#also does richard count as a blanket

[deepperplexity]

Prompt: 22. Lights And Strings [C7]

Pairing: Turpin x Fem!Wife!Reader

POV: Second, Reader

Setting: Turpin’s house

Continuation of: Prompt 4. Sharing, 6. Out Of Care, 13. Shimmering Icicles, 15. Cards And Coals, 17. Bells Of Christmas & 18. Blankets And Snuggles

A/N: It’s the last part of the Turpin serial for this Rickmas, darlings! 🥰👏 It’s currently 07:58 over here when I finish writing this and I’m going to be publishing it right away - it does take some time getting it up on AO3 and Tumblr but I have a packed day so figured I’d kick it off on the right foot while my husband drops off our daughter for her last day at preschool for the year 🥰

This is shorter, like I said yesterday I won’t have the time to write long fics for the last three prompts unless I turn manic and stay up until like 2 am 😂 I hope you’ll like this sweet ending though. After all, HEA was promised and now we are also at the end of Rickmas so these last three need to represent having reached our destination and survived another year I guess 😅👍

Tags/TW’s: Kissing, Embracing, Love, Care, Adoration, Possessive Feelings, Honesty, Changing for SO, Mentions Rough Smut And Proper Aftercare, All The Giddy Feels, Being Self-aware

Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name

Word Count: 1.2k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

It had been four days since that faithful day of cataclysmic change between you and your husband — your caring, sweet, depraved man of a husband. Waking up alone felt strange, he usually woke you up for a kiss before work nowadays but today you woke up alone.

Stretching in bed, you yawned and felt some kinks straighten out in your back from last night’s odd position. He’d had you bent backwards over the edge of the bed while he delighted in eating you out for several long moments before he decided to claim you while groaning depravities for all in the house to hear. I cannot believe I enjoy such things being said to me— No, no it’s only when he says such things. All other men can go to hell for saying such things to women. Double standard or not, I won’t stand for men treating women like that without their consent.

You giggled at yourself, and your strange thoughts, and kicked your legs under the cover while thinking of all the sweetness he poured over you after everything was said and done. Each time, and he never left you alone in bed afterward either. He always cuddled and held you close, you absolutely loved it — the contrast between the rough lovemaking and the soft aftercare he lavished upon you. You¨d picked up his teaching swiftly, after all, it wasn’t a difficult thing to do when he was such a good leader. You didn’t have to think, only feel.

“Where are you now?” You asked aloud while throwing on your robe and slipping your feet into some warm slippers. “Guess I shall go for a little hunt of my own,” you said with a smile and left the bedroom to find your husband. What you found when you reached the stairs was something else entirely though.

The railing was dressed in garlands and red strings of silk, every surface you could see while you walked downstairs was covered in decorations. Everything you had put up and then taken down was back — not where you’d put them of course, but they were back. There was Christmas everywhere you looked, the smell of freshly baked cookies filled the air along with sulphur and you couldn’t stop the wide smile spreading your lips.

You rushed the rest of the way down, nearly bolting toward the office while you tried to take in the fact your home was covered in holiday cheer. You threw open the door, “Richard—” But he wasn’t there. “Where are you?” you asked yourself before turning back, heading toward the parlour. Perhaps you’d find him lounging with a book there.

You found him standing before the roaring fire, a cup of coffee in his large hand and his body dressed in all red. Wine red to be precise, with black detailing and silken details — like his ascot pinned with a gleaming jade pin. He was an absolute vision, yet his eyes were fixed firmly on you while they came to live as swirling grey storms.

“Love,” he said darkly, his eyes travelling along your entire form before reaching your eyes once more. You felt incredibly underdressed compared to him. “Richard,” you replied and walked toward him with fluttering butterflies in your stomach. “What is all this?” you asked while he sat his cup down and reached out to embrace you. “Merry Christmas, love,” he said and kissed the top of your head before tugging you even closer and kissing you deeply for a few seconds before he straightened. “M-Merry Christmas,” you replied and felt no shame about inhaling his scent as if you were dependent on it. His deep chuckle warmed your very bones while he gave you a squeeze before letting you go — only holding your hands.

“You hate Christmas,” you whispered while your eyes travelled all around. The many candles lit, the garlands and silken strings, and the holly and little porcelain decorations all craved your attention. “But I love you,” he replied while grasping your chin to turn your attention back to him. “So I shall endure and make sure that smile of yours keeps shining, love.” “Oh, Richard, sweet husband of mine,” you said gently, appreciation evident in your voice. He chuckled. “Sweet, hm? For you, only.” “Just how I want it,” you confessed. You were too possessive of the man not to feel giddy about being his one and only, his exception, his little wife whom he called all things between a filthy whore and his sweet wife.

Richard led you through the house, showing all the decorations and little details, he appeared nearly proud of his work but if you were correct he was really proud about satisfying you. It was a strange sensation, that lights and strings could make a man such as he puff out his chest with pride while intensely gauging your reactions. You, who were nothing as extraordinary as he, were the most important person to him and only your opinion and feelings mattered to the great judge of London whom all feared.

You were not nothing, of course. You were a Lady, born and raised in a grand family with teachers and instructors, you were a capable woman within the field of being a Lady but that was nothing compared to being a judge by societal standards. So, for all intents and purposes, you were nothing in comparison. To know that little you were of such great importance to a man like your husband had your stomach turning with glee and joy. It wasn’t a feeling you had liked at first, it was selfish, or perhaps self-righteous, but now you adored it. With Richard you were safe to feel however you felt, there was no shaming between the two of you and you absolutely loved that.

Richard led you into the dining room where a grand breakfast was laid out on the table, no servant in sight. “My sweet wife,” Richard said and pulled out your chair before scooting you in. “Thank you.” He sat down beside you, which was odd as he always sat opposite you. But, as soon as he had poured himself a fresh cup of coffee it became apparent why. His hand landed atop your thigh, only separated from your skin by your night dress and robe. You loved having him so close, loved having him touch you, loved feeling his warmth and strength so you only looked up at him with warm eyes while he gave you a half smile before sipping his coffee.

You ate breakfast in silence, just enjoying each other’s company. It wasn’t until you had both finished that he leaned closer, whispering in your ear about how he wanted to take you to his office and use the silky red strings from the decorations to tie you over his desk. You had shot up from the chair so fast it would have toppled if Richard hadn’t caught it when it tipped backward. The smirk he wore told you all you needed to know, he’d make good on the promise and you had never imagined Christmas decorations would ever be part of lovemaking — you would soon find out just how wonderful silken strings could feel around one’s wrists. Perhaps you and your husband would create new Christmas traditions, ones he could love and enjoy too…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Oh how I hope this little ending warmed you right up darling - it's short but so so so sweet and I really just allowed the words to flow this morning. I do love how this shows the HEA they will forever have and the freedom they have with each other. Gosh, it's just so sweet 😍👏 AND IT'S ALMSOT CHRISTMAS DARLINGS!!!!

Q: Have you ever gone skiing? Can you ski? A: I have gone skiing, both distance and downhill (no idea what it's called) but I'm afraid of heights so I stick to distance if I gotta go 😂😂😂

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @sunnylikesfrogs @mamawolfsmith16 @dianilaws @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @leah1243 @elizabeth-baelish @all-art-is-quite-useless @severuslovebot @yellowbadgermole @impulse-anchor @writewithmarites @yan-senna @writewithmarites @lokisbjchnl @ladykardasi @mamawolfsmith87 @snowblossomreads @ladykardasi @a-queen-and-her-throne @eternal-silvertongued-prince @lyrixsnape @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @daddythanatos

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[Dec:2023]

[bagalois]

100 days of productivity -- 8/100

jan 26, 2025

✔ did my combinatorics reading assignment and classroom discussion prompt

daily click

that's it. it was so hard. i needed to ask my friend to basically carry me through the process of thinking outside of the box (the box being the contents of this text). but i got through it in the end....

i really seriously truly need to get better at thinking creatively / asking good questions about stuff. its a skill i've neglected, i don't know why i didn't realize this sooner, but it's obviously really important to know how to ask questions if you're gonna be a researcher

the assignment was to read section 1.1 of "enumerative combinatorics" by richard p stanley and to post a question to the class that reflects having thought deeply about the material. other students wrote stuff like "if you apply this to that then you get this ugly formula, but when you put it into desmos and wolfram alpha, blah blah blah" or "stanley's proof is extremely convoluted, when the one i came up with works much better and is also a counting argument, so why does he use generating functions here in the first place?"

i believe my professor is asking us to think one step above just learning the material, we need to consider applications and nuances and stuff. with a lot of guidance from my (music/physics) friend, i managed to cobble some kind of... minimally presentable ideas? i was like "i don't have much experience with these rings/fields structures and i know stanley says you should know the structure to know the combinatorial significance, but i just don't have that background so. that's not obvious to me" and "stanely says convergence of sequences and composition of functions are linked and significant but i don't really get it" UGHH idek man i felt like cringing and dying when i uploaded my discussion post for the entire classroom to see because i posted directly after all the smarter answers

i dont think they are deep or reflect deep thought though. like, it's deep compared to what i'm used to but it's not the same level as the rest of my classmates obviously. and it's not like i'm not working through the reading I DID THE READING I WORKED THE MATHEMATICS i just, idk i kinda grew up avoiding authority figures and figuring out everything myself. i don't know how to ask things that aren't literally verbatim "why is it like this"

most things in this world is a haze of everything i don't know. mathematics just happens to be especially friendly to people who are confused all the time, because it is consistent with internal structure, and because even mathematicians are confused a lot of the time. it just turns out, as you get more mature, you are supposed to get better at being more precise about your confusion. not a giant blanket of confusion but more like a thin cloud of confusion that has a definite shape that you can point to and know things about how uncertain you are. idk i hope future me understands my point here when you read this again.

in a moment of weakness i wondered if i might be forced to drop the course because my mathematical maturity is not up to par. it would be really mean of my prof to say i shouldn't be in the class though, and even if someone said i shouldn't be there i would say their lack of understanding and kindness means they don't deserve a spot either.

i'm taking a class because i'm supposed to learn a skill, not already demonstrate mastery of it. i just started a little further behind than the other geniuses.

sigh. i have class tomorrow. i look forwards to hearing what my professor says about all of our questions.

[ribbonsaikeaux]

Ichor Man

The night was pitch black under the cover of seemingly innumerable trees; the moon hiding, becoming new. The boistrous chirping of crickets filled the air and the wolves howled. Branches rustled with unseen creatures and piercing, glowing, eyes stared out into the night. Tonight, the forest was alive and thriving.

In a small clearing somewhere deep in the forrest, only accessable via an old hiking path, stood an aging cottage. Its wood warping from the elwments, the porch largely disemboweled by termites, with four of the eight windows cracked and covered in tin foil and tape.

Inside this rundown, isolated, abode, the Wren family laughed and joked as they played monopoly. The dad, Richard, currently owned park place and his wife, Emma, had just landed on it.

"Dammit!" She exlaimed. Counting up her money.

"Language in front of the boy dear." Richard chastized, casting a glance at their son Emanuel.

"Yeah yeah..." she grumpily, realizing she was now bankrupt. "Well, I guess you win."

"Yes!" Richard shouted before clearing his throat and seeing how unamused Emma was. "I mean, uh, that was a good game sweetie!" He smiles and leans in for a kiss "i love you babe."

"Uh huh." She says with a giggle, kissing him softly. "I love you too jerk."

Emanuel laughed. "You guys are silly."

A wide grin spread across Richards' face as he stood up and walked over to his son. "Not as silly as you!" He said playfully, tickling the boy.

Emanuel giggled, squirming and trying to get away from his dads tickle attack. "Daaad! Stoooop!" He pleaded between fits of giggles.

Emma watched, smiling adoringly at her boys. "Alright, alright. Settle down yall." She says checking her watch. "It's waaaay past your bed time lil man."

Richard laughs and stops tickling. "Awww! Mommy's no fun, is she?"

Emanuel catches his breath and rubs his side. "Party pooper!"

"One of us has to be responsible, ya know." She says, giving Richard a playful wink.

"She is right though, bud. Time for bed, go get ready."

"Awww. Just a few more minutes?" He asked innocently.

"You heard the boss, time for bed." Richard responded, ruffling his sons' hair.

"Fiiiine." Emanuel said, getting up from the table. "I love yall!" He shouts, runningnoff to get ready.

Richard walks over to his wife and groped her chest. "It is nice to get a little bit of alone time."

"Mmmm." She says with a smile, pulling him down and kissing him deeply. "It sure is."

"After we tuck him in, you wanna have some fun?" He asks in a sing-song voice.

Emma bites her lip and rubs at his crotch. "Defintely." She says, mimicing Richards sing-song.

"Mom! Dad! Im ready!" Emanuel calls from his bedroom.

Richard stands up and clears his throat. "Coming son!" He calls out, takibg his wifes' and leading her back to the boys' room.

"Alright lil guy, you brush your teeth?" Richard asks, walking over to Emanuels bed side.

"Mhm! See!" He responds with a big smile.

"Thats my boy. Gotta keep those teefers healthy." Richard says, leaning down and kissing Emanuels' forehead.

Emma slides in front of her husband, hugging Emanuel and also kissing his forehead. "Sweet dreams my little love." She says lovingly.

"I love yall!" Emanuel says happily.

"We live you too, son" Richard says as they cross the room, reaching to turn off the light.

"Please don't dad! It's scary out here in the dark..." Emanuel said, fear tinging his voice.

"It'll be okay son. The dark can't hurt you." Richard responded with a smile. "And, hey, if anything does come for you, you know I won't let anything happen to you."

Emanuel nods slowly, smiling. "I know dad. Love you!"

Richard smiled reassuringly. "I love you too, son." He said before turning out the light and grabbing Emmas' hand.

When his parents walk away, Emanuel reaches into his bedside table and pulls out a flashlight, completely covering himself head to toe with his blanket, and turns it on. Fear courses through his little body, trembling and repeating "daddy will prorect me. Daddy will protect me." Until he finallt falls into a fitfull sleep, the flashlight still illuminating the blanket fortress he was hinding under.

As Emanuel slept, in the corner of the room, a deep black viscous material began leaking from the walls and ceiling, moving as if it had a mind of its own. More and more of this sludge seeped, and, oddly, started forming a pile instead of a puddle. The pile twisted and stretched, humanois limbs starting to sprout from it, still dripping, unable to fully solidify its form. The mass hobbled to its thin legs, a head and torso forming in the darkness. Its completed form stood tall, its head just about hitring the ceiling. Its long, gangly, limbs and fingers stretch out; a soft, other worldly, growl imminating from somewhere deep within its oozing form.

Emanuel stirred underneath his covers, the sound having woken him from his delicate sleep. He grips his flashlight, hearing the creatures soft, splashing, footsteps aproaching. Trembling, curiosity got the better of him. Slowly, he peaks out from under the blanket, shining his flashlight in the direction of the sounds.

For a moment, he froze in terror as the the light shone on the intruder. Staring down at him, if it could he called staring, stood a gaunt, human like, being. Its face and hands oozing a pale white. There were no eyes on its head with which to stare, but Emanuel could feel a stare boring into him. It had a wide, twisted, grin. Its mouth full of rusted barbed wire. Its body was otherwise covered in an inky black ichor, nearly resembling a suit that was melting. Around its neck and down the front of its chest, a striking, leaking, red stained its otherwise monochrome form. Its long limbs bent in an unatural way and razors protruded from its oozing fingers.

Emanuel took a deep breath, preparing to scream, but before he could make a sound, the creature had clamped its mouth around his throat, silencing him. Its blade-like fingers danced over the poor boys' torso, cutting deep into his chest and abdomen. The poor child was in unimaginable pain, the blood streaming from his wounds mixing with the midnight black ichor of the dripping creature. Suddenly, Emanuels' body stopped thrashing and twitching, lying completely still.

The creature stopped its attack, its grin seeming to widen as an unknowable laugh passed its barbed wire teeth. It melted away, only leaving behind the drips of its corporeal form and the mutilated corpse of a ten year old boy.

The sun rose, breaking over the horizon. Birds chirped a cheery song and the nocturnal beasts rested. All was peaceful and harmonious in the forest until a blood curdling scream echoed throughout, scaring the birds from their perches.

Emma was the first to find the body of their son. Torn to shreds, disembowled, and nearly beheaded. She fell to her knees, wailing and rocking and screaming.

"MY BABY!" She cried, voiced drenched in undescribable agony.

Richard came running. "Emma what's-" he stoppes dead in his tracks as his eyez fell upon the remains of his only child. The gore made him sick to his stomach. He turned away and leaned over, hands on his knees, vomitting. After momentarily catching his breath, he collapsed next to Emma and they clung to each other, screaming in sadness and loss. The whole time they couldn't tear their eyes from their baby boy and his red and black stained room.

[bitletsanddrabbles]

How Thomas Would Describe The Boyfriends

NANOWRIMO is fighting me this year. Or more to the point, my brain is fighting NANOWRIMO. It was fine while I was vacation, but now that I’m back to work, making my daily goal is turning into a struggle, forget making par. I feel like if I’d had one more week of vacation, I’d have finished at least one rough draft, possibly two.

