new fic, (with an OC this time, ooh) let’s see if I finish it lol

Psychoborrower

Prologue

Psychics. Seemingly ordinary people with extraordinary powers, hidden in plain sight. Masters of the mind. You’d think they’d be regarded with only the highest of respect.

But instead, they’re shunned. Cast away. Treated like freaks and monsters for their gifts. It’s the kind of treatment that fosters resentment. Rage. Hatred.

The only way to truly make it is to earn a place in the ranks among the Psychonauts. But even then, only a select few can achieve that. Those who fail are forced back into their everyday lives, where they will have to hide who they truly are, or risk facing an even worse fate.

Though, they’re still better off than me.

At least they have a world to go back to, even if it’s cold and unwelcoming. They still have options open to them, they can still attempt to find happiness in a mundane, ordinary life. Because at the end of the day, psychics are human.

Except for me.

My name is Flint, and as far as I know, I’m the only borrower with psychic powers. To be honest, I have no idea how rare that actually is, since borrowers typically don’t see each other on a regular basis. I can only assume it’s not common, considering how my parents reacted when they found out.

I was only five years old, and they were… horrified.

I had no idea I was different. I just assumed everyone could levitate. But when they walked in on me floating in my room… I’ll never forget the look in their eyes.

The fear and shame directed towards me by my own parents was enough to break my concentration, and I fell flat on my face.

For some time, I stopped using my powers. After all, it was a “bad, dangerous thing”, as Dad described it. But there were some things I just couldn’t help.

I could read minds. And not just my parents, our human hosts too. They had a kid around my age who was also psychic, although they were a lot more supportive of her. They actively helped her learn to control her powers, and didn’t even get mad when she accidentally broke stuff.

Every day, I would watch and listen as she progressed, wishing it was me. But as time went on, I became a rebellious little nine year-old. I started copying her from my place within the walls, always making sure to stay hidden. And I’ve gotta say, I got pretty good all things considered.

Then, one day, the time came for my training to pay off.

Mom and I were out in the garden, collecting fresh vegetables. She had her back turned, but I saw the rabbit just in time.

The beady-eyed demon charged at us. We were in its territory, and it did not intend to share. Thinking fast, I knocked it back with a psychic blast. Stunned and startled, the beast ran away.

In those few short seconds, I felt like a hero. But then, I turned to Mom, and saw that same look in her eyes that almost turned me off from my powers for good.

“Flint… what have you done?”

I got grounded that night, and I was enraged. I saved her, why was she mad at me?

It wasn’t until the next morning that I learned the reason.

Apparently, I hit the rabbit harder than I thought, and it took severe psychic damage. Not enough to kill it, but enough to leave it in an unconscious state. So when the humans went into the garden and found the rabbit, they immediately knew it was knocked out by a psychic blast. And since their daughter was at school the day before, they knew that there had to be another psychic in the area.

I alerted them of my existence. Of our existence. If they found us, it would’ve been my fault.

Mom and Dad started packing up to move right away. We couldn’t stick around long after that incident. But the entire time, I couldn’t help but think that this wouldn’t solve the problem. Even if we moved to a new house, that wouldn’t stop me from being psychic. My only options were to suppress my true nature, or to continue to put my family at risk.

As the last of our belongings were packed, and the school year came to an end, I overheard more from the humans. They were sending their daughter to a psychic summer camp. It was a place for kids to train, to connect with others, and eventually, have the potential to become Psychonauts.

So much of what I’d heard from their thoughts about the Psychonauts intrigued me. They were psychics who went on daring and dangerous missions to save the world from all sorts of threats. They could astral project themselves into the psyches of anyone, and fight their inner demons head-on. And in the mental world, the possibilities are endless. If I could just access it, I wouldn’t have to be a weak, scared little borrower kid anymore. I could be whoever I wanted to be.

And that… was my only chance at redemption.

I felt bad leaving my parents so abruptly, but I knew they would try to stop me if I told them where I was going. It would hurt, but I’d come back as a Psychonaut, proving that my powers truly are good for something, and that borrowers have a place in this world.

With that goal in mind, I stowed away in the girl’s luggage, and I was off to Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp.