Anyway, as a bit of brainstorming and as a way to add something to my word count (and this is not cheating, ‘cause it’s related to one of my pieces!), I decided to type up a bit on how poly!Thomas in my most recent modern AU would describe his boyfriends to someone else...

...probably Lady Mary.

Chris: He’s the fun, sexy one. That is, they’re all fun and they’re all sexy, but that’s what defines Chris. He has this ‘animal magnetism’ thing going on where even if he isn’t the most handsome person in the room, he’s definitely the sexiest. And that’s contagious. That is, if you’re with him, you feel like you must also be incredibly sexy, because otherwise he wouldn’t be interested in you. …actually, he’s rather like Phillip Villiers in that regard, only five times more intense and without the whole ‘insufferable asshole’ bit. And he has a better sense of humour. He’s also so adamantly gay I swear he shits rainbows.

Richard: He’s somewhere between Chris and Guy. He’s got a wonderful, dry sense of humour most of the time. Doesn’t take himself or anything else seriously, unless it’s important. Then he takes it seriously, but not too seriously. He’s comfortable to talk to, not easily offended - I can’t imagine what that’s like - and generally gets what you’re saying. And there’s something about him that seems so practiced that it’s natural now. The way he moves, the way holds his head when he’s looking at you or listening, it’s as if he was trained to do that when he was younger and now he just does it without thinking. And at first you think he is doing it on purpose, but then you walk into a room and catch him when no one’s been around to watch, and he’s still doing it. The whole thing winds up feeling like you’re dating a living work of art. And, of course, he looks amazing in a suit.

Guy: I know, I know. He’s the heart throb of Hollywood, played Clark Gable in that bio pic, I’m suppose to talk about how amazingly hot he is, and he is, but that’s not what makes him wonderful to be with. When you’re with him, you don’t even think about it, really. The main thing about him, the thing that makes him so wonderful you don’t want him to ever leave, is how comfortable he is. If you could take the world’s most comfortable blanket and turn it into a human being, that would be Guy. Things that you’re too nervous to talk about with anyone else you can talk about with him and yeah, it might still take a little effort, but once you start, it’s like rolling a ball down hill. And he never pushes. No matter what he wants or how badly you can tell he wants it, it’s always your choice. Do you want to join him for a cup of tea? Why don’t you join him for a swim? Lovely night for a cuddle on the sofa, isn’t it? And yes, the sex is great, but if you’re dead tired and really just want to fall asleep with him petting your hair, it shall be done! I don’t know how he manages it, really. Ruddy inhuman.

[punyparkerfics]

Hi! I had an idea of a story.

7 year old Peter has just been adopted by Otto but the child is greatly touch deprived and weary of adults because he’s been in a very mean/cold foster home. But after a few weeks, Otto and Peter bond and finally Peter hugs Otto! He finds hugging the giant man does his little heart extremely well and won’t let go. Much to Otto’s glee.

Thank you for all the wonderful stories that you’ve written 🐙🥰🕷

thank you so much for the request and for your patience. hope you enjoy xoxo

Word Count: 2k

It started with sniffles, three months in. Fatherhood was not what Otto was expecting it to be. However, they were under special circumstances. He and his newly adopted son, Peter, were both recently thrusted into different living situations. 

Otto had known the boy when he was an infant, the son of Mary and Richard Parker. Mary was lovely, a brilliant scientist whom Otto got along well with for many years. Her husband was a different story. He and the Parkers weren’t exactly close friends, but he held a lot of respect for Mary. Richard was a hack, in Otto’s opinion. A loud-mouth man full of arrogance who hardly spent time with his wife and child. It disgusted Otto. 

Luckily, the little boy in question was nothing like his father, even years later. Peter was sweet and loving, Otto knew that. He hadn’t seen the boy since he was still in diapers… and now he was seven years old! Peter had grown a lot in the years since he heard of Mary and Richard’s passing. It took Otto several months to find the kid, adopting him was a whole other ordeal. Peter had been in a foster home for the better part of a year while Otto sorted out the logistics of becoming the boy’s guardian. As much as the man tried finding out more about his time there, Peter clammed up whenever it was mentioned. Something told him Peter didn’t have the best time at the home, and he hoped providing a loving home for him now and for the rest of his childhood would make up for it a little bit. He could only hope. 

Otto was walking to his room one night, passing by the young boy’s room to check on him as he often did. Otto hardly knew anything about raising a child but he figured he and Peter could do this whole thing together as a team. One thing Otto did know was that children get sick easily. So, when he passed by Peter’s room and heard sniffling, he was worried. 

“Pete,” Otto says softly into the crack in the door, “I’m coming in, buddy.”

“No,” He hears the boy sob out, and that makes the inventor’s heart drop. 

In an instant he’s in the room and the light is flicked on. Everything’s in order, Peter is quite a tidy 7-year-old. His room reflects an intelligent young boy who loves spiders and the colors red and blue. Otto gave Peter free reign on decorating his room after he moved in. 

What’s not in order is the bed. A blanket and a stuffed elephant are on the floor, Peter’s sheets are mangled and wrapped around his legs. They’re also soaked, with what Otto deduces by the scent in the room. The boy is sitting on the bed, curled up in a ball. His cheeks are bright pink and his nose matches the hue, dripping with sadness. 

“What’s wrong, Peter?” Otto asks softly, he doesn't know how long the boy’s been up crying. It’s almost midnight and Peter’d been in his room since Otto tucked him in at half past eight. 

“N-Nuthin’,” Peter sniffles as he rubs his eyes with small fists. 

“Bad dream?” Otto tries again. It works. 

“Yeah,” Peter nods, his lips in an adorable pout. 

“Wanna tell me about it?” Otto asks as he sits on the edge of the bed. It’s a queen bed, much too large for him now but Otto figures he’ll grow into it. Peter is his responsibility until the kid turns 18 at the very least. He also wants to support the kid through university, the way he knew Mary would have. Otto is hoping they build a relationship by then. Of course, it’s inevitable. 

But after three months, he figures the kid is still grieving and hasn’t come out of his shell just yet. 

“No thanks,” Peter huffs, his fists finally dropping from his wet eyes. 

“What about a hug?” Otto tries hesitantly, “Will that help you?”

He can’t mean that, Peter thinks, It’s a test.

“Um,” Peter looks down at his lap, small hands twisted in the hem of his shirt, “No, thank you.”

That was another thing that Otto knew; Children need affection. They thrive on it. Otto thought providing the softer parts of parenthood would be difficult, and he was right. But not for the reasons he had anticipated. No, Peter was avoiding physical tough like the plague. Any time he’d offer the boy a hug or a snuggle (and that was fairly often), the boy would turn him down. At first, he thought the kid was a germophobe of sorts, not liking to be touched in any sort of capacity. But he’d seen the kid play in the mud, and hold hands with that Stacy girl. So maybe it was just Otto. Three months isn’t a long time to get comfortable with someone, not entirely. Otto understands that, but he can’t help but feel like he’s failing his small charge. 

“What do you need then, buddy?” Otto asks, disguising his disappointment.

“Bath,” Peter whispers, his bottom lip trembling, “Please.”

“Of course, dear boy,” Otto nods, standing immediately, “Let’s get you all clean.”

Peter crawls out of his large bed, his pajama shirt riding up as he drops to the floor and onto his feet. Otto leads the way to the connected bathroom in Peter’s room to start warming the bath and the little boy follows.

“I’ll get you some clean pajamas after I change your bed sheets,” Otto grunts as he bends over to start the tap.

“Kay,” Peter nodded, his hands itching at his thighs.

“Take those off, Pete,” Otto says as he exits the room to change the boy’s sheets, “You don’t want a rash.”

Peter strips his pajamas and underwear with mild difficulty, the wet fabric sticking to his skin uncomfortably. He stands there and shivers, not from the cold as Otto kept Peter’s room extra heated. Something about the boy’s asthma being affected by the cold weather was his reasoning. He’s grateful for that, because his last home was always so cold. A deep chill down to the bone that Peter could never seem to warm up from.  Peter turns off the tap as the bath is half full. He doesn’t need a full and proper bath, just a quick rinse with some of his ultra sensitive soap would suffice. He’s honestly just grateful to be allowed to bathe at all. At his old home, he had to lay in his own filth until the morning. Even then he’d only be allowed to change out of his soiled pajamas. Baths were only allowed after dinner, so he’d have to wait. Every single time.

He dips a foot into the bath water and hums through his clogged nose before settling into the tub. Peter sits on his bum and scrubs any parts he got wet with water first, then with his special soap. He knew it was baby soap, but his pediatrician had recommended it to Otto for Peter’s dermatitis so he had to use it. He’s startled by a knock at the cracked door.

“Yeah?” Peter asks shakily.

“I’m coming in,” Otto says before entering with a towel, dry clothes, and rash ointment in his hands. He sets them in a stack on the closed toilet lid and collects the boy’s soiled discarded pajamas and takes them to be washed with the wet sheets. Luckily, the elephant and blanket on the floor were dry and could be used immediately after his bath. Unfortunately, the mattress cover was still wet from Otto’s cleaning. The scientist would give up his bed for the boy without a second thought, but he felt bad for putting the kid out like that. 

Peter finishes up rinsing himself and drains the tub, grabbing the towel from the toilet lid. The seven-year-old had learned to be quite self-sufficient. However, Otto insisted on helping him whenever Peter would allow.

Otto’s placing the mattress on its frame to dry when Peter exits the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his small body. He sends the boy a smile, hiding his curiosity. Peter’s standing there with his clothes in his hand, the other clutching the corners of his towel. 

“All done?” Otto asks, Peter nods, ��Need help?”

The child nods again and darts over to the man. He can very well dress himself, Otto knows this. He’s seven-years-old and very intelligent. So, he wonders what the boy needs help with.

What he doesn’t know is Peter’s testing him, his dedication to him. 

“I gets stuck in my shirt sometimes,” Peter admits, his curls hanging over his hopeful eyes, “Please.”

The kid’s holding his clothes out to him and Otto can’t turn him down. 

“Of course,” Otto nods easily, “Do you need help with the rash cream?”

“I don’t like the cream,” Peter pouts, “It’s yucky.”

“If we skip it, you might get a rash,” Otto sighs, “That’s gonna hurt.”

“Fine,” Peter sags in defeat, and Otto’s heart squeezes.

“Just a bit,” Otto promises, “You won’t even feel it.”

Otto withheld his promise, and luckily he was helping the boy because he was very resistant to the ointment. But, the boy was comforted by Otto’s quick and gentle hands and quiet reassurances. Before he knew it, Peter was dressed and tucked into Otto’s even larger king bed. The dark comforter was soft and smelled like his adoptive father. Peter had slept in Otto’s bed on one other instance, when he came home from the hospital after an asthma attack. The scientist had watched the boy’s chest rise and fall throughout the night, terrified of a stutter in the rhythm. Otto had asked the kid if he’d wanted a hug then, too, and had been turned down as well. 

“Alright,” Otto grunts as he takes a seat at the foot of the bed, “Ready to get some sleep?”

Peter nods, sleepily melting into the pillows. He had to stay awake a little longer, he had to ask Otto a question. He’d passed the test given to him earlier, even got extra credit for helping him with the yucky cream. Peter had given Otto many tests since moving in with the man. Like testing if the man remembered what foods Peter likes or see what kind of punishment he’d get for breaking something in the man’s lab. He passed those too, Peter figures. Doctor Octavius has been nothing but nice to him since he’s moved in. “Uncle Otty,” Peter says softly, his wide eyes drooping with sleep.

“Yes?” Otto replies.

“Did you mean it, earlier?” Peter asks, “When you said I could have a hug?”

Otto’s heart drops. Oh, this poor sweet boy.

“Of course, I meant it,” Otto says a little roughly, but not scary to Peter, “I always mean it.”

“Really?” Peter tests again. He’s a scientist, scientists run tests.

“Yes, of course,” Otto nods, “Every time.”

“Then,” Peter begins hesitantly, “Can I have a hug?”

“C’mere, sunshine,” Otto says with literal open arms. Peter crawls out from where he’s tucked into the blankets and onto Otto’s lap. He wraps his small arms around the man’s neck and hugs him gently. Uncle Otto feels cuddly, like a big teddy bear. He rests his sleepy head of curls onto the man’s broad shoulder. He feels warm. Warmer than he ever could from a heater or an electric blanket. 

“Why wouldn’t I mean it, Peter?” Otto asks, although he almost doesn’t want to know.

“Big boys don’t get hugs,” Peter parrots miserably, “Hugs are for babies. Miss Kettlewell said so.” Miss Kettlewell was the headmistress of sorts at Peter’s old home. She’d warned Otto that the boy was needy and a troublemaker. Neither turned out to be even remotely true.

“Miss Kettlewell doesn’t know anything,” Otto scoffs, “Even adults need hugs. Little boys like you need lots of hugs, there’s no age where you shouldn’t get hugs.”

“Really?” Peter asks, looking at the man in awe.

“Really,” Otto promises as he squeezes the boy tighter.

“Then can I have hugs whenever I want?” Peter asks curiously.

“Always,” Otto assures him, a hand rubbing the sleepy boy’s back. He knows Peter is falling asleep by the sound of his voice, and by the way he’s become dead weight in his arms. He’s cherishing the moment, his first hug from his adopted son. The boy’s falling asleep in his arms like an infant, at seven-years-old. Otto couldn’t be more delighted. 

[yaku-soba]

i’ve seen this film before (this is an old story)

༶•┈┈ oikawa tooru x gn!reader | angst

༶•┈┈ general m.list

tags/warnings: angst (with an okay ending), swear words, oikawa doesn’t become a pro, kinda college au, author was listening to the folklore album and also mother mother while writing this, i think that’s warning enough

word count: 1.48k

a/n: this was originally supposed to be some sort of prose poetry for my poetry sideblog but it didn’t work out so </3 also, trying out a somewhat new writing style hehe :3

“someone has to leave first. this is a very old story. there is no other version of this story.”

― richard siken, war of the foxes

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

it goes like this: you fight over something small (it's never just something small), and after a while with whom the fault lies doesn't matter anymore (a double-edged sword: the fighting and the screaming and the shouting and the mocking).

it goes like this: radio silence, no missed calls, no unopened texts. oikawa, a character study: lover becomes roommate becomes a shadow you see slipping out the door if you wake up early enough. take-out ordered for one, a bed too large and cold. blankets that swamp you. 

it ends like this: you cave first (you always cave first). oikawa is too proud to apologize and you are too tired and it is easier to brush all the broken pieces of each other under the rug (it's old, you don't remember where it came from, only that it's the colour of mold and smells like mothballs, despite your best efforts) and pretend the we are fucked up, we are fucking this up away. you hate the way this story ends, there is no other ending to this story.

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

"tooru," you say, and the click of the door as he shuts it behind him rings like a gunshot. "do you know what day it is?"

oikawa is breathtaking, as always. "no," he says, casting his eyes to the moldy rug at your feet and then away, off to the side, "what day is it?" oikawa is breathtaking, and as always, he's a bad liar.

you smile, make no effort to pull it to your eyes. "it's pasta day," you answer, and it's as hollow as the ring-pop he gave you as a promise when you were younger (when you had thought you were in love; when you were in love).

he nods. "thanks for cooking dinner." he chucks off his shoes and socks in an act of practiced nonchalance.

there is no pasta day.

"welcome home," you tell him belatedly. he hums, says nothing in return.

(stilted conversation: the second stage of a terminal relationship.)

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

once, you were young and in love.

it's been proven: youth and love makes one foolish.

the story, or the prologue - it goes like this: you meet oikawa at an impressionable age (the boy next door, the golden boy, the boy the coaches eye in a game, the boy all the girls talk about, the boy). he proceeds to make quite an impression on you (a burn from sparklers on a beach at a festival, a failed ollie that left a scar on your knee, bruised wrists from volleyball, the - invisible, but you know it’s there, just as oikawa knows - stitch over the exit wound in your chest). you grow up beside him and along the way, convince yourself that sticking with him is a natural progression (cherry blossoms bloom for only two weeks). 

you and oikawa, him and you. it has always been the two of you. this story is very old, this story always ends the same way.

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

you’re fucked up. you and oikawa, him and you - somewhere, along the way, you’d gotten fucked up. you don’t know who fucked it up first, it doesn’t matter anymore. (nothing matters but the brush of oikawa’s lips on your lips and the delicate flutter of his lashes and the rent that you cannot afford without a roommate). 

oikawa is waiting on the couch when you come home (you came home later than usual - you’d seen him talking to a girl who had batted her lashes at him prettily the way he used to do to you). you shut the door behind you like a judge’s hammer, you slip out of your shoes and socks like water through earnest, cupped palms. 

“late night?” he asks (no welcome home). 

“yeah,” you reply (no i’m home). “i wanted to finish more of my project.” 

oikawa hums, looks at you from beneath those damned lashes. “that essay?” he shifts, lifts his feet from the moldy-looking rug to sit cross-legged. 

“yeah,” you say again. (you’d submitted the essay a month ago. you’re working on a presentation due in a week now).

“i ordered pizza,” oikawa says after a pause, “it should be arriving soon.”

you nod, step over the genkan and into the one-bedroom apartment. “thanks,” you tell him, “i’ll be right out.”

the bell rings while you’re changing into loungewear. you step out of the room just in time to see oikawa take the pizza out of the delivery girl’s hands - the same girl you’d seen touch his arm and smile (there is no home).

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

oikawa’s working part-time at a local diner that keeps long hours. you’re working on a degree. 

here’s the thing: he could probably afford a one-bedroom apartment of his own if he’s smart about his money. 

here’s the thing: you can’t. 

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

“someone has to leave first,” wakatoshi tells you over lunch, “richard siken said so.”

“who?” there’s a tear right down the middle of your carrot-heart. 

“someone who left first, or someone who was left. does it really matter?” 

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

here’s the point: oikawa with his long lashes and bedhead. oikawa’s sleepy smile in the mornings (you remember more than you know), the exact dip of his smile, the map you have of the lines of his palms. 

the point is: oikawa staying out and not coming home (you stopped counting after the first month, but your heart still knows), waking up to a cold bed because oikawa started leaving earlier (to go the gym, he says). hesitancy in hands where there once was security, the subtle fall of a satellite out of orbit, the gradual fall out of the childhood familiarity of being young and in love. the point is -

the point is always oikawa. 

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

oikawa gets a new, better, actual job. he’s a volleyball coach at a high school, now. 

you find out almost a month later, through takahiro and issei. 

“oikawa’s confident they’ll make it to nationals this year,” issei says conversationally, sawing into his steak, “says his kids are promising.” 

“what?” (you’ve seen this film before.)

“you know,” takahiro says, “the volleyball kids he’s coaching.” you did not know.

“ah,” you say anyway, fingers slipping around the fork in your hands and grasping onto the far edge of a cliff, “how could i forget.”

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

you finish your degree. you get a (relatively) stable job at a nearby design office.

here’s the thing: they pay you well for a fresh graduate. here’s the thing: you can probably afford a one-bedroom apartment of your own if you’re smart about your money.

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

“i’m moving out,” you say the moment oikawa opens the door, “thank you for everything.” (despite everything, you mean it. he’s taught you so many things.)

he smiles (it looks the same as what you imagine you’d smiled like the day of your first anniversary). “okay,” he says, and you think that that’s that.

“i’m sorry,” he says after a moment. 

“yeah,” you say, “i am too.” 

“thank you,” he continues, eyes almost the same shade as the day he’d brought you on a picnic, “i’ll always love you, you know that, right?”

you do (you feel the same, it is not the same love as when you had been fourteen and sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and nineteen, but it is still love). 

“me too,” you say because there is nothing else to say, “you’re important to me. you’ll always be important to me.” it’s true: he was your first kiss and your first love and your first best friend and the first person you’re leaving first. 

oikawa smiles, and disappears into the bathroom. 

you stare at the ugly rug at your feet. 

“is this okay?” you ask the broken pieces of you and him (curled around the jagged edges of each other, thorn to petal, bruise to open wound), “this is an okay ending, right?”

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

here’s the point: oikawa as the boy you loved, oikawa as your youth, oikawa as a part of the past you will always hold close but not be held behind by. 

a study in relationships: someone will always leave first, it is a very old story. 

introspection and a universal truth: youth and love makes one foolish, being foolish is not always a bad thing. 

the point is: someone will always leave first, sometimes people fall out of love, sometimes familiarity is not enough to hold them together. 

an old story, another universal truth: someone will always leave first, it is not always a bad ending. 

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

as always, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated!! :D do drop me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general taglist :”)

p.s if you liked this, it would Be Cool if you leave me an ask / scream in the reblog tags because it would satisfy my need for validation 💔💔

[legends-live-in-memories]

Focus On Me

i want yall to pretend i dont have outstanding wips i need to finish lmao. Have this instead:

Dickinette One-shot 1.9K words

Summary: 

“Dick is pissed as hell after arguing with Bruce.

His solution? Go to an underground fight club to get the shit beaten out of him.”

without further ado

Richard Grayson was many things. He was a professional acrobat. He was a dedicated vigilante. Son of freaking Batman himself. And now? Now he was pissed as hell. The fallout between him and Bruce wasn’t supposed to get this bad. Wasn’t supposed to go on this long. The radio silence was deafening and the cold shoulder burned hotter than any flaming hoop he jumped through as a kid. He knew Bruce had issues about Dick’s decision but that had nothing to do with his capabilities as a vigilante and everything to do with Bruce’s own fears and insecurities. Thinking about it just gets him riled up and he keeps replaying the harsh words they threw at each other before fists started flying too.

He needs to get out of his head for a few hours before he plans what his next move is. No. He needed to get out of his head, yes, but he needs to breathe and maybe punch someone who he doesn’t fear disappointing or someone who hasn’t dumped a ferry’s load of emotional bullshit on him. Planning what comes next can have the decency to at least wait a week. 

Trying to distract himself, he went to an underground boxing club he discovered when he was sixteen. The club was deep in the East End, hidden between the Black Bass Bar and 83rd Street. He’s been sneaking there every now and again when he wanted the time to recenter himself and get grounded before facing the world. It was therapeutic, the bruising knuckles, the blistered lips, the burning sweat in his eyes. It was rough, jaded and unpolished. Everything he wasn’t allowed to be. 

He snuck in through the regular back entrance that was reserved for fighters. The air reeked of tequila and piss and cigarettes. He could already hear the cacophony of roars and jeers from the club’s patrons as a match went on in the center ring. Making his way to the side of the ring to put his name into the bracket, he sees the current fight come to a close with a knockout. The poor guy was lying limply with a twisted ankle and a suspiciously dark bruise forming on his left side. The mat is soiled with blood, spit and what was possibly bile in one corner. Dick swung his gaze over to the fighter left standing. 

His breath feels punched out as he takes in the absolute powerhouse before him. A lean figure clad in simple matching black spandex and sports bra that left nothing to the imagination. Her bare feet were bruised and taped in seemingly random places but Dick recognised an arch to them that was only achieved through professional dancing or gymnastics. She was light on her feet, strong on her toes. Chiseled abs that put Superman to shame were marred by scars on pale skin and a fresh bandage over what could possibly be a recent stab wound resting near her hip. He eyed her wrapped fists that were caked in blood and dirt as she flexed and curled her fingers repeatedly. 

If he was left breathless by her physique then her face left him dead and buried. Bold blue eyes narrowed in concentration with her busted lips curled up in a sneer. Her cheeks were flushed and her entire face was covered in a light sheen of sweat. Her hair is pulled back into a regular ponytail with loose strands framing her face. Her hair, pure black, except for bleached blonde ends, looks greasy and unkept, highlighting her lack of care regarding her appearance. Her shoulders are hiked up to her ears and her muscles twitch and flex with pent up energy. She carries herself like someone who’s addicted to pain and the worst parts of themselves, desperate for a quick fix; the perfect reflection for how he feels right now.  Dick can’t wait to get in the ring.

“I’ll pay you $50 to get me in the ring with her right now.” He turned his neck to the fight coordinator who was counting a wad of cash. The balding man barely looked at him and just held out his hand for the payment. Dick couldn’t get his money out fast enough and before he even confirmed that he was the next fight, he was already taking his shirt off and going between the rope barriers to the floor.

The loser of the last fight was being dragged off with no concern for his well-being, while the victor stood off to the side guzzling some water. She barely side-eyes him, a quick sweep of her eyes without turning to face him, and he already feels himself flushing hot from the attention. He preens and starts stretching out his shoulders, rolling his ankles and warming up his legs at the same time. 

He barely registers the presence of the announcer, ears filled with cotton and eyes narrowing at his opponent. He looks for weaknesses, anything that would get him an edge, as he crouches into a starting position. Her wound is an obvious target and she’s short enough for easy face and neck shots. Hair pulling is also an option if he feels particularly brutish. She mirrors his stance, crouch closer to her feet and legs wider to increase lunging distance, and the full force of her gaze almost bowls him over. His eyes harden into ice shards, not willing to be swayed by twin pools of blue fire. The bell dings. He charges.

He swings an uppercut that just grazes her chin and she recoils, spins back and jabs an elbow in his ribs. He grabs her by the same elbow and twists his wrist. She twinges in pain but the hold doesn’t last long. She follows the rotation of her arm and faces him. He smells faint traces of beer on her lips and his mind swims. Pain erupts in his nose as she smashes her forehead into him. She kicks into his knee and sweeps his other leg out from underneath him. She clasps her fists together and drives them into the protruding knobs of his spine, ramming him into her awaiting knee. She moves to pin him and he uses this to his advantage. He grabs the arm that was about to press into his throat and spins her around on top of him, his chest to her back. He locks one leg around hers and cants his weight to the side, pinning her face first into the disgusting mat; he completely blankets her with his much larger body. This position doesn’t hold for long either. She still has an arm free and she uses it to punch into the side of his head. It’s not a particularly strong hit, but with the pain in his nose, and his brain feeling like it’s underwater, it is enough to disorient him and she pushes him off by her hips. 

Her narrow escape lights a fire under his skin and he reaches to grapple for her again. She slips away, again, and stands. He scurries to stand as well and immediately ducks from a leg swinging for his ribs. 

“What brings you here?” Dick almost gets whiplash from how fast he has to move. He was not expecting her to engage in conversation, much less initiate it. But she doesn’t sound malicious, just curious, and she pauses in her assault in attacks to display how genuine she was.

“Same as everyone else,” he says. He swings right for her head and follows left when she ducks, knocking her in her shoulder. “I want to pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist and get slapped around for a while. You?”

She snickers at his honesty and drops into a leg sweep. He jumps over the leg but clearly she was expecting it. She rides her momentum into a roundhouse that knocks him flat as he descends. She doesn’t hesitate and charges to pin him again. 

He lets her.

“Why does someone as pretty as you want to risk ruining that nice face of yours?” Her face is close, much closer than this pin requires but he doesn’t want to push her away. But the show must go on so he kicks her in the stomach, digging his toe into her bandaged side to get her off. She recoils like a snake about to spring and regards him with cold resentment. She clearly doesn’t like the reminder of her injuries. 

“I could ask you the same thing, sweetheart. What’s a lovely lady like you doing here getting down and dirty with the local dogs?” She is many things he regards, but lovely is not one of them. ‘Stray cat’ would better describe the scrappy woman before him. The address sets her on edge and he almost regrets describing her as such. Almost. Her next series of punches have him on the defensive and he’s pushed back all the way until he feels the ropes rubbing into the bare skin of his back. The flurry of sensations is exhilarating. Suddenly it’s too much and not enough. He ducks the next punch and grabs both wrists. He made the mistake the first time and knows better now. She won’t escape him unless he lets her. Not one to be outdone, she pulls one more trick out. She doesn’t resist his grip and instead leans up closer to his ear. Her chest is pressed flush against him and he knows she’s tipping just to reach him. Her lips, damp with sweat and cooling blood, brush against his ear and a weight settles at the base of his spine.

“Got a firm grip there?” her voice is soft, almost delicate, and he almost doesn’t register the question. His tongue feels like lead and his mouth has run dry; his brain can’t make the right connections to form words. He tightens his hold on her as an answer instead. She gets it though because she chuckles a swift ‘Good’ before she’s leaping and bracing her feet against his stomach. She leans back and uses her weight to pull them both to the ground, then she lifts her feet and flips him over. His fingers loosen and she slips out of his hold again. She follows the momentum of her roll and sits firmly on his hips, one leg pinning each of his down. She grabs both of his wrists in her small hand and uses the other to tip his chin back, his skull crashing into the mat harshly, blunt nails digging into his skin.

Her face looms over his, again closer than is strictly necessary, and she smirks at him. Her tongue peaks out and swipes at the sweat above her upper lip. He holds his breath, waiting to hear what she has to say next. His patience doesn’t reward him that satisfaction, however. A ding echoes into the room, cutting through the shouts and growls of their captive audience. She won. 

Her victorious smile is a thing of beauty, he can’t really lament his loss. Before he could overthink and get lost in his head he takes a dive headfirst and gives into his impulses.

“I’m Richard Grayson. Call me Dick.” He sounds breathless and rung out. 

“I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” her name is perfect like her. She releases his arms and moves to get off him. She offers a hand to help him up and he takes it. Before he could say something stupid she continues her introduction.

“You can call me Nette. I hope to see you next week.”

She will.

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

SECOND CHANCE

Prompt: Just some good old fluff with Finny boy

Word Count: Long, bitch! So fucking long

Pairings: Finn Bálor x Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut (implied)

Editor: @thenightmareismyreality

Tag: @theworldofotps , @new-zealand-chic , @sassymox , @waywardwrestlewritingwaif , @yungbludjazz360 , @starwithaheart

Notes: Found this in an old file (wrote this about two years ago, maybe?) But I kinda like this little story ❤️ If you’d like to check out my previous works, you can find them on my Masterlist 😉

A deep sigh of relief left my lips as I brushed my damp hair. I heard a commotion in the living room, and began to dread the potential fight I would have to break up between a four and six year-old over a remote control.

“Mommy, mommy, mommy!” Caleb screamed in excitement, while bursting through my bedroom door like a maniac

“You’ll never believe who’s downstairs with us” He jumped with a cheeky smile

“Cal, who’s downstairs?” I ask worryingly, instinctively reaching for the gun that I kept in my nightstand

Caleb laughed and ran downstairs again.

As a homicide detective, my cop instincts combined with my motherly instincts took over me and I ran to the living room in only a tank top and panties, with my gun already aimed to shoot.

Although, the last person I thought I would see standing there, braiding my daughter Maeve’s hair in a style reminiscent of queen Elsa, and watching Caleb showing off his somersault technique was HIM…

That caught me off guard and he must have sensed it, because the first thing he did was look up.

“Hi” He said shyly

“What are you doing here, Finn?” I asked, putting my gun down on the dinner table

“I swear I didn’t break in” He laughed, attempting a joke

“What do you want?” I decided to ignore the small talk...there was no need for that, not after everything he did

“I have an injury. So I have some time off for a while and I wanted to stop by to see the kids and you” He whispered the last part

“Injury, huh? Is it bad?”

Even after everything he did, I couldn’t help but worry about his well being, you know, for the kids sake!...

Ok fine, I still love him, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“No, nothing serious. But I got two months off and I was excited to see my family” He looked at me when he said that

“Are you going to see your parents?”

“Yeah and I was thinking if it would be ok with you if I take the kids with me?”

“Of course! Why would I mind?”

His family was always very loving and kind to me, and we became very close once the kids were born. Sometimes I would take them to Ireland on my vacation so they could see their grandparents or they would travel to New York so they could see the kids.

“Because of...you know” He trailed off

“Neither your family or the kids have anything to do with that. I’m a grown woman, Finn. I know how to separate the sheep from the goat, ok?!”

I could feel the air becoming thicker with the tension, until Maeve said

“Mommy, why aren’t you wearing any pants? Are you feeling hot? I can get you the Japanese hand fan daddy gave it to me, if you’d like” She smiled

“Thank you buttercup, but that won’t be necessary. I’ll be right back”

......................................................................

Now, properly dressed, I made my way towards the kitchen to get dinner ready.

“Do you need any help?” Finn asked from behind me

“No, thank you. You can go stay with the kids” I didn’t even bother to turn around to face him

“Y/N, can we talk?”

I sighed “There’s nothing worth talking about, Finn”

“Please?”

“What can you possibly say that will change what happened? Nothing! It will be a bunch of empty sorry’s and excuses, so let’s just save it, ok?!”

“It’s not empty, I truly am sorry”

“You should’ve thought that before you believed the bunch of lies she told you”

He opened his mouth to say something but Caleb began calling for him to go watch the cartoons with them.

......................................................................

“Mommy, can daddy have dinner with us?” Maeve asked

“Of course, pumpkin. If he would like to”

“Yay” She screams “Daddy, come!” She beckoned him

The subjects of conversation at dinner were mostly controlled by the kids. They, as per usual, asked me how many bad people I had taken down that day, but also asked Finn about his traveling, which state or city he liked the most, the best foods he’d eaten, which LEGO set was he building, if the hotel beds were soft and ‘what about the blankets?’

“Alright, I know you two are very excited to see daddy, but we need to brush those teeth! So, let’s go kiddos” I got up from my chair

“I’ll do it” He grabbed both kids, resting one on each side of his hip and went up to brush their teeth

When he came back down alone, I give him a questioning look

“They’re asleep” He smiled softly

“Oh, you already put them down for bed?! Thank you” I said, cleaning the kitchen island.

He nodded “I just didn’t bathe them because they said you already did”

“Yeah, that’s the first thing I do when I get home. Or my mom does it for me if I get caught up in a case, but most of the time I do it”

“How’s work?” He asked, sitting down on one of the high benches.