It took a few tries to get my astral projection right, but soon enough, I was able to present myself in the mental world at human size. The counselors and the other campers had no clue I was any different.

Of course, the staff did question me. I appeared out of nowhere, seemed to have no family they could get in contact with, and refused to show myself in the physical world.

I told them I’m a master of invisibility, and I take that title very seriously. Coach Oleander and Agent Nein just shrugged it off as me being a weird kid, though Agent Vodello was still very concerned about my lack of parents.

By the end of the first summer, they all gave up on trying to figure me out and just accepted that I was living at the camp with the intention of training there full-time.

Despite all the risks and doubts that I had, going to camp really was my best possible option. I was no longer a danger to my family, and I was on my way to becoming a Psychonaut. It was sure to be a long road ahead. I was so young, and still had a lot to learn.

After a few years, it really felt like I was getting close. I had a reputation around camp as the top student. Serious. Driven. Someone you should aspire to be. I could sense that my chance was right within my reach. I was almost 13, surely they’d have to let me join the Psychonauts soon.

But that summer had other plans. I found myself involved with an insane scheme, and as much as I hate to admit it, I probably wouldn’t have gotten out of it without help from a human kid with goggles.

[kokinu09]

Let Go of the Reins || Chapter 7

pairing seungmin x fem!reader

genre strangers to lovers, romance, fluff, slight angst later, happy ending, social media, not meant to be, someday

summary Australia is considered home for two of the eight members. When two tour dates are scheduled for the land down under, the boys can’t help but want to spend a bit more time there to visit family and do a little sightseeing. So how do they convince the company that they need to stay a couple weeks? Filming some SKZ Code episodes.

A local riding school just outside the city with amazing reviews for their skilled instructors and beautiful horses is hosting a very popular kpop group to film their experiences. Y/N knows the group well and she just so happens to be their star working student.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

previous | masterlist | next

~*~

You and Liv got to the venue early like Seungmin requested, about 2 hours to be exact. If it hadn’t been for the two of you having to get a few things done at the ranch that morning, you probably would’ve been there even sooner. The excitement for the concert causing your body to basically vibrate with anticipation, a permanent smile plastered on your face even as you lugged the massive buckets of feed around the barn in the wee hours of the day.

So far, the experience has been incredible. The STAY that you’ve met are some of the sweetest people; chatting with you and Liv while waiting in concession lines or for merch, complimenting your outfits to no end, and even offering you little freebies for no reason other than the mutual love of Stray Kids.

Every time the most common question in the entire K-pop community is asked, “Who’s your bias?”, you find a certain member's name falling from your lips. The answer should be the same as it’s always been. Bang Chan. You’ve been an unwavering Chan stan for as long as you’ve been listening to Stray Kids. But lately, it seems you’ve had a change of heart.

“So~,” Liv sing-songs and you already know the teasing is about to begin, “your new bias is Seungmin, huh?” Her eyebrows wiggle as you two walk away from another group of friendly STAYs.

“I don’t know why you’re surprised,” you say with a roll of your eyes.

“Oh, I’m not~!” She chirps. “I think it’s super cute!”

“Yeah, and I’m sure Han would be offended that you’ve switched rappers on him.”

“Hey! I told everyone Han is still my bias!” Liv argued with her full chest. Hand fisted on her hips and all.

“Riiight, then shouldn’t that freebie be HanQuokka instead of Dwaekki?” You say, pointing out the little SKZOO inspired pin the talented STAY had just gifted her.

“I—!” She cuts off her own protest, cheeks puffed out in a pout as she crosses her arms. “Maybe Changbin is being a bit of a wrecker lately….” She mumbles with a pink blush spreading across her nose. You do your best to hide your snicker at her expense.

The two of you walk around for a few more minutes but the longer you’re there, the more anxious you’re becoming about these mystery seats that Seungmin has promised. So you decide to make your way to the staircase to meet up with your escort.

When the stairs finally come into sight, you notice a large, like huge, security guard standing just off to the side of it. He’s dressed in all black and a black pair of shades over his eyes, even though he’s inside.

You want to laugh but he is definitely too scary looking to laugh at.

“Think that’s our guy?” Olivia leans in to ask in a hushed tone.

“I’d say so.” You reply, leading the way toward Mr. Scary-Security-Guard.