“Good, Richard is my superior again, so he helps me a lot with my shifts, because of the kids” I smiled

“The old man is still working?” He laughed, amused

“Yeah, he already said he will only leave his badge when he’s dead” I cackled “How’s road life? Amazing, I presume”

“Nah, don’t let the bright lights fool ya” He laughed, bitterly “I love wrestling, being in the ring, performing for the audience, but once I pass through the curtains backstage it gets lonely” A little bit of sadness could be heard in his voice “It’s very lonely... it’s different from when I came back home to you and the kids. Now I just get back to an empty apartment, wishing I could get back home” He looks at me

“Finn, please”

“I love you! Why can’t we just try again?”

“Because no!”

“Why?” He pleaded

“Because you don’t know what it was like ok?! You don’t know how much it hurt me, the things you said, the fact that you believed some envious woman’s gossip about me having an affair with Lucas! He’s married for fuck’s sake! To a man!”

“I- I didn’t knew Lucas was gay, Y/N”

“Yeah, you didn’t! And why is that? Oh yeah, because you did not trust your own wife, all you saw was the fact that he is a man and my work partner so you just bought the assumption that woman sold you, choosing to believe her instead of me!”

“It wasn’t like that, ok?” He tried to explain

“It wasn’t like that, you say? When you were the one who came in here filled with accusations! Saying that I had an affair with him, that I cheated on you, that you wished you would’ve slept with half of the women who throw themselves at you everyday, doubting that those kids upstairs are yours, when they’re the fucking spitting image of you! You said all those horrible things, Finn. Not me!”

He stared at his knuckles as I continued, now crying

“How do you think that made me feel? To listen from my own husband how much he wished he had cheated on me. Bragging about all of the hot young women who are waiting to be fucked by a wrestler...You know it was always hard for me to accept that you wanted me and not some hot girl in the locker room, that you had chosen me, that I got lucky enough to not only marry a man who’s physically breathtaking but also such a beautiful person on the inside. And still, it was that same Prince Charming who became the frog! I never thought that” I had to stop myself from saying the next horrible words roaming through my mind

“You never thought that, what, Y/N?”

I shook my head

“Say it”

I shook my head again and he got up from the bench, coming to where I was standing

“Say it, love. I can take it”

“I don’t want to say it” I whispered as more tears rolled down my cheeks

“Shhh, it’s ok, love” Finn pulled my head to his chest “Please don’t cry, I hate when you cry” His arms are tightly locked around me, providing me the sense of comfort that only he could give. And I hated that!

“Let me go” I tried to push him away

“What’s wrong, Y/N?”

“Just don’t touch me” I said, shoving him away

He knew that I was closing him off, I could see it in his eyes

“Say it! You never thought that what?” He insisted, more forcefully this time

“I never thought that someday I would regret meeting you! Marrying you, starting a family with you. If I could do it all again, I wouldn’t!” I spat

“You wouldn’t?” He scooted closer

“No” I answered with venom in my voice, trying to turn my undying love for him into hatred

“But I would!” Finn said firmly

I shook my head in denial, as he cupped my cheeks in his calloused hands, making me look up to meet his blue eyes

“I would do it, all over again. Meeting you, dating you, marrying you, having kids with you, in the future seeing the kids graduate high school, college, be at their wedding, take our future grandkids to the park, and spend the rest of my life with you! I would choose you over and over and over again! I choose you everyday, Y/N”

I squeezed my eyes shut

“You’re lying! Stop lying, Finn” I whispered

“Am I though? Open your eyes and look at me. I was never able to hide ANYTHING from you, I can lie to anyone but you. You can always see through me, so just look at me and tell me if I’m lying. If I am, then I promise you, I’ll leave this house right now and you’ll never have to see me again! Just open your eyes” He kissed each closed eyelid

After a few minutes, I gathered the courage to finally look at him and I could only see love, regret, pain and truth.

“I love you Y/N and always will. Yes, I was dumb to listen to some random gossip and I’m paying the price for it, but the only thing I ask you is: please, don’t give up on us! I’ll give you whatever time you need, just promise me that we’ll fix it. That we’ll be together again...You, Caleb and Maeve are my life! I would die to save you in a blink, love. If I had to choose between your life or mine I would choose yours, becau-“

I placed two fingers on his lips

“Stop talking like that! You know I don’t like it. It attracts those bad vibes, you know?”

Finn lightly chuckled “But I mean it”

“Stop! I don’t like when you talk like that... I hate to think that something bad could ever happen to you. You know, because of the kids” I tried to hide my feelings

“And you wouldn’t miss me, not even a little bit?” He teased

“I miss you everyday” I quickly slapped a hand over my mouth when I realized what I just said

He smiled sweetly, leaning down to place sweet and innocent pecks all over my face.

Finn started on my forehead, then he went to my temples, followed by the cheekbones, apple’s of the cheek, jaw, chin, side of my lips. Finn pulled back to search for any resistance signs and when he found none, he kissed my lips. A lazy kiss, that grew more urgent by the minute.

“Fuck, I missed you so much” He moaned, now kissing my neck

“Finn, wait. Wait a minute” I tried to pull his head back by his hair but that only made him moan.

“Finn!” I said harshly, finally having his attention

“What’s wrong, love? Don’t you want it? I thought that-“

“Have you seen anyone since we broke up?” I asked, not even letting him finish his sentence

“We didn’t break up! You asked me for some time and-“

“Finn, just answer the fucking question please” I pleaded

“No, I haven’t been with anyone in those 8 months. Except for my hand when I look at your pictures” He smirked

“You’re so ridiculous” I whispered in relief as my arms circled his waist

“So...do you still want to make love?” He eagerly asked

“We never made love, Finny. We’ve always fucked senseless” I laughed

“No! We’ve always made love it’s just that we’re more frantic about it” He chuckled

“Ok, we sleep together and then what?” I asked

“Then you stay here and I go back to my apartment” He simply said

My heart sunk in my chest as a faint “Oh, ok” left my lips

“So I can pack my clothes and bring them back home” He said, as a devilish smile grew on his face “That’s of course, if you want me here”

“Asshole” I lightly punched his chest “I thought you just wanted a one night stand and that’s it. You scared me!”

Finn chuckled, beckoning me closer to him

“You could never be just a one night stand, love. You fuck too good to be just a one time thing” He winked

“So you just want me for my bedroom skills, huh?” I teased

“Yes and no” He giggled “Yes, because no other woman fucks like you do” He bit my neck, growling “And no, because there’s so much more about you than the bedroom” He hugged my waist “You’re my best friend, my nurturer, my supporter, the air that keeps me alive, my everything!” He kissed me passionately

“Can we try again? Start over and leave all that shit behind us?” He whispered

“If you promise me that if we get back together, you won’t listen to other people’s gossip and will come to me whenever you hear somethi-“

“Yes!” He pecked my lips excitedly, as a wide smile took over his face “I promise you, love! That’ll never happen again, you have my word!” He gave me a bear hug and spun me around the kitchen

“Finn!” I squealed, when we almost fell to the ground “We’re going to wake up the kids” I giggled

“Oh no, shhhh” He shut me up with a kiss “We can’t let that happen! Because as much as I love our children, I haven’t gotten any in eight months and I can’t wait to change that with you right now” He pushed us towards the couch and laid on top of me

“But I thought you were going to go and get your clothes”

“I don’t need clothes, woman! You know I like to sleep naked” He winked

And roamed his head down to...

Please, if you’re comfortable with it, let me know your thoughts on this? Feedbacks are always appreciated 🥰😘

[phis-corner]

demon’s daughter

I decided to re-open the taglist for this fic because I am sometimes a pushover, so now you can either ask or comment to be on the fic’s taglist or the permanent taglist! 

Additionally, I have no consistent update schedule. My first draft is written by hand- I always like to stay two chapters ahead, so I posted this chapter when I finished copying chapter 5 into a Google Doc and proofreading.

Also, fun fact: I hate chocolate. My senses just do not like it at all. I also have a very sensitive tongue and can taste the barest hint of spiciness in foods, which also means I have zero spice tolerance whatsoever. As a Chinese-American with family in Sichuan, this means I get force-fed a lot of extremely spicy foods anyway.

Masterlist Chapter 1 Chapter 2 [Chapter 3] Chapter 4

“Why are you letting them stay? He tried to kill Dick!” Timothy points at Damian, who glowers at him from across the cave as Alfred stitches Richard’s cuts.

Marinette sighs. “Akhi was not trying to murder Richard. If you paid more attention, you would notice that all of Richard’s wounds are carefully placed in non-lethal areas meant to slow him down instead of severely injuring him.”

Batman does not say a word. He hasn’t spoken since Richard called him to verify their claims.

“They were raised as assassins, Timmy. It’s normal that they’d feel threatened a lot, and act accordingly. They’re family now. Give them a chance.” Richard replies, and Marinette blinks. She did not expect to have Richard defend them so easily.

“Pardon me,” She pipes up. “But ‘they’ are currently present.”

“Right. Sorry.” Richard has the sense to look guilty. Timothy just glares.

Damian squeezes her hand three times, their signal for I would like to leave. Marinette sighs as she exits the Batcave. Being accepted into the family is… a work in progress.

.o0o.

Slade is put into Blackgate not long after with the information Ubu gave after being interrogated by the Bats. Damian and Marinette were not allowed to go. 

Too young, Richard had said. They had interpreted that as You cannot be trusted to keep him alive. He did make the right call though. Damian would have tried extremely hard had he gotten the chance.

Of course, the League did dispose of him not long after anyway, but it was the thought that counted.

Damian and Marinette spent their days in the Manor sparring, reading, or practicing their instruments. Richard, who seemed determined to bond with them, bought them both new sketchbooks, for Damian’s drawings and Marinette’s designs. She had discovered an affinity for clothing design while undercover on a mission, and had been designing ever since.

Cass (she insisted that they call her that instead of Cassandra,) was always happy to spar when asked, and although nobody ever defeated her, it was a welcomed challenge to fight someone who knew your every move, sometimes even before you did. Damian grudgingly admits she is a worthy sister, which makes Marinette smile and Cass beam.

Jason had his own home and only visited every once in a while, and Timothy was rarely seen. It didn’t help that Damian continued to make snarky comments whenever they did see him, but if Timothy was scarce, Father was practically nonexistent.

Since they came to the Manor, their father has said a total of two words to the both of them, and that was just their names when he exited his study as they passed by.

Marinette is determined to make her new family work, and so when she finds Timothy completely by accident, typing away on a laptop in one of the less-used rooms in the Manor, she takes a chance.

“You do know we are not trying to replace you, right?” She asks softly, sitting down in an armchair and deliberately not making eye contact with him. 

Timothy snorts. “But is that not what you’re doing? Bruce chose to take in everyone else. I had to blackmail him into letting me be Robin. And then the biological kids show up, born and raised like fucking royalty, so who would care about Tim Drake? The little kid whose parents didn’t even want him and his neighbor only adopted him because he knew his most well-kept secret.”

“We have more in common than you think.” Marinette says quietly.

“Yeah, right.” Timothy laughs bitterly. “The Princess of the League-”

“I wasn’t.” Marinette interrupts.

“Huh? But-”

“I wasn’t the Princess.” Marinette keeps her voice calm with considerable effort. “As soon as I was born, Ra’s gave me over to Lady Shiva. He declared me unworthy because I was a girl, and I was raised as the lowest-ranked assassin. I may have been Shiva’s protege, but that just meant she went even harder on me. I did not know even my last name until after my first death when I was five. I did not properly meet my brother until last year. Ra’s decided that I could be acknowledged, but maintained his stance on feminine inferiority.”

She chuckles hollowly. “You fear being replaced by your father figure’s biological children, Timothy. But your fear is unwarranted. Bruce Wayne chose to adopt you, because he is a good man with copious amounts of generosity. However, it evidently does not extend to his biological children. Talia dumped us at Batman’s feet and left without another word, without looking back. And Father? We may have been a complete surprise, but he has said two words in total to us since that first night- our names. You need not worry, Timothy. You shall not be replaced.”

Marinette stands, her message conveyed, and pauses in the doorway of the room. 

“Have a good afternoon, Timothy.”

The next day, Marinette and Damian watch on live television as their father is killed by Darkseid.

.o0o.

The funeral for Batman is somber. Everyone cries except for Marinette and Damian.

She thinks they should be crying, but Marinette simply didn’t know her father well enough to really mourn him. Damian squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back. The twins stand, faces carefully blank, shoulders straight and unmoving, like rocks in an ocean of tears.

Crime in Gotham runs rampant when they think Batman is gone, and so Richard becomes Batman out of necessity- and chooses her twin brother as his Robin.

Nobody else sees how it crushes Timothy, because Cass has left for Hong Kong, abandoning Batgirl and making her own identity as Black Bat. Jason is holed up in a safehouse somewhere, Richard and Damian are in their own little world as they prepare for their first patrol together, and Alfred needs time to mourn too.

So she finds herself knocking on the door to Timothy’s room, one hand holding a plate of sandwiches and a freshly brewed coffee because he hasn’t left his room since the funeral. Marinette quietly enters upon his muffled “Come in” and sets the plate down next to Timothy, whose eyes are red-rimmed and have even larger bags than normal, and yet he continues to work.

“I… noticed you have not come out to eat, so I brought some food and fresh coffee. Black.” She adds, after a moment of hesitation.

“Thanks.” Timothy mumbles, immediately going for the coffee. “Why are you doing this?”

Marinette shrugs. “Everyone else was caught up in their own situation and had issues to work through too. I am relatively unaffected by the circumstances and therefore my observation skills have not declined.” She says simply. “You should also eat. I will not stop you from drinking the coffee, but you cannot work on an empty stomach, either.”

He begrudgingly eats a sandwich, still typing away at his laptop all the while. Marinette notes the tension in his frame.

“Would you like to talk about it? I have read that venting is significantly better for one’s mental health than keeping it bottled up.” She offers.

Timothy suddenly slams the laptop shut, hard, but Marinette doesn’t flinch. The reaction was trained out of her a long time ago. 

“It’s not- it’s- my entire life, I’ve been trying to prove myself. Robin was- Robin was special. I wasn’t the first Robin, but it was a reminder that I was worth something to someone, that I could do good and be useful. And then Bruce dies, Dick becomes Batman, and he just names Damian as his Robin like my opinion on the matter meant nothing, booting me out of the position, without any semblance of an explanation and-” He breaks off into sobs.

The sight of somebody crying makes Marinette more than a little awkward, because what is she doing? She doesn’t know how to comfort a crying person, but she does know that Timothy was touch-starved as a child. However, she isn’t the most touchy-feely person on the planet either, so she just settles for rubbing his back as he lets it all out.

Once he’s run out of tears, she silently hands him the tissue box she plucked from his desk. 

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, you are not worthless.” Marinette says sternly. “Nobody is worthless, and you are far from being anywhere near so. You are the cleverest and most intelligent of us all, a capable, quick-thinking strategist, and you have detective skills that rivaled Father’s. I believe Richard chose Damian as Robin because Robin is always supposed to be Batman’s sidekick. He is always taken under Batman’s wing because there are things he hasn’t learned, that Batman can teach him. Richard sees you as an equal, and therefore cannot keep you as his Robin because you have graduated the mantle. It is time you created a new identity and moved on. Do you have anything in mind?”

Timothy sniffs once. “Thank you. I really needed that. And as for the ideas,” He reaches over and pulls out a sketchbook, a smile spreading across his face. “I’ve got a few.”

.o0o.

They brainstorm ideas for almost three hours before Timothy falls asleep. Marinette easily carries his light frame to his bed and drapes a blanket over his shoulders before quietly exiting his room.

Thankfully, she managed to convince Timothy that the cowl was a terrible idea. Marinette returns to her own room for her sketchbook. Batman and Robin will have each other’s backs. But Red Hood works alone, leaving Red Robin with nobody to watch his back.

Timothy is Marinette’s brother too, and everyone else is headed into the field anyway. She, like Damian, also had the phrase ‘justice, not vengeance’ drilled into her head, and Richard had made sure to remind them daily to aim for non-lethal spots. Not that she planned on taking a life ever again anyway.

Marinette flips open her sketchbook to a bookmarked page and smiles. It seems that Starling would be making an appearance very soon.

.o0o.

It is almost time for Richard and Damian’s first patrol as Batman and Robin. Marinette heads downstairs to wish them well, but freezes at the sight of her twin in Timothy’s old suit.

“This is unacceptable!” She screeches, hurrying forward and looking pleadingly at Richard. “You cannot let akhi out into Gotham looking like a traffic light!”

Richard frowns, as does Damian. “But you never had a problem with Tim wearing it.”

“Tt. Timothy had little to no prior experience in combat before being trained as Robin. Damian has been trained to utilize the shadows in combat since birth. Wearing those bright colors will make him stand out and put him at a disadvantage.” Marinette tuts, already scribbling out a new design in her sketchbook.

“Then what do you suggest, ukhti?” Damian asks.

“I have a design in mind. The colors will stay, but the yellow and green will have to be significantly darker, and the red should be dulled as well. Sadly, you will have to wear that monstrosity tonight, but I can have the suit finished in time for patrol tomorrow, as will mine and Timothy’s new suits.” She replies, not glancing up from her book.

“What do you mean, Marinette?” Richard questions, and Marinette feels a tiny twinge of annoyance at how he handled telling Timothy about Robin.

“I mean that Timothy and I have crafted new identities as well. You did not expect him to just stop fighting crime, or for me to just sit at home while everyone else carried out Father’s mission, did you?”

Damian nods, a small smile pulling at his lips. “It will be nice to see you in the field too, ukhti.”

“What will your names be?” Richard prods curiously.

“I will not tell you just yet.” Marinette smirks. She shows her twin the finished design. “Does this look alright, akhi?”

“It looks wonderful, ukhti.” Damian replies. “Thank you.”

She sniffs. “Well, somebody had to fix the lack of fashion sense in this household eventually.”

.o0o.

Everyone else in the family may use capes, but Marinette decided that Richard’s Nightwing suit was by far the best because of its lack of one. Capes were long, heavy, a waste of fabric, and overall useless.

The Starling suit was primarily black, with a dark emerald mask covering the lower half of her face (because why carry a gas mask and rebreather when it can be built in?) with gloves and boots in the same color. A single silver star with curved sides was splayed on her chest, and a dark green utility belt rested on her waist. Her steel war fans had holsters strapped to her thighs.

All in all, the suit was built for the shadows. Marinette had learned to master slipping through the dark, unseen, and Gotham was the perfect place to utilize that. Starling would be nothing more than a ghost, a legend, if she had her way. After all, the less citizens knew, the less likely the information would hit the underworld, and that way, the vigilantes wouldn’t have all their cards out in the open.

Damian looks much better in his new suit as well, and Timothy is also grinning when he steps out of the male’s changing room. (A/N: the new 52 suit. I’m not letting him out of the Cave with that ugly cowl, or the traffic light costume with an extra R. Don’t even get me started on the Drake one.)

Richard, cowl still down, smiles as bright as the sun itself. “Good to see you, Robin. Tim, Marinette, can I ask your names?”

Timothy fastens his domino. “Red Robin.”

Marinette pulls her face mask up and curtsies with perfect posture. “Starling. I wish to work in the shadows, if that is alright.”

Richard puts on the cowl and becomes Batman. “You guys all look amazing.” He grins, and it is unsettling to see Batman smile. Oracle logs into the comms from the Clocktower.

“You all ready?”

They split the city in half. Red Robin and Starling take the North while Batman & Robin will cover the South. 

Starling trails Red Robin from afar, leaping from building to building and only using her grappling hook when the distance is too great to close by foot. They stop four muggings and two attempted assaults, all without Starling being spotted. The criminals think they hit their head on the alley walls or each other instead of her fist from behind.

It’s almost three in the morning when Batman calls it quits and they return to the Cave, changing out of their suits and showering. They are somehow all unharmed, so Alfred sends them up to bed.

Damian and Marinette brush their teeth before climbing into bed and flipping off the lights.

“Tonight was actually quite enjoyable.” Marinette remarks. “It is a nice feeling, to know that you are helping people.”

Damian hums sleepily. “It is good to know that we are continuing Father’s legacy.”

Marinette smiles. “Yes, I suppose so.” She burrows deeper into her blankets. “Sleep well, akhi.”

“The same goes for you, ukhti.”

For once, Marinette doesn’t have a nightmare.

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[chilling-seavey]

What time is it? It's Seavey-Besson Christmas time of course 😛 leetle Richie and Charlie writing letters to santa, wishing for toy planes, and being absolutely wide eyed and excited about the brand new train set that's moving by itself :) ~T

↳  A/N Ah nothing like a joyful Christmas after suffering through war...there's something so special about Pss joy that's unlike any other

↳ Word Count: 1172

↳ Passchendaele Masterlist

December 25, 1924

Dear Father Christmas,

I would please like a toy plane so I can play pilots with Charlie and lots of chocolate and sweets. Daddy says I was good this year and I do not want coal as a present thank you.

Love Richie Besson, age 6, little bedroom at the front of the hall in my house

“What a darling.” Elizabeth smiled. “'Love Richie'.”

Corbyn folded his son’s letter back up with a proud grin, “His stated location is my favourite addition.”

It was the Christmas of 1924 and the Besson’s had invited the Seavey’s over to spend Christmas Eve at their house. Once the children had been put to bed, buzzing off Christmas cheer and the concept of being able to wake up with their best friends on Christmas morning, the adults gathered in the parlour for cups of tea and to read each other their children’s letters they had ‘sent to Father Christmas’ earlier that month. Most of the gifts requested in the letters were neatly wrapped and placed under the Besson’s tree in the parlour, waiting for the children’s morning arrival.

“Let’s hear Charlie’s.” Christine said eagerly, curled up on one of the armchairs with her husband.

Daniel leaned forward and picked up the opened envelope from the coffee table and slid out the lined paper that was folded inside. Elizabeth leaned on his shoulder as he cleared his throat though his soft smile and began to read out loud quietly,

Dear Father Christmas,

I have been a good boy this year and I would like a bicycle that I can ride by myself. I would also like a train to match my toy plane from my birthday. It would like it to be green.

And please give a teddy to my little sister so she can stop taking mine.

From Charles Christian Seave

“Without the ‘y’.” Daniel chuckled as he finished reading.

“Without the ‘y’?” Corbyn leaned over to look, “Does your son not know how to spell his name?”

“I think he was too excited and accidentally left it out.” Elizabeth giggled. “I’m excited until Evy is old enough to write letters to Father Christmas.”

Corbyn sipped his tea, “Frances insisted this year that she was too old for letters.”

Christine rested her head against Corbyn’s, “Good thing I pay extra attention to what she is drawn to at the shops. Took her into London the other week to get some secret ideas.”

“We have four incredible kids, do we not?” Elizabeth smiled, cuddling up into Daniel’s side and he pressed a brief kiss to her temple.

Corbyn nodded in agreement, glancing towards the hallway, “Sleeping like angels upstairs.”

The four little angels woke with the sun on Christmas morning. Having all had a sleepover in Richie’s room – the boys squished into his single bed and the girls in makeshift beds on the carpet – once one woke, they all did. Frances tried to tame the excited three who were insistent on rushing downstairs as fast as they could.

“We must wake the adults first.” she instructed matter-of-factly.

So each pair of children ran to their respective parents to wake them up with excited cheers and pulling the blankets off their beds to wake them faster. Soon, the eight of them were huddled at the top of the stairs and the children were trying to get a peak down into the parlour while the parents were still trying to wake.

Richard and Charles wore matching red striped pyjamas, standing at the top of the straight run staircase as if ready to kick off a race at the signal. With similar messy brown hair and wide blue eyes, they honestly could have passed as twins.

They took the lead down the stairs when the parents gave the go ahead, Frances right behind them and Evelyn trying to catch up as she held Daniel’s hand on each step. When they turned the corner into the parlour, it was as if a miracle had happened over night as the decorated Christmas tree was protecting a huge spread of presents and toys. The boys stopped in their tracks at the circular train track that was looping around the base of the tree and then the electric toy locomotive that chugged along it’s path all on its own.

“The train!” Charlie squealed, whipping his head around to look at his parents, “Daddy! The train’s moving on its own!”

“I see that, little one!” Daniel smiled, “Who’s name is on it?”

Charlie crawled under the tree and his eyes followed the green locomotive as it crossed in front of his face, his very own name spelt out in curling letters on a label on the top. Charlie bonked his head on a low lying branch, “It’s my train, Richie! Come look!”

The boys huddled together under the branches of the evergreen while Frances showed Evelyn how to pour herself some imaginary tea from her new play set that was resting on her gifted little table. The parents sat on the sofa and Corbyn stopped to pick up one of the wrapped presents first.

“Come here, Rich.” he called, “This one’s got your name on it.”

Richie crawled out from under the tree and Charlie followed him quickly, both excited to see what toy they would ultimately be sharing. They shared everything after all. Corbyn passed over the box and the boys sat themselves down on the rug in the parlour to open it.

“I wanna see, Charlie.” Evelyn tugged at his long sleeve.

He wrapped his arm around his sister and let her sit on his lap as Richie unwrapped his gift, labelled From Father Christmas. Richard gasped with a beaming smile as he pulled the box from the wrapping paper, staring at the impressive print of a plane on the front, and he didn’t waste one more second before ripping open the end of the box and pulled out the toy plane.

“It’s the one I wanted!” Richie beamed, thrusting it in Charlie’s face, “Look, Charlie! It’s like yours!”

“Aw, I shoulda brought mine to your house!” Charlie pulled his little sister’s eager hand out of the way so she couldn’t grab the toy.

Richie stared at his gift in his two hands, grinning ear to ear at the careful detail and paintwork of the plastic pieces. His eyes nearly shone in childlike wonder as his sister and his friends went on to open their next gifts, too obsessed with his pretty new plane that he had all to himself.

“Let me see, Richie.” Corbyn called, tearing his son from his little trance.

Richard hopped up from the floor and stepped over Frances and her new dress to pass the plane into his father’s hands. As Corbyn admired the plane as if he hadn’t known it was wrapped under the tree, Richard watched him quietly.

“I’m gonna fly a real one some day, Daddy.”

Corbyn smiled proudly at him and passed him back his plane, “I bet you are, son.”

Passchendaele Taglist: @stuffofseaveyy @hopinglimelight @onlyangelavery @randomlimelightxxx @jonahlovescoffee @sbrewer21 @bessonsbxtch @viamiasoncrack @21burritoseavey @queenseavey23 @serenityseavey @marthagryffindor @xkelsev

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[potatosoldier]

Are you still there?

  /Part 7/

I am hot, I am sweaty, and I am crammed into a small cot surrounded by equally sweaty men. It was the 6th of September, and we had just boarded the Great Samaria a few hours ago. We were now on a journey to Europe. 

How they managed to jam us into this ship, I have no clue. It isn’t like there is 20 men over the capacity of this ship. No, this ship was made for 1000 passengers and now there were 5000 men from the 506th shoved in. I could have made the choice and went to the officers and made my stay there, I want to be near the men. 

“Joe, darling, your shoulders are like barn doors, I can’t fit”

Oh yes, as the passenger count was so high, the cots were shared by two soldiers. I was sharing with Joe. At first I also considered going to Skip, but then I came to a conclusion that I could stand Joe’s singing in this suppressed place, but listening to Skip talk non-stop would make me an irritable person. And I truly did not want to become that. These men are my companions and I want to treat the with the respect they deserve. I did not have the right to become rude even in these circumstances. 

Also, if I was put too high, Bull would have to carry me around like a baby monkey. 

“For God’s sake, just turn the other way”, Joe grunts as I try to maneuver myself without jostling the cot too much.  

“Joe, please move”, I whine and try to push him. He rasps and looks at me teasing smile on his lips. 

“you wanna continue trying, Bambi”, he teases. I scrunch my brows and pout. Why did he have to make this so difficult. Then I put on my most motherly glare. “Joseph Toye, this is not how you should behave”, I scold. 

He chuckles once again, but proceeds to move over so I’m finally able to fit in next to him on the cot. It was a tight squeeze, both of us were on top of the bed springs, but we tried to be so that it’s the least uncomfortable. Physically and mentally. 

“So you told Muck, huh?”, he whispers once we are in and he hears Skip talking while making his way around the ship. I nod as we both look at the cot above us. “You sure that was a good idea?”, he asks. I could hear in his voice that he didn’t doubt Skip personally, but he was just checking in. 

I smile. “He has been good to me since I came here, He won’t betray me now. And it does feel good to let it out”, I tell. He nods. 

“So, what do you think about going to Europe?”, he asks. I shrug. “I’m glad I’m here, maybe we can speed up the process of ending this war and Matias and dad can go back home”, I answer. Matias was my older brother. I think he is the reason I’m so fond of Skip and Luz, Matias was such a jokester too. It broke my heart to think of him out there somewhere, fighting for his life. 

“I’m glad we’re going to Europe too. Hitler gets one of these right across the windpipe, Roosevelt changes Thanksgiving to Joe Toye Day and 10,000 a year for the rest of my fucking life”, he says in a much louder voice. 

I look at him trying not to laugh. “Joe, I promise I’ll celebrate Joe Toye Day from now on even if you don’t succeed”, I manage to say without laughing. 

“What if we don’t get to Europe, what if they send us to North Africa”, Smokey points out from above us. 

The conversation doesn’t awfully concern me, till I hear these words: “ I like Winters, he is a good man. But when bullets start flying, I don’t know if I want a Quaker doing my fighting for me”

My head turns sharply up towards Bill’s bed. My blood starts running cold with the rage I’m feeling. He had the audacity to condemn someone by their religion and to add to that doubt MY husbands skills in combat. 

“How do you know he’s a Quaker?”

“He ain’t Catholic”

I’m about to jump up and teach the boy some manners when, Joe apparently notices my open mouth and shoves my head under a blanket. And by shoving, I mean shoving. Nothing gentle about it. I can only imagine the looks people are throwing at us. 

“Okay Bambi up we go” he then says and starts lifting me up, my head still covered. I can hear Liebgott and Bill still having a spat and am about to turn to go towards the noise, but Joe keeps me covered till we are away from the scene.

“You need some fresh air, you angry hedgehog, to he deck we go”, Joe says and pushes people around to make us way forward. He really saved me from making a mistake. 

With Richard

The Boat was far from comfortable, that was the only thing Richard Winters would say to the circumstances at hand. Last time he had been this hot, was while running in full gear in Toccoa. 

“They really filled this Troop ship to the brink”, Lewis says looking just as sweaty as his friend. “If I’m going to be this hot, I’d rather have 5000 ladies here. At least there would be something to look at”, Nix says. 

“Yeah, and by the time you’d make it to your destination they’d have eaten you alive, after finding out about Kathy”, Dick teases. Keeping your mind light in situations like this was the key to keeping your head together. His friend had his own lightness hidden in Dick’s footlocker. 

Lewis let’s out his trademark chuckle. “Easy for you to say”, he snarks back. Dick knows exactly what he means. It was easy for Dick to judge other men for seeking affection because his own wife was there. 

Dick only looks at his friend with a dry look and they remain silent for a while. 

“Never thought this day would actually come, of course I knew it was coming, but hell we’ve come a long way”, Nix says and takes a swig from his flask. Dick lets out a small huff. It really was a miracle that Sobel hadn’t found some way to get rid off them. 

“You think we can make it Nix, back home I mean”, Dick asks thoughtfully and plays with his fingers. It was a curious question, not one of sadness or fear. 

“That’s not for us to decide, but hey I’ll drink to the thought of seeing your children some day”; he says raising his flask in what was supposed to be a happy remark, but when he sees Dick’s face, all the happiness goes away. 

He furrows his brows and looks at his friend more closely. “You okay Dick?”, he asks while still studying his now pale friend. Dick just continues looking ahead like he was not there at all. 

“Yeah, Nix, I’m okay”, he finally whispers and they drop the topic replacing it  with silence. 

Sonja / Day 3 on the Samaria/

“Better out than in, there we go”, George says as he brushes some of my hair back. I had been throwing up for the last two hours. I wasn’t sure was it the sea or the smell of the fish soup that made me so nauseous. 

“I fe- ugh”, I puke again in the middle of my sentence. I was not the only one throwing up, no. But I felt very embarrassed to be in this situation. I was a nurse, not a patient. 

Suddenly a pounding of boots is heard and I feel someone place themselves on the other side of me. “There we go, a Hershey bar for the lady. Got it from Winters, tried scrounging and he was kind enough to offer when he passed”, Skip says as he opens the wrapper for me. 

And what I can take from his story is that, that he went to tell Richard I’m unwell and Richard gave him the bar. 

“Thank you”, I whisper and take the piece Skip snaps me. Luz takes the bucket from my hands and gives water to rinse my mouth.  “For a small lady, you sure puke your guts out like a grown man”, Luz teases. 

“Shut up, I’m only three inches shorter than you”, I grumble and lean against him while savoring the chocolate to get the taste of vomit out. He only chuckles and makes a mocking “UGH” noise. 

“Thank you boys for getting me out, I thought Joe was going to kill me”,I giggle softly. They both huff in laughter. “I mean you did puke on his chest”, Skip points out. I grimace, that I sure did. His chest and neck where running with fish soup after I retched on him. 

“Someone get her a bucket, fucking hell, if someone isn’t gonna help her, Imma kill every fucking one of you”

“Skip, go get us some cards, I don’t think she can handle the sweat level yet”, George says as he strokes my back, as I gag again a little. 

How long was I going to be stuck on this boat.

----------------------

The night was awful, I felt sickly and I noticed that Joe was turning more than usual, probably because of the back pain. We were lucky enough to fit on the cot so that we could both sleep in it, but nothing seemed to get me catch sleep. I was afraid of throwing up again. 