He seems to be looking for something (or someone) with the way his head is on a swivel until he spots you two approaching. It’s hard not to gulp as you realize how mountainous of a man this guy really is when you get closer. He looks like he could take on the entire stadium if it came down to it.

Was it really necessary for Seungmin to send this guy to walk them to some seats? Did he think they’d get mugged by some STAY along the way? Unlikely.

But you put on a nervous smile anyway and ask, “This is going to sound stupid but…are you here to show us to our seats…?”

The man is stone cold, the firm set of his mouth doesn’t budge even a centimeter. “Are you Y/N?” He asks in a (very intimidating) deep, baritone voice.

“Y-yeah! And this is Liv!” You say, quickly looping your arm with hers so you’re not in the center of attention. He nods his head at the introduction then extends his arm in the direction along the side of the stairs.

“This way ladies.” He says before leading them as they get to walking.

His threatening demeanor alone clears the path for them, everyone content with avoiding getting in his way. The eyes of passersby follow you in curiosity, wondering who you might be to deserve such an escort. You keep your head down and urge your feet to go one foot in front of the other.

All the way until he brought you to an ‘Authorized Personnel Only’ door. You and Liv both stop when he opens it. And he looks back at the two of you expectantly. You glance over at your friend and catch her eying you too. But you decide to trust Seungmin’s word about better seats and continue to follow Mr. Big-and-Grumpy.

The sounds of the three of your footsteps echo around the concrete walls of the service hallway they are now making their way down. You were starting to think there really was something to Seungmin’s suspiciously vague messages.

“So, um, where exactly are we going?” You ask hesitantly.

Your question is met with silence for a long minute. You’re sure he’s not going to answer but then he says, “It was requested that I bring you to meet with the band before escorting you to your actual seats.”

While your mouth drops open in surprise, Liv beside you squeals. “Really?! No way! This is totally awesome!” She cheers, bouncing with each step and tugging on your arm in excitement.

The shock of it slowly wears off and a smile forms on your face instead. An excitement of your own warming your heart and causing the butterflies in your stomach to start fluttering. Seungmin really did make sure he’d get to see you for the show.

The two of you have a pep in your step now, following a little closer behind your escort. No longer fearful of his wrath knowing the guys were expecting you.

“What’s your name, Big Guy?” Liv boldly asks eventually.

After another pause, you wonder if he’s being careful of what he says to you two. But this time he responds quicker. “Smitty.”

“Cool name,” Liv says under her breath.

“It’s nice to meet you, Smitty,” you opt to reply instead.

“Mhm,” he grunts and then another patch of silence falls between you three. You think it will stay that way but then he speaks up again.

“Are you dating,” it barely sounds like a question. And you’re so confused by it that your face scrunches and twists in the most unattractive way.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you dating him,” he clarifies, still not sounding like he’s asking.

“Dating who?” You press, earning a frustrated sigh.

“Seungmin. The one who specifically asked me, their personal security, to bring you to them safely. Are you dating him.”

“No! No, no, I’m not. He wouldn’t—” You were abruptly cut off by your best friend.

“Girl, I’m gonna stop you right there ‘cause yes he would.” Liv says, giving you a seriously nasty glare that you’d be afraid of if you didn’t know her as well as you do. Then she straightens up to address Smitty again. “And what’s it to you anyways? Why would you possibly care who either of them date?”

Her attitude seems to strike a nerve as he stops, you almost bump into his back but thankfully you don’t. He turns to face you and gives Olivia a side eye from overtop the rim of his sunglasses.

“I only ask because I have been working security for these kids for over 2 years for their tours and never once has any of them even remotely done something like this for a girl.” He explains, not looking angry but maybe a bit worried. “He’s a good kid with a big heart. If you’re only in it for the money or the clout, please, just enjoy this concert and part ways with him. He doesn’t deserve to be strung along and hurt like that.”

“Wha—? I would never use him! I bought tickets on my own! I never asked him to bump me into better ones or even to arrange this meet-and-greet!” You’re quick to defend yourself, taking a deep breath to calm down. “I know you’re only saying this because you care, but I intend to stay his friend, or whatever he wants me to be, for as long as he’ll have me. If anyone’s going to get hurt, it’ll be me.”