“Nurse”, I hear a whisper. I jump and look up. Even in the dim lighting I can recognize my husband. I carefully stand without jostling Joe too much, and gently put the blanket on him again, after raising it up a little to get a little cool air on him. 

“Yes sir?”,I ask professionally as I stand before Richard. He just nods his head towards the deck. 

As we make it to the deck we quickly and quietly find a corner with no one sleeping in it. He takes a look around and has a seat. Before taking something out from his pocket: chocolate.

“Richard, you don’t have a sweet tooth, how do you have all these”;I ask looking at him oddly. 

“I got this from Nix, he was willing to sacrifice it for I quote ‘holy business’“, I giggle at my husbands expression as he quotes Lewis. I take the bar from him and put it next to me. I honestly felt too sickly to eat it now. 

I look at Dick biting my lip. He seems to notice the softness in my gaze as he utters a gentle “come here”, and gently guides me to lay my upper body onto his legs. 

“Don’t worry, darling. I can keep watch, and if they ask more, I can say that I was just looking out for you as your officer”, he soothes and rubs his hand along my arms. Which feels amazing on my sore muscles. 

“I think it’s time to tell the men soon anyway. They need to get used to the idea before we jump, and I think that they know you well enough to not judge you”, he then brings up. I nod against his leg, this living in secrecy was starting to become more and more difficult. 

I then squeeze my eyes shut as nausea takes over me. “Richie I think I might puke”,I whimper. I always got very stressed when I had nausea, and sensitive. “I don’t wanna puke on you”,I say and try to rise, but in all honestly rising just made it worse.

Richard guides me back gently. “If you puke on me, then you do. Don’t worry about that. Let’s just get you comfortable”

----------------------

On the 15th of September we finally made it to Liverpool. I was still quite pale after the ride. Eating had really become a task, and without food, you lose strength. But with the threats from Joe and gentle urging from Carwood Lipton, I was able to get food down. 

“You feelin’ good ma’am?”, comes a familiar Arkansas drawl as I give a happy sigh to be on the steady ground. I chuckle “Aye, sir, better than ever”, I say teasingly. He mock salutes me and we start walking for our shelter for the night. 

I walk on Joe’s side keeping a firm hold of his sleeve as I had been told by Lip.

“We don’t want you getting lost, you are harder to find than most of us”

At first I had wanted to tell him that I am a grown woman with military training, but his truly caring gaze changed my plans.  If I could express in words, how thankful I was for that mans care I would shout it at his too humble face. Okay, these boys are really rubbing off on me, I wouldn’t shout, maybe gently lecture. 

Tomorrow we would be going to our final destination. 

-------------------

Aldbourne was vastly different from all the places I’ve had my training and from what the men told me, it was also very different to them. We were in the middle of a village! We could actually see other people. 

“Come on Sonja, please, please please”, Skip was begging on his knees. We had gotten our passes to go to Swindon for a Saturday night dance this weekend. The boys were all excited about being able to go and actually getting the passes this time. 

“Skip, you know I get uncomfortable with many people, also it’ll be nice to have some time alone”, I try to reason as he keeps pushing my skirt and blouse towards my hands. 

He looks at me with his green puppy eyes. “please, Bambi, for me, Joe is coming too. Aren’t you? Hear that Joe is there too”, he begs. I sigh and look at both of them. 

“Okay, but when I say want to come back, I will”, I say pointing at him. 

“Yes!!”

-------------------

I didn’t put on my skirt and blouse, instead I took out my light blue swing dress and let my hair down. It was nice to feel girly again, and actually have a reason to get dolled up. That was not the best part, the best part was actually putting my wedding ring onto my finger. I gave a small kiss to my cross and said a little prayer of gratitude before going to the boys. 

The boys were happy to have me, their lady with them. 

“Your husband is one lucky bastard”. George had said when he saw me. Bull had even blushed when I gave him a kiss on the cheek as thanks for helping me with my jacket. 

All the girls in the dance were dolled up too. I found the music in there absolutely delightful. It might have not been completely in my taste, but I appreciate it nonetheless. Also the sound of shoes clapping against the floor was beautifully relaxing. 

“Would my lady like to dance?”, Skip asks bowing at the waste. I shake my head at his antics but take his hand none the less. And boy did I make a mistake. I was tosses from Skip to George, to Bull, to Joe, to Don (who mind you, was an excellent dancer!) and god knows who. The Easy boys really decided to hit the floor. 

Once I was able to make a run from them, I found Joe drinking a beer at one of the tables. “You having fun?”; he asks and takes a long sip. I nod and smile widely. 

“I can’t remember the last time I’ve been able to dance so much! But I do wonder”, I bite my lip. “Am I a bad person to be here, without Richard?”; I whisper. 

Joe shakes his head. “You’re too good for this world. There ain’t nothing wrong with you being here. He trusts you and you trust him. And hell, you were giggling like a school girl when you realized you still had time to go to him after this. You aren’t committing any sin”, he soothes with a little teasing making me blush. 

Who can blame me, I just want to grab my Robert Burns poems and go read with Richards head on my lap. Was that really too much to ask for? He was my husband.

We continue our conversation, with me sipping a cup of water, until I hear a similar interruption as in the boat. 

Bill and Skinny make it to our table chatting. “He might be a good man, but Quakers aren’t meant for this shit” My patience had been running thin with these comments for so long and now my patience was all run out.

“He is not a Quaker”, I snap. Bill turns to me with an odd look on his face. 

“And how do you know that Bambi”, many of the Easy men were now near our table from hearing my raised voice. 

I don’t know what made it come out of my mouth, but this did anyway: “If my husband was a Quaker I think I’d be the one who knows that and not you”

I quickly realize what I said and plant my palm against my face, trying to remember how to breathe. I hear Joe sigh from next to me: “Well, now you fucking said it”

@iilovemusic12us​

@georgeparisole​

[isthereanymorejello]

Thank You

Summary: Y/N is the victim of an unsub, but Spencer rescues you, and you get attached.

Warnings: attempted murder, rape, drug use, typical criminal minds stuff 

A/N: Hey y’all. This is my first story on this account, and I’m so excited for y’all to read it. I hope you enjoy. Let me know if you want to be included in the tags for any future stories, or if you have any requests. Thanks so much for reading.

You came to because of a rocking feeling. You shook awake and realized that you were in somebody’s arms, being carried bridal style. You immediately began to struggle blindly, remembering what had been happening to you when you passed out, but the arms around you just tightened.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay now. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI. I’ve got you now. You’re safe,” said the man carrying you You looked up into a handsome sculpted face with kind brown eyes, wide with concern. The doctor also had curly brown hair that tickled his jawline. You heard what he said, but it did nothing to assuage your concerns.

“Where am I? What’s going on?” you asked, panicked.

“You’re in Virginia, near Alexandria. We just rescued you from a shed back there,” he explained as he set you down on a stretcher near an ambulance. “A man named Jack Scorielli kidnapped you and has had you for four days.” “I- I remember,” you said as you began to shiver without the warmth of Dr. Reid’s arms and also the memories of what you had been through.

“He’s in custody now. You don’t need to be afraid anymore,” he assured you as he noticed your shaking and grabbed a blanket from just inside the ambulance and wrapped it around you. “How are you feeling. The paramedics are ready to take you to the hospital at any minute, but I didn’t notice any pressing injuries that required immediate care, and I figured that you might want to sit for a minute before being rushed anywhere.” “Thank you,” you muttered weakly as you looked up from your hands and met his earnest eyes. They were still just as concerned.

“Are you ready to go now?” he asked softly. You nodded slowly. “Ok, well I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

You reached out and grabbed his arm sharply as he turned to walk away. “Stay, please. Will you ride with me to the hospital? Please?” “Um… sure,” Dr. Reid answered as he shook off your hand. He followed you into the ambulance as the paramedics placed you in there. “You’re gonna be ok, you know? I know it seems rough now, but it gets easier. I mean, statistically, you’ll probably be in therapy, but it does get better.” You just placed a hand on his arm, meant to silence him. “We will have to debrief you later though,” he continued. “That’s gonna be rough, but JJ and Hotch will be kind. They’ll try not to push you, or make you uncomfortable” “You won’t be in the room?” you asked, panic creeping into your voice again. “Well, no. I’m not really great with victims. I can be a little callous by accident sometimes, so they don’t really let me in the room.” He shook your hand off of his arm, and the rest of the ride to the hospital was spent in silence.

When you arrived at the hospital, you were immediately rushed off to the hospital, where you were checked out and a rape kit was performed. After that, you were left alone in your room, with a policeman stationed outside. Later, two unfamiliar agents entered the room cautiously.

“Y/N? Hi, I’m communications liaison Jennifer Jareau, and this is Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner. Is it okay if we ask you some questions.” “Where’s Dr. Reid? Can I see him?” you asked in lieu of answering the proffered question.

“Spencer? He’s in the lobby. We can go get him if you want him here.” You just nodded. Jennifer left the room and the Unit Chief sat in one of the chairs near your bed after he finished setting up a camera on a tripod.

“How are you feeling?” he asked in a low, soft voice, but you just remained silent.

“Y/N?” Dr. Reid asked as he quickly walked through the door behind Jennifer a couple of moments later. “Are you okay?” You nodded. “But you asked for me?” You nodded again.

“JJ, Hotch, can the two of you give us a minute please?” They left the room, and Dr. Reid continued to stand in the corner of the room opposite your hospital bed. “Why wouldn’t you talk to JJ and Hotch?” You shook your head with a wild look in your eyes. “Y/N, please. You gotta talk to me.” “They just scared me,” you mumbled softly.

“Well, that’s understandable. You were kidnapped. Most likely, you’ll feel some sort of distrust for the rest of your life.” You were silent at that. “Right, that’s probably not helping. Sorry. Well, I do still need to ask you some questions.” You were silent again. “I know that this may be hard for you, but do you remember what happened when you were taken.” “Um- um. It was late, and I was leaving the grocery store, and somebody grabbed me. I woke up, and it was so, so dark,” you said as your voice began to break.

“That’s okay. Just breathe, Y/N. Remember, he can’t hurt you now.”

“He did things to me, really bad things,” you muttered under your breath, your eyes tearing up.

“Y/N. I need you to speak up please. I know that it hurts, but I need you to,” he said as he moved to stand beside you at the head of your hospital bed. You reached for his arm and hung onto it again. A pained expression took over Dr. Reid’s face.

“He did bad things to me,” you repeated.

“I know, but I need you to say it. I’m so sorry.” “He sexually assaulted me,” you cried as the tears started to stream down your face. Dr. Reid sat down next to you on the bed and put a comforting arm around your shoulders.

“It’s okay, Y/N. It’s proven that crying is therapeutic.” Your tears eventually started to slow and you sniffled for the last time. “Are you gonna be okay?” “I think so,” you said softly.

“Ok, well, here’s my number. I’ll be in touch if we need anything else. That reminds me, I do have just one more question for you. I noticed that you didn’t have anybody on file for us to call.”

“Oh- um… My father left before I was born. My mom died a few years ago. No siblings and I’m new in town. I don’t really have anybody to put down.” “Do you know how incredibly dangerous that is? Everybody needs to have an emergency contact!” Dr. Reid. shouted as he jumped up and began to pace the room while angrily running his hands through his hair. “Are you angry with me?” you asked softly.

“No, of course not,” Dr. Reid  exhaled, his voice immediately softening when he looked at you. “I’m just worried about you.” “Why?” “Well.... look at what just happened to you. I mean, yes the odds of that are statistically improbable, but it still happened. You didn’t have anybody for us to call, or anybody to be with you now. Uh… I’d be worried about anybody in your situation.”

“Oh, um… Ok”

“So are you gonna be ok, Y/N.”

“Yeah,” you muttered softly. Not because you felt ok, but because you knew that was the standard answer, the one expected of you.

Getting the affirmation he needed, Spencer got up and returned to the hallway, leaving you alone in your room. The coldness of the room settled in, and you shivered. It was like your shoulders bent forward and you collapsed in on yourself.

…

The doctor hadn’t found anything wrong with you besides the obvious, but they still wanted to keep you overnight for observation.

You returned home the next night, to your cold and quiet apartment. The emptiness was disquieting. You felt a sense of unease in your own home. Enough so, that you froze up and it felt like you couldn’t breathe.

You felt so awful. It was like it took all the strength in the world just to be able to reach for your phone. You grabbed your phone and quickly typed in Dr. Reid’s number, which you had already inputted when he had given you his card.

“Hello,” he answered on the second ring, sleep clouding his voice. Just the sound of his voice immediately calmed you down.

“Dr. Reid? It’s Y/N. I think I’m in trouble.” “What’s wrong?” he asked, panic immediately taking over his voice.

“It’s like my chest is tight, and I’m- i’m having trouble breathing and, and I almost can’t move, and I feel like I might die, and I’m so so busy.” “Y/N, Y/N. Listen to me, you’re having a panic attack. You’re gonna be fine, ok Now, can you tell me where you are. I can come get you or at least see you and help you. Where are you?” “I’m at my apartment. It’s uh… on 4d 24 Cherry Blossom Street,” you murmured slowly.

“Ok, Good, I live 6 blocks from there. I’m on my way now. I’m gonna stay on the line with you until I get there, ok?”

You nodded your head and then, realizing that he couldn’t hear your nod through the phone, said, “Yes.”

“Ok Y/N. I want you to breathe on my counts, ok. Ready? Inhale for 1-2-3-4, hold for 1-2-3-4, exhale for 1-2-3-4,” he counted slowly in an even voice. “Ok, now we’re gonna do that again. 1-2-3-4. Hold 1-2-3-4. Out 1-2-3-4. And again, 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4. Are you still with me, Y/N? Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” “Um- um my breathing is kinda better, and everything is sorta coming into focus now,” you stammered.

“Ok I’m coming up your stairs now. Can you open up the door for me?” he asked as you heard urgent knocking on your door.

“Um, I think that it’s unlocked.” “Y/N, are you serious? You were just kidnapped. Not to mention, Richard Chase who killed 6 people from 1977- 1978 and took unlocked doors to come inside and cannibalize his victims.” he said as he burst through your door, practically in a state of frenzy.

“Not helping, Doctor.” “Shit, sorry. Are you okay?” You shook your head. “Ok, well what can I do for you. Medically speaking, you’ll feel better if you walk around. Do you think that you can stand?” “I need help,” you muttered weakly.

“Okay,” he said, as he offered you his hands to help pull you up. Once you were fully stood up, you grabbed onto him and his sweater vest with all of your force, as you started to walk in slow circles around your apartment. “Do you need to do any more breathing exercises?” “I don’t think so.” “Have you eaten?” “No,” you admitted as a little bit of shame crept into your voice.

“You need to eat, Y/N. I’ll get you some water. Do you have any box mac and cheese, or maybe grilled cheese supplies? Sorry, I’m not a great cook.”

“Yeah, um in the cabinet next to the fridge,” you answered as you sat on the stool across from the sink.

“Ok,” Dr. Reid said as he began to bustle around your kitchen. A few minutes later, he set an only slightly burnt grilled cheese in front of you.

“Thank you, Dr. Reid, for the grilled cheese and you know, for being here.” “Call me Spencer. I feel like we know each other well enough now.” “Yeah, I guess so,” you said as you wolfed down the last of your grilled cheese. “Well, I think it’s time that you get some sleep. Are you okay if I sleep on your couch? Sorry it’s just late, and I have work in the morning.” “Actually, I, um, I’m kind of scared of the dark especially now because when I came to um when he had me, it’s just that it was so, so dark. I’m just really scared to spend the night alone, so um, if it’s not too much to ask, can you please sleep with me? You know, um in my bed with me,” you added the last bit, noticing how red he got.

“Um yeah, sure.” “Thank you. I have some old, baggy T-shirts from college that you can wear.” “I know it sounds weird, and it’s totally inappropriate, but I’m a sleep in my boxers kinda guy. I just get so hot.” “No, yeah, sure. That’s fine,” you murmured, blushing furiously. You made your way to your bedroom with Spencer following close behind you. Spencer sat on the bed and turned around to give you some privacy. You quickly changed until you were just in your T-shirt and panties, and climbed into bed beside him. “Thank you for this.”

“Don’t mention it.” “No, really, thank you. I have a hard time believing that you do this for all the victims. Really, this is lovely of you. You’re an amazing guy, Spencer.” “Yeah, you’re welcome,” he whispered softly into the darkness of your room.

“If it’s not too much to ask, can you please um, wrap your arms around me. You can say no. That’s fine too.” “No Y/N. With everything that you’ve been through, you can ask for anything that you want,” he said as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into the warmth of his chest.

“Thank you.” “You’ve said that five times in the past hour.” “Sorry I’m probably annoying you.” “You’re not. You could never annoy me. Just go to sleep now,” he said as he began to hum Vivaldi’s “The Four Seasons” in your ear. Soon, you drifted off into a peaceful sleep the likes of which you thought you would never be able to experience again.

…

You woke up to Spencer rolling back over in bed to wrap his arms around you again.

“Hey,” you murmured sleepily. “Why are you up so early?” “My boss just called. He gave us the day off,” Spencer said as he moved to brush a few stray strands of hair out of your face, but you were already in the process. His hand hung awkwardly in the air before he finally dropped it. “Right, so well, uh, you’re probably hungry. I could um, scramble some eggs.” “No. How about I take you for coffee? It’s the least I could do after all that you’ve done for me.” “Yeah, sure. That sounds great.” “Ok, well, I’ll just get dressed and oh- you don’t have any clothes here.” “It’s fine. I’ll just wear what I wore last night. Well, I’ll leave you to change, you know, give you some privacy and then I can meet you in the entryway,” he muttered awkwardly as he quickly walked out the door. A couple of minutes later, you rejoined Spencer in your entryway. “Are you ready to go,” he asked, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, before he offered you his arm, and the two of you made your way out the door.

You reached the closest coffee shop to your apartment, and sat at a table in the sun. Spencer had never noticed until now how your hair shined in the light and how your eyes crinkled at the corner when you smiled.

“You’ve been amazing throughout this entire thing. Thank you>” “You gotta stop thanking me. If I’m being honest, I did all this because you’re a sweet girl who needed help. I didn’t like seeing you suffer.

“Oh, uh…” you stammered, taken aback at his words. “So tell me about yourself, Doctor Spencer Reid. We’ve only really talked about me.  I mean you’re so young and you’re a doctor who works for the FBI. There’s gotta be a story behind that or something.”

“I’m kind of a genius,” he admitted, embarrassed.

“A genius? Please continue.” “Well, I’ve got an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory. I graduated high school at twelve, went to MIT and got doctorates in a few different subjects. Then, when I graduated I knew I wanted to help people, and the FBI had tried to recruit me a few times before, but this time I was finally old enough to go to the Academy, so then when they asked, I said yes,” he babbled, like he was rushing to get to the end of his sentences. “Wow! And you never looked back? I wish I had that kind of confidence in myself,” you exclaimed, amazed at how much you didn’t know about the young doctor. “Not exactly. There was a case a couple of years ago in New Orleans, and I ran into an old friend of mine, or, um… more like a competitor actually. We knew each other in school. He wanted to go into the FBI too, and he almost did, but uh- he couldn’t take the pressures of the Academy and dropped out. Now, he lives down there and gets drunk and lives life, plays music, you know?” “Yeah, I think I do.” “I just wanted to know if I was missing out on anything, you know, starting my career so young and never really giving myself any other options. I was having problems too, but that’s all in the past now.” “Do you wanna tell me about it?” “Um, no… it’s just a lot to take in, and I don’t wanna overwhelm you with it because you already have enough of your own problems.” “Ok, just know that if you want to, you can talk to me about anything,” you offered up with a smile. Spencer couldn’t hold up his barriers up any longer, staring into the light of your beaming smile. Suddenly, his walls came tumbling down, and he was telling you everything.

“I got kidnapped on a case a couple of years ago. The unsub, that’s what we call the perpetrators, suffered from DID, you know, he had multiple personality traits, and when he was kind, he tried to help by giving me dilaudid, and I got addicted. When I saw Ethan in New Orleans, I was in a bad place. He helped me a lot. He didn’t fix it, but he helped,” Spencer admitted, staring at his fidgeting hands as he spoke.

“Oh my god, Spencer,” “You’re one of the only people that knows about that. Please don’t tell anybody. I could be fired. Please, Y/N.” “I won’t, but Spencer, you can’t keep all of that inside of you. It’s not healthy. You need to talk to somebody, so from now on, you’re going to call me whenever you are feeling bad. Ok, this helping each other stuff is a two way street.”

“OK,”

“Look me in my eyes, and promise me that you’ll do it.” He met your eyes and said the magic words you needed to hear. “Yes.” “Spencer, can I be honest with you?” “Of course.” “Over the past weekend, I don’t know. I just feel a strange kind of attachment, like we’re so close. I’m not the kind of girl who does this, but I like you Spencer, like I really like you. I actually think I might be falling in love with you,” you admitted in rushed sentences, your cheeks burning, as you practically tried to see through the table with how hard you were staring at it. You couldn’t bear looking up at Spencer, and seeing what he thought of your confession.

“Y/N? Hey, Y/N. Look at me,” Spencer said as he reached across the table and grabbed your forearms, pulling you so you were leaning over the table with your fingertips just gently brushing the inner corner of his elbows. “I like you a lot too.” You beamed at that and leaned further across the table to press a sweet kiss to Spencer’s lips.

[draw-back-your-bow]

A Private Setting | O.Q

My Masterlist | Request Guidelines | Send a Request

Pairing: Oliver Queen x reader Requested By: @slytherinlyn13

Request: "Can you do a Oliver queen were Oliver proposes to the reader?" | Requested by @slytherinlyn13

A/N: I'm so sorry that this request took so long. I also apologize if this isn't what you had in mind when you asked for a proposal. I'd be happy to write another one if you'd like, I have plenty of ideas.

Summary: You've always felt anxious in front of large numbers of people, so your boyfriend decides to pop the big question in a more private setting.

Warnings: Social anxiety

Word Count: ~2k

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You were uncomfortable.

Not that you'd ever admit it, but you didn't want to be here.

"Here" being at a charity gala Oliver was throwing to kick-start his Mayoral term.

Normally you'd be fine with standing in the back, out of everyone's way, while Oliver mingled and sucked up to people. But as it was his gala and you were his girlfriend, you had to be with him and also talking with people.

So for Oliver, you put on a brave face and fraternized with the rich and powerful of Star City.

But your previously worn brave face was wiped off when Oliver started showing you off to every group of people he spoke to. Any other woman would be proud to be displayed on the arm of Oliver Queen. But it made you anxious.

"Mr. Richards," Oliver waved down another gentleman, whom you didn't know. Oliver shot you an apologetic smile but you were too busy mentally preparing yourself for what was to come.

"Have I introduced you to my girlfriend?" Oliver asked, telling Mr. Richards your name.

The grey-haired man who you knew Oliver didn't personally know stuck out his hand, and you took it, for a poor handshake that any businessman would be ashamed of. You flashed him the millionth fake smile of the night, then promptly sunk back into Oliver's side.

"It's wonderful to officially meet you. I'm good friends with Oliver and it's nice to meet his better half." He joked and Oliver gave a hearty laugh. Which was definitely fake since the most he really does is a chuckle.

You awkwardly smiled and exhaled, not being able to force a laugh without making a fool of yourself. The joke was sweet, but you willed yourself into not focusing on the term "better half".

Oliver must have sensed your (admittedly not well disguised) distress, because he quickly finished things up with Mr. Richards, "Please excuse us, I think there's a matter that needs attending to."

And with a nod and handshake, Oliver led you away from another stranger, into an empty hallway.

He held you at an arm's length and looked into your eyes concerned at your behavior. You couldn't help but feel guilty for taking him away from his job.

The larger part of your brain says that you should be used to rubbing elbows with the elite, you've been with Oliver for two years. But the smaller, usually ignored part tells you that you'll never get used to being the center of attention, or at least so close to him.

"I'm sorry." you said with your shoulders sinking. You put your face in your hands, embarrassed that he had to step away just to deal with you.

But as stubborn as Oliver was, he wouldn't let you apologize for something he's comforted you about time and time again. "You don't have to be." he reassured while shaking his head and pulling you in for a hug.

You happily accepted, closing your eyes and relishing in his presence. You imagined just the day before when it was just the two of you, wrapped in a blanket and cuddling in front of the television.

But alas, that wasn't now. Now, you were in a dress that cost more than some apartments, having to talk with people you had no idea even existed. And you never regretted being with Oliver, but you wished that you didn't have to do this with him.

Still feeling the need to explain your silent breakdown you continued, mumbling into the shoulder of his tux, "I didn't mean to interrupt your conversation. Everything got to be a bit too much and... I don't know, I just couldn't anymore."

Oliver pulled you in closer, him running his hand down your hair, already understanding as it wasn't the first time you've voiced your dislike of social events. "It's completely fine, I understand."

He pulled away from you keeping you at an arm's length, "Do you want to leave? I'm sure we've been here long enough. Diggle can make up an excuse."

You immediately shook your head. All the Arrow business already took him away from these events, he missed enough as it was. "I'll be fine."

His eyes softened and his thumb rubbed circles on your shoulder. "You don’t have to-" he started before you interrupted.

"Really, I mean it." You convinced him in a lighter tone of voice. You may have also been trying to convince yourself.

He sighed, his eyes scanning over your face again. Searching for the slightest micro-expression that would suggest you were lying.

When he found none he slowly nodded. Offering his arm, which you joyfully took. Ready to face the crowd for the second time that night.

You and Oliver walked back into the sea of money and upperclassmen, and he wasted no time finding a group of people with seemingly fat pockets to lend to a noble cause.

One of the men in said group greeted Oliver boisterously, "Mayor Queen! It's wonderful to meet the man of the hour."

Oliver chuckled along with the others in the group and smoothly replied, referencing the children's hospital, "Well let's not get too distracted, the real main event is New Horizons."

Everyone nodded at his words and another woman spoke up, "It really is wonderful what they're doing. These poor children, it's a miracle how much they've grown despite their situation."

This was proving to be one conversation you could contribute to, as you were a counselor at the hospital and helped the children mentally cope with their conditions.

"Doctor, I heard you work at the hospital?" someone else started, implying for you to carry on.

Your fears became reality as everyone's heads turned towards you and this time they weren't looking at Oliver. You glanced in his direction and he gave you an encouraging nod, knowing that if anything, you could talk about the job that you're passionate about.

"Um, yeah. I'm a psychologist. It's amazing what the kids come up with to help themselves. They always somehow manage to see the best in their situation." You started, and further continued to talk about the specifics of your job.

The people in the group seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say. And Oliver, though he's heard it all before, was standing by with a proud smile on his face.

When you were done talking, the conversation topic still didn't switch away from you. One of the older women remarked, "Well, that was definitely fascinating, Doctor. Your generosity makes us all wonder why you aren't Doctor Queen."

Everyone chuckled at his quip and you gave your normal tight lipped smile, but you couldn't help but feel butterflies in your stomach at the change of surname.

You hesitantly glanced over at Oliver only to see his expression was mirroring yours. Which was strange because he would normally laugh along with them. But his gaze was on his hand that fiddled with something inside his coat pocket before he took it out and returned his attention to the guests.

You're mind didn't have time to linger on his actions since the group returned to engaging in smaller conversations with each other, a lady next to you talking about her son's soccer game. You are immersed into talking with her, soon forgetting what you saw.

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When it was time to finally leave the gala, you were in a better mood than expected. But the same couldn't be said for Oliver. You gently took his hand in yours and tugged on it to get his attention.

He looked up at you from out the window of the limo, his knitted brows were the first indication that something was bothering him.

You frowned at his unhappiness and wished you could take all his worries away with just one look. But first you need to know what was wrong.

"Hey, what's up?" you asked in a soft voice.

He shook his head and pulled you into his side, his arm wrapped around your waist. "It's nothing" he dismissed trailing kisses down your forehead to your neck.

You however were as stubborn as him, and knew he was trying to distract you, so you persisted, "Except it's not nothing, and I want to help."

He pulled away and gave you a fond smile just staring at you until you started blushing and nuzzled into his chest. He chuckled at your shy nature and explained, "I wanted to do something that I didn't get the chance to do."

You hummed understandingly, satisfied with the answer you got and not asking for specifics. "Well," you started looking up at him, "I'm sure another chance will present itself and you'll get it done. You always do."

He grinned at you and placed a kiss on your lips, "I love you so much."

You felt your cheeks heat up once again and didn't hesitate to reply after kissing him another time, "And I love you."

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At you and Oliver's shared flat you showered first, changing into more comfortable clothes. And when you came out searching for Oliver, you were instead greeted by candles lighting up a path.

You would have been concerned that there was a blackout while you were showing, but the lights of the city outside your window seemed to be working just fine. So you were left to wonder what tricks your boyfriend had up his sleeves.

"Oliver?" you called, but received no answer.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you walked down the candle-lit path set out for you. Through the hallway, through the kitchen, into the living room where rose petals were sprinkled on the floor.

You gaped in surprise at your surroundings, there were fairy lights covering the couch and other furniture, a bottle of wine next to two glasses on the coffee table, and soft music playing in the background.

The only thing missing was Oliver.

But his presence was no longer missed when he cleared his throat from behind you. And when you turned around, a hand flew up to your mouth to muffle a gasp at the sight before you.

Oliver was kneeling on the rose petals holding a ring.

"From the moment I met you after coming home from the island, I knew you would be special. That you would be different from everyone else I had met, and you were. You were the first one I told about what I went through, and the first one I told about my nighttime activities."

You felt tears run down your cheeks at what was happening, and the question you knew would come. And the moment you saw him kneeling, you knew your answer.

"You are the most important person in my life, and if giving up everything means I get to be with you, I would. But what makes me love you the most is that you don't want me to give up anything. You accept every part of me even if it means kissing up to 'rich snobs'."

You let out a giggle when he used the term you often said when complaining about galas and other events. Oliver's smile only grew wider when hearing you.

"Which is why I'm asking, will you make me the happiest man alive by marrying me?"

All you could manage was nodding and you heard yourself rushing out an "Oh my god yes Oliver, yes!" before he whisked you up into an embrace.

You wiped your tears of joy away and held his face pulling him in for a kiss. After a moment of kissing you pulled back and you slipped on the engagement ring, which you would take plenty of time to admire after the adrenaline wears off.

"I love you so much Oliver!"

He pulled you in impossibly closer by your waist and muttered in a kiss on your forehead, "I love you."

▣▣▣▣▣ Thanks For Reading! ▣▣▣▣▣

[tobebbanburg]

4, 8 and 14 for the ask game! Specifically for 14, what is the limit for Richard? Does Richard transcend limits? Important.

Oooh thank you! Ok...

4) My comfort trope: I'm a sucker for a nice, gentle AU with minimal drama and maybe some light pining. Like if a blanket was a fic.

8) What is a good word count for a fic? I honestly don't know. Personally I get turned off by anything over 50k if I'm not reading it as a WIP but I mean a 100k fic can still be a good word count. For me writing? Probs between 10-20k.

14) Something I refuse to write: I have a few NOTPs I wouldn't write for, and then extreme stuff like watersports and noncon which I think also applies to Richard. But then I'd write things for Richard that I would never in a million years write for any other character...

[wordsfromthesol]

And They Were Roommates

Author: @wordsfromthesol​ Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader Warnings: Cursing, drinking, injuries, fighting…all the good stuff. Word Count: 2.9k Requested: @nadderlover1​ A/N: I feel like I’m really bad at writing jealousy…but here ya go anyways! Also it’s kinda long, sorry not sorry

“I still don’t understand why you are getting a roommate. Or why it’s not one of your fabulous brothers.” Jason chided his older brother.

“Cop salary? And I spend enough time with you guys.”

“Please, we all know you could just ask daddy –”

“No.” Dick quickly cut his brother off. “It’ll be fine. I did a background check on her and everything.”

“Her?! Oh Dickieboy, you didn’t tell me it was girl.”

“Does it really matter?”

“Of course! What if you fall madly in love with her? What if I do?”

“You will not be going near her, so that won’t be a problem.”

“Oh you take the fun out of everything.” Jason whimpered.

“You poor child. Now get out before she gets here.” Dick started pushing his brother out of the apartment.

“If she’s hot I call dibs!” Jason called over his shoulder as he resisted the force on his shoulders, before finally giving in and scrambling out the door.

**

Another hour passed before Dick heard rapping at his door. He swung open the door and saw you standing, suitcase in hand.

 “Y/N, uh welcome…” Dick gestured you inside.

“Thanks. I uhm, have a few more things in my car…” You mumbled as you set the suitcase just inside the door. As you turned to head back downstairs, you noticed Dick step out of the front door. You looked back, slightly shocked, “So have long have you been in Bludhaven?”

“Traveled a bit when I was younger, then was in Gotham until a few years ago.”

“Gotham? I didn’t realize sane people actually lived in the city. My parents thought I was crazy enough for coming to Bludhaven.”

“Well, I lived just outside the city, technically.”

“So you ever see the clown? Or maybe that scarecrow guy?”

Dick held back his laughter, “Oh yeah. I’ve seen them all.”

“Wait seriously?” You stopped short and turned towards him, eyes wide. “And you’re still alive?”

“Luck of the draw I suppose.”

“Geez, someone is looking out for you.”

“Heh, yeah. Usually there’s a few.”

**

Over the next few months the two of you grew closer, roommates to friends. Movie nights and dinner dates weren’t out of the ordinary.

“Wait, so you’re father is Bruce Wayne.” You fell back into the couch with laughter.

“Well, adopted father. But yeah.”

“And you decided to be a cop.”

“Yeah…”

“Oh come on!” You slapped his shoulder, “Trust fund baby is such a better occupation!”

“Hey!” Dick’s hand flew up to his chest, pretending to be offended by your commentary. “Besides, if I was, then you wouldn’t have met me.” He elbowed you as a smile grew on his lips.