Your eyes burn with angry tears as you glare up at him. Angry that anyone would take advantage of the guys like that. Angry that people like to act like they know you and make assumptions. Angry that you just spilled your heart out to this stupid security guard and now you feel raw.

Liv’s hand is gentle when it lands on your shoulder, a soft and watery smile on her face when you turn away from Smitty to look at her. And she quickly wraps you in a hug, knowing how big it was for you to admit your feelings out loud like that.

When you hear the man clearing his throat, your attention is drawn back to him. Though your hard eyes and deep frown have returned to your features. He starts to chuckle, which should have pissed you off but it didn’t.

“You’ve got spunk girls.” He says through his laughter, taking a moment to recompose but a smirk still remaining. “And you seem genuine, so I’ll believe you.”

Your shoulders relax, a tension you didn’t even realize you were carrying leaving your body as if getting this man’s approval meant you could get anyone’s. He turns to continue in the direction you all were originally heading but glances over his shoulder at you. “Let’s keep moving. I don’t really wanna lose my job for keeping your boyfriend waiting.” Now he’s teasing you?!

“He’s not my boyfriend!” You groan, earning a giggle from Liv as you follow along anyway.

Willing to give up the argument if it means seeing him a little bit sooner.

~*~

taglist

@kangaracha @rainfallingfromthesky @puppysmileseungmin @defnotfertilizedtoesw @teenyfinds

@bbokari711 @lakoya @chlodavids @rylea08

@keepswingin

[sariahsue]

Let Me Count the Ways

Chapter Nine - The Softest Chapter Ever

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8]

Days turned into weeks, and Chat Noir's list of Ladybug's odd behaviors continued to grow. She hugged him, asked for his opinions, smiled at him for no reason, complimented him, and let slip small details about herself. She stuttered, tripped, and generally acted jumpy.

And she also joined him on his solo patrols. Not that he was complaining.

He jumped to a lamppost, which flickered when he landed, the street beneath him disappearing into the night and then reappearing. "Don't you have homework?" he asked her. That was the reason for solo patrols, so they could each have time to do other things but still make their presence felt in the city.

"No." She would keep pace with him as he leapt from roof to roof, trailing behind him and letting him do all the work of checking alleyways and staying alert, but always close enough to talk and willing to help if he needed it.

"Well, don't you want to hang out with your friends or something?" He asked her these questions every time she showed up, which was so often that it was practically routine now. She always told him no.

"Why do you think I'm here?" she asked, landing next to him and giving him a playful shove. "You're my friend. I miss you when you're not around." She slid down the rest of the roof and did a backflip off the edge.

See? he told himself. We're just friends. Stop thinking like this. 

Ladybug was just being friendly. She probably missed all her friends. And joked around with them. It seemed like something she would do. To her friends.

(Trying to convince himself that she gave all her friends flower crowns didn't go over so well. Jealousy rippled through his stomach whenever he thought of her hands running through other people's hair.)

"Chat! Come look at this!"

He followed her path down the roof, slipping over the edge, to find her crouching over a cardboard box in the alleyway below.

"They're so tiny," she cooed. She reached into the box and pulled out a calico kitten that squirmed and mewed but didn't open its eyes.

The other kittens were in a wriggling pile in the corner of the box, and Ladybug gently placed the calico back with its brothers and sisters and gently stroked its head between the ears.

"We should probably get them to a shelter," he said, placing his upturned hand in the bottom of the box. Another one with a mostly black face swiveled its head toward his fingers, one eye cracked open. "They're probably only a week old. It's too cold out here for them."

He inched his fingers closer and waited until the kitten reached out and licked his fingertip.

"You're so gentle with them," Ladybug whispered.

"Huh?" He looked up to see her smiling warmly.

"You're very gentle," she repeated, then shrugged. "It's nice."

He ducked his head, like he could hide the blush her words caused. The light from the street was dim there in the alley. Maybe she couldn't see it.

Their line of work was very rough-and-tumble, and his part had always been brawn-over-brains. He hadn't realized his softer side would have been important to her. His father never seemed to value it.

A few minutes later he stood in the lobby of an animal hospital, handing over a damp cardboard box to a waiting vet tech. "The box isn't very strong," he warned, holding it from the bottom and not letting go until he felt the man take the weight.

The vet on duty was chatting excitedly with Ladybug, asking if they could come back later for a photo op with the kittens and (probably) asking for her autograph. After a few minutes of small talk and a few more coos and pets for the kittens, Chat Noir found himself facing his Lady on the roof of the hospital, saying goodnight.

He wasn't sure how it happened. He thought she might have started it. Tonight, for the first time, saying goodnight included a long hug. Sure, they'd hugged before, but only when one of them had been really upset. Never just because.

Was she upset? Had he missed signs of distress from his partner?

Ladybug stepped deeper into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder, her forehead against the exposed skin of his neck. Her palms were flat against his back, gently holding him to her as he held her, too.

Chat Noir stopped wondering what was wrong when her thumb started stroking a soft, small line up and down his spine.

It had been a long, long time since someone had hugged him just because, and Chat Noir found himself swallowing down an unexpected lump in his throat. It was too perfect.

Carefully, he cradled the back of her head, imagining he could feel her hair through his gloves. "You're wonderful," he murmured. "Just thought you should know."

Ladybug pulled back, just far enough for him to see her shy smile. "Right back at you."

His response was a quick, sweet peck on her forehead. It felt like an appropriate and friendly thing to do. Just right for the moment.

It also must have been the correct thing to do.

Because when he opened his eyes, Ladybug was beaming at him.

---

@clawsout83 @trippingovermyfeet @tbehartoo @yoonjae20 @random-cartoon-fangirl

[cricket-reader]

Selfless

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox

Summary: Steve gets captured and meets another captive. His captors want something from them, but Steve won’t allow it to happen. Ensue: torture.

Warnings: language, torture, kidnapping

Word Count: 1355

Prompt: "You don't want to do that." | Collapse | Locked Door | Fear

A/N: Day 1 of June of Doom by @juneofdoom

Adrenaline raced in Steve’s veins as he slammed against the cell door. He didn’t know where he was when he woke up and he didn’t want to stay to find out.

The door was locked and there were no other means of escape. The only thing in the room was a dinky little toilet, a barely functioning sink, and a bunk bed.

Even with all his might, the door didn’t seem to budge.

“Doing that won’t get you outta here, y’know,” a voice warned him as he was gearing up for another hit. Startled, Steve whipped his body to face the source of the sound. It had come from the bed. But that would be preposterous. He would have known if there was someone else in the room… right?

“Who are you?”

“Your worst nightmare,” the voice replied. Laughter followed soon after. “You should have seen your face! Oh, I’ve always wanted to do that.”

Furrowing his brows and thinning his lips, he huffed out a breath. “Come out,” he ordered, tone as stiff as his body.

“I’m pansexual, phew what a relief to get that off my chest.”

Anger simmered in his chest. Just who was this and why the hell was she making a joke out of this situation?

“Fine, fine, Captain Grumpypants,” the voice grumbled. “Y’know when I used to watch those detention videos I always thought you might be at least a little fun.”

A small woman climbed down from the top bunk. She was wearing a flimsy dress that he didn’t do its best job at hiding her features.

“And… just how old are you?”

“Hmm, getting to the important questions, aren’t we, Captain?”

“Just answer me.”

“Fine, I’m eighteen.”

“And what are you doing here?”

“The same as you: wanting to get out of this hellhole.”

“Do… do you know where we are?”

“No idea, but whatever they are planning, I hope it’ll end soon.” Her gaze drifted towards the ceiling then landed back on him. He seemed more tall and muscular in person. And had he not been kidnapped, she would be delighted to see him. She dreamed that maybe one day the Avengers would come save her, but she never thought that this is how she’d meet one of the world’s heroes.

“How does one manage to kidnap Captain America anyways? That’s the question I’ve been wondering since they all but dragged you in here.” She absentmindedly wondered.

“I… I’m not sure…” he trailed off. “I have a question of my own.”

“Shoot.”

“I understand why they’d want to take me, but why you?”

She frowned. “I take offence to that.”

Steve sighed, brushing a hand through his hair. “You weren’t supposed to.”

“Let’s just say you aren’t the only special one here,” she coyly responded.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She groaned. “Must you always be so serious? Relax a little.”

“It’s kinda hard to do that when I’m locked in a strange room with a person I don’t even know the name of.”

“Nyx.”

“Excuse me?”

“My name, it’s Nyx. Like the goddess.”

“Right.” Silence, then, fell over them once again.

Steve couldn’t help thinking about all the possibilities of how this could pan out. What could they possibly want from them? Who even were “they”.

They both jolted when a crackling voice sounded over a speaker of some sort. “How wonderful that you’ve both been acquainted now.”

Steve clenched his fists, his brows tightly furrowed as he looked at the ceiling. Glancing at Nyx, he noticed that this must have been a common occurrence.

“We brought you two here for a very special reason. Nyx already knows her purpose, don’t you, my dark angel?”

A pang metaphorically hit him in the chest. Just when he thought he could trust her. Angry eyes look over to see the woman. Steve expected her to be smiling cruelly or something along those lines, but when his gaze met hers, she was trembling a hand placed over her mouth as she gasped. Tears were forming in her eyes and she was doing her best to make herself small as she backed away from him.

Furrowing his brows, Steve looked back up at the ceiling where the voice continued, “Our plan is to have an army. An army of enhanced supersoldiers.” Steve’s eyes widened. No. They couldn’t possibly- “I see you’ve caught on, Captain Rogers.”

Gritting his teeth, he swallowed the bile that has raised to his throat. What they were asking him to do was wrong. It was disgusting and horrible in every single way. He could never and would never…

“You don’t have much of a choice, Captain.”

“I’ll never do what you want, you disgusting—“

Pain erupted through his body like fire spreading through his veins. Gritting his teeth, he strengthened his resolve. He’d rather die of electrocution than make a mere child do whatever that sick twisted man wanted.

“Change your mind, Captain?” the voice taunted.

“Never.”

The pain only increased. He couldn’t help but yelp in pain. Tears were forming in his eyes, but he did his best to keep them at bay. He looked at Nyx who at this point was sobbing. He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but he was sure it came off as more of a grimace than anything.

The man asked him once again if he had a change of heart to which Steve replied with no.

This time, Steve was relieved to not have that burning sensation return. It was short lived, however, when he heard the cry from Nyx. Eyes wide, panting heavily, Steve yelled at them to stop hurting her. She was barely an adult—practically a child. She had her whole life ahead of her. She didn’t deserve any of this.

“Please! Stop! Hurt me instead! I’ll do anything, please just stop hurting her!” Steve cried out, banging on the door to try and find a way for them to escape. He knew it was futile, but he didn’t care. He had to get them out to safety.

“Anything?” The voice was condescending and Steve knew he chose the wrong wording. “Put a child in her.”

Nyx, who had just stopped screaming since the electrocution stopped, whimpered, backing further away from her hero. She didn’t know what he would do. Sure, he was supposed to be the good guy. But this was different. There was no red monster, there was no alien invasion, there was no murder-robot. It was just him and her alone in a room.

“I will never hurt you,” Steve promised, not stepping any closer to the frightened girl. He didn’t want to make her any more scared than she already was.

“Oh, but Captain, you already are.”

Her body jolted again, cries of agony spilling past her lips. It felt like a knife had been plunged into his heart. Her screams only further twisted it in. This was his fault. He closed his watery eyes, silently praying to any god above that would listen. He could feel the warm tears dripping down his cheeks. His heart had suffered no greater pain than this, he was sure.

“Oh, Captain, always so selfless. You just want to help her don’t you? Maybe we can teach you how to help.”

The door burst open and Steve’s first thought was to get them outta there. The man must have seen it coming, for he electrocuted Steve, effectively making him fall to his knees. “Ah, ah, ah! You don’t want to do that,” the voice chided him.

The pain was unbearable until he heard Nyx call out his name. Never had he heard someone sound so desperate —so scared. Looking up, he saw the man that had entered had grabbed her. Pain forgotten, he pushed himself off the ground.

He fought each and every one of them off her body, making sure to pummel them into the concrete floor.

He reached out a hand to Nyx, pulling her off the ground. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

She nodded her head as she let go of his hand. She could see the blur of Steve walking away from her before she collapsed onto the cold, hard ground.