“Oh,” your voice exaggerated and raspy, “and how would I have lived without knowledge of THE DICK GRAYSON.”

Dick folded his arms, ignoring the obvious sarcasm dripping from your words. “Exactly.” He huffed out just as a notification came across his phone. He glanced at it and you noticed his expression sour. “I’m sorry,” Dick looked up at you, “I know it’s movie night but I have to go.”

“Oh yeah, it’s fine…” You tried to brush off the obvious hurt in your voice. His phone rang again, you glanced at the screen seeing the name “Barbara” flash. “Uhm, well don’t get shot. I do hate apartment hunting.”

“I’ll try my hardest.” Dick smirked as he hurried out the door.

You sighed as you pressed play on the movie. I wonder who that is…her name pops up on his phone an awful lot. Are they dating? You tried to shake the thoughts from your mind, who cares if they are dating. He’s your roommate. Your friend and your roommate. You repeated the last line like a mantra until your mind became invested in the movie in front of you.

**

Another few months went by and it seemed you couldn’t have asked for a better roommate. You had become friends with his brothers and Dick…Dick had become your best friend. Even though he was obviously keeping a secret from you.

“So pizza tonight?” You called out as you threw open the front door. Today had been awful and you just wanted a relaxing night with Dick at your side.

“Oh Y/N/N, I was actually just leaving.” Dick’s phone buzzed. You tensed as you saw “Barbara” flash across the screen. “I uhm, have a family thing. Don’t wait up.”

Your jealousy got the better of you and you pulled out your phone, dialing Jason.

“Well, if it isn’t my brother’s beautiful roommate. Finally realize I’m the hotter one?”

“Ha ha Jay. We’re just roommates.”

“Yeah okay, and my name’s actually Sam.”

You let out a loud sigh, “I need a drink and your brother just left.”

“Ooh is this like the ‘I’m home alone’ text?”

“No, this is like the I don’t want to drink alone, so I’m asking an annoying friend to come over.”

“Alright alright, I’ll leave in 10.”

You had already emptied half a bottle of wine when Jason arrived. A smile graced your face as you swung open the front door and lunged at Jason.

“Jay, you’re here!” you cried out as you enveloped him in a hug.

“And I see I need to catch up.” Jason smirked as he lifted you slightly off the ground and carried you inside.

“I’m fine, really. Just…” You let go of him and picked up your fresh glass of wine. “Just a bad day.”

“Hm, been there.” Jason poured himself a glass of whiskey and joined you on the couch. “What happened?”

“I just don’t understand why people are intentionally bitchy. Like for no reason. It makes everyone around them miserable. And it makes them miserable. So why do it?”

“They just want everyone to be as miserable as them.”

“But they make it worse that way! If you surround yourself with happy people you are more likely to be happy. So if your sole purpose is to make everyone miserable, then you’re solidifying your own miserable life.”

“Maybe they think they deserve to be miserable.” Jason solemnly looked down at his glass.

“I hope, Jason Peter Todd, you are not talking about yourself. Don’t make me fight you.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m working on it. You sure that’s the only thing bothering you.”

Your eyes darted around, avoiding contact with Jason’s. “Of course. What else would it be?”

“Something to do with my brother perhaps?”

“Wha –” your eyes narrowed as you grabbed the bottle of wine beside you, emptying the rest into your glass. You proceeded to take a long drink in order to avoid further questioning.

“We both know I can out drink you. So we can do this the easy way. Or the way that gives you a hangover in the morning.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst.” You looked up at him as a smirk formed on his lips. He knew he had won. “I just know he’s keeping something from me. But what am I supposed to say? Plus, I’m just –”

“Don’t even finish that sentence Y/N  Y/M/N. You are way more to him than just a roommate. Everyone can see that, even if you two can’t.”

Another bottle of wine later and Dick opened the front door, garnished with a new black eye. “Jason…?” He questioned as he saw the two of you sitting on the couch.

“And that’s my queue to leave.” Jason got up and whispered to his brother as he passed, “You should really just tell her. Though I’d do it in the morning, she’s two bottles in.”

Dick’s face grimaced with confusion as he walked over to you, slumped over on the couch.

“Richard John Grayson. Is that a black eye?” Your words were slurred and drawn out.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s the important thing here. Why are you hammered?”

“I’m fine.” You attempted to stand, thankfully Dick was there to catch you before you hit the ground. You pushed out of his arms, “Really. I’m fine.” You blinked intently at the ground, trying to get rid of the blurriness. You took one deliberate step after the other, determined to make it to your bedroom. Dick followed at your side, arms ready to catch you.

“Y/N, will you just –”

“No! You can go on with your secrets I’ll be going to sleep now.”

“I –” Dick was left dumbfounded standing at your bedroom door, until a crashing sound shook him. He looked over to see you on the floor, blood beginning to seep from your head. “Shit.” He ran over to you, “Y/N. Y/N, I need you to look at me.” You pushed his hands away.

“I’m fine!”

“You’re bleeding. And I don’t give a shit if you’re mad at me right now. I’m going to help you get to bed and then you can hate me later.”

You let out a stubborn huff, but quickly realized you did not have the energy or the sobriety to argue with him. Dick picked you up, bringing you into his own bathroom and set you on the counter. He opened a cabinet full of way too many medical supplies for the average person and pulled out some bandages and glue.

“This is probably going to hurt, but it’s pretty deep. I’m going to have to glue it.”

“You can’t glue my face!”

Dick couldn’t help himself, as he let out a laugh. “Y/N/N, I promise it’s safe. I’ve used it a million times.” Your lower lip puffed out as you stared into his impossibly blue eyes. Your little pout broke his heart, “You’ll still be as breathtaking as ever.” His hand cradled your face in an attempt to console you. Once you were patched up, he brought you over to his bed. “Now my drunken little Y/N, I’m going to bring you some water. Wait here.”

You kind of followed his instructions, only you fell backwards and promptly fell asleep. Dick walked back in, carrying the biggest water bottle he could find. He stopped in the doorway when he saw you already asleep. Dick contemplated if he should carry you to your own room or leave you in his. He, somewhat selfishly, chose the latter. He tucked you under the blankets and got ready for bed, crawling in next to you.

Dick woke several hours later, with you on his chest. He dared not move, after logging this into his memory, he attempted to fall back asleep. You began to stir a few moments later, forcing your eyes open you glanced around in confusion. Your mind raced as you felt someone’s chest beneath your head. Slowly, you rose, letting out a sigh of relief once you noticed it was Dick. Quietly you tip-toed to your own room, grabbing the bottle of water and aleve Dick left for you on the dresser. You crawled into your own bed and fell back asleep, tomorrow was going to be hell.

Unshockingly, the two of you completely ignored the past nights events and fell back into routine.

**

You were looking forward to movie night, Dick had missed the last three and you really needed some best friend time. As soon as Dick walked through the door you rushed to his side.

“So, decided on a movie?” You looped your arm into his.

“Actu –” His response was interrupted by the buzz of his phone. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

You threw your hands up in the air. “Of course you can’t. You haven’t been here all month, why start now.”

“Y/N/N…” He glanced down at his phone, Barbara was calling again. He sighed before continuing, “I have to go.”

“Girlfriend calling again, I get it. Have fun.” You turned to leave, as Dick grabbed your wrist and pulled you back towards him.

“That’s not – I’ll explain everything when I get back. I promise.” You were left speechless and confused as he walked out of the front door. The slam of the front door shook you free from the trance. You walked over to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of wine. Before you could open you heard a knock on the door. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you went to open it.

“Forget your –” you stopped once you realized it was not Dick, and the two men were both armed. You attempted to slam the door, but the first man shoved in. Slamming the unopened bottle of wine against his head, it shattered as he fell to the floor.

“You bitch!” The second man screamed as he grabbed you, wrapping his hands around your neck. You repeatedly punched him in the side, but to no avail and soon everything went black. When you woke, you were gagged and tied to a chair. Thankfully, you recognized the surroundings, they hadn’t moved you from the apartment.

“Oh the birdie is awake. Don’t worry, we just want your little Detective friend.”

You looked around and noticed the first man was awake, holding a bag of frozen vegetables to his head.

“Yeah, so when the fuck is he coming back? If it ain’t soon, I may need to start paying you back for this.” The man pointed to his injured head, which was still bleeding. “Can’t we just call him from the bitch’s phone?” He pleaded to his partner.

“No. He can’t know something is wrong. The boss wants him alive. Teach him a lesson about poking around where he shouldn’t.”

You made the mistake of rolling your eyes at the comment. The action was quickly met with a swift punch to the jaw. Honestly, you had no idea how long you were sequestered to the chair. All you know is the two idiots couldn’t stop arguing about what to do. Finally, you heard footsteps in the hall. They stopped at your front door, but it seemed as if they would never open it. At last you heard the key in the lock just before light from the hall began to flood the room.

“Y/N?” Dick’s voice sounded worried. Did he know something was wrong?

You attempted to scream, but the sound was muffled by the fabric in your mouth. Somehow, it was enough. Dick rushed to your side, but you shook your head furiously in an attempt to warn him. He didn’t seem to need it. Your eyes went wide as a man came up behind him. Dick sunk to the floor, sweeping the assailant’s feet from under him. The next man came out of the shadows and charged at him with a knife. Dick swept his body to the side as he jabbed underneath the man’s shoulder, forcing the knife to crash to the ground. The man clutched his arm, as you watched Dick’s fist collide with the man’s jaw.  

Dick walked over to you, pulling the gag from your mouth just in time for you to scream out, “Behind you!” Once again, it seemed as if he didn’t even need your warning. Dick’s arm came up just in time to block the attempted blow to his face. He stretched the arm out and slammed it against the man’s neck. Before you could blink Dick’s foot collided with the man’s chest, sending him flying into the wall. You watched as the man sunk to the ground.

“So obviously I’m –” Dick’s eyes darted towards the man attempting to sneak out. “Well you’re not going anywhere.” He raced over, grabbing the man’s forearm, Dick swung him into the wall. Dick flipped on the light and his eyes went wide as he saw the bruises forming on your neck and jaw. He raced up to you, pressing a kiss to your lips. “What did they do to you?” His hands cradled your face.

“I’m okay Dick. Really, just…”

“What?” His expression filled with fear as his eyes searched yours for an answer.

“I’m still tied to a chair.”

Dick’s hand went up to cover his face, stifling a laugh. He withdrew a knife from his pocket and cut your hands and feet loose. Before you could move from the chair, he was kneeling in front you again. “You’re okay though?” He asked worriedly, as his hand lightly grazed your bruised jaw.

“I’m okay.”

Dick let out a sigh of relief as he hung his head. “Alright, I’m going to call the station.” When Dick got off the phone he walked over and sat next to you on the couch. “They are going to come take pictures, get your statement…I’m sorry. This is my fault.”

“Dick, it’s not your fault. You were doing your job.”

“I was…I was only looking into them for my other job though. I should’ve known better.”

“Your other job?”

“This is, uhm, this is what I wanted to explain. I’m Nightwing. And and I get so many calls from Barbara, she’s like uh the woman in the chair? Behind the scenes…gathering intel.” He looked over at you, eyes hopeful for your approval. He was not expecting you to burst out in laughter. Which is exactly what you did. “Y/N?”

“I’m sorry Dick. I just…it makes so much sense!” You took in a deep breath to compose yourself.

“You aren’t mad?”

“Mad? Of course not.”

“Good. Because there’s something else I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

“What’s a bigger secret than –” Your words were cut off by his lips moving against yours. He pulled back, leaving his forehead pressed to yours.

“I love you.”

[paulsmashedpotato]

17 and 43 for Richieee thank you! Angst/sad. But make them end up together lmao I won't be able to handle it if Ringo gets heartbroken. Fem reader 😊

Masterlist

I'm Here

Pairing: Ringo Starr x fem!reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Talk of abuse, but just a tad bit

You were inside a telephone booth, waiting for Ringo to pick up, nervously nibbling on your nails. It was already late at a stromy night and you didn't want to disturb him but you had no one else to run to and Ringo was the only who's truly by your side all the time.

"Hello?" A sense of relief flushed over your system when you heard his voice, it was deep and he sounded like he just woke up. Guilt immediately replaced the feeling and you almost forgot to speak.

"Hello, who's this?" He asked again. You still couldn't bring yourself to talk. "... I'm gonna hang u-"

"Rich?" You finally answered, it was a whisper but you hoped he heard it especially over the loud rain. "Y/n?" His voice sounded concerned, "Is that you? It's you, right? What's wrong, where are you? Why does it sound like you're outdoors? It's raging out there."

"Rich, c-can you p-pick me up?" You said in between sobs, "Please?"

You heard him shuffle out of his blanket, "Where are you? Are you okay? Where are you, y/n?"

"N-near the post office, i-in a booth." You answered. "I'll be there in a few, bird, alright? Wait for me. Don't cry, please. I'll be there really quick."

"Thank you." You whispered, hanging up and sitting down inside the phone box, hugging your own legs. It was freezing and you were wet from running in the rain- the thunder and quick flashes of light weren't helping in anyway. They just made you even more scared.

After what seemed like forever, you heard a tire screech as it came to an abrupt stop, causing you to jolt up and as soon as you saw Ringo walk out with his umbrella, you just ran out the booth.

His seemed surprised to see you, immediately running to meet you halfway in a hug, not caring if you're soaking wet.

"What's wrong, what are you doing here?" He softly asked, hugging you really, really tight. He was warm and big and just what you needed right now. You sobbed on his chest while he rubs your back with his free hand, the other one struggling to hold the umbrella over you. "Cry it out, cry it out," He whispers, "I'm here, love."

The streets were practically empty so you two were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, hugging like as if you were in a cliché movie scene.

"Don't leave." You managed to say, gripping on his shirt. "I won't, y/n. Promise," He let his hand slide down from your arm to your hand, giving it a squeeze, "I'll take you home and we'll rest, okay? You're soaking wet."

You didn't say anything so he carefully walked you to his car.

The drive back to his place was quiet, he was constantly glancing at you, making sure you were alright.

When you got there, he immediately handed you clothes of his to change into and while you were changing, he was making you a hot cup of tea, bringing it up to his room where you were.

"Hey, I made you tea. Are you done changing?" He asked through the door. You walked towards it, opening it for him and letting him in. "You should change too, Rich. You're wet." You say, trailing behind him as he puts the tea on the bedside table.

"I will. Drink this for me, yeah?" He gestured at the tea. You nodded and he gave you a smile before rummaging through his closet for something to change into and leaving the room to go to the bathroom.

You finished your tea just in time before he got back, asking if you're feeling a bit better. You nodded, your eyes never leaving the carpeted floor. "Come 'ere." You turned to see him tapping on the space next to him. You crawled up the bed and to his side, leaning on his headboard.

"Are you sleepy?" He asked, pulling his blanket over your lower body. He stopped just above your thighs when he noticed your bruised arm, "What's that?" He let go of the blanket, "Did he do that to you?"

You just covered the bruise, letting out a nervous laugh, "It's nothing. M'j-just, anemic." You smiled. He scrunched his eyebrows, "You're not anemic, y/n." You didn't answer, he sighed, reaching for the lamp beside you and closing it, "It's okay if you're not comfortable telling me. But please don't lie to me next time, okay? Goodnight, y/n." He was going to get off the bed when you reached for his hand to stop him, "Where are you going?"

"I'll sleep on the c-'

"Stay." You whined. "Like, sit down for a while or s-sleep bes-"

"Sleep beside me, dimwit. It's your bed," You let out a lazy laugh, "And I really don't want to be alone."

The street light from outside his window was the only thing illuminating the room a little and he had a confused expression for a second but he crawled back in bed beside you.

You lied down on your side facing him but he remained seated, still leaning on the headboard. He was gently stroking your hair and you started to feel sleepy.

You closed your eyes, trying to get some sleep already. It was a tiring night for you after just running away from someone you used to love but have grown tired of already.

"Why don't you want to tell me the truth?" He suddenly spoke, the question wasn't forceful- it sounded rather concerned, like how counselors are. You didn't answer, you just kept your eyes closed.

"Are you asleep?" He asked after a while of no reply from you. You still didn't answer so he lied down, also trying to get some sleep. "I hope you're okay. I'm here for you." He whispered, pulling the blankets over your shoulder. He was facing you as well, lying on his side, his eyes wandered to your hands.

"I want to hold your hand but you're not mine." He sighed, before lying down flat on his back and facing the ceiling, "G'night, love."

You felt your heart pounding against your chest that you're afraid he must've heard it. You couldn't bring yourself to speak, what could you say?

After a few minutes, you brought your hand up to his, making him jump. You intertwined your fingers with his, squeezing it a little.

He was still in shock, embarrassed that you heard him, but after a moment he squeezed your hand back, lying on his side again to face you.

"What did you want to tell me when you got back from your tour with the others?" You asked, remembering how he was panting when he arrived at your place nine months ago saying he just got back from tour and had something to tell you important, "You never got to say it."

He was silent for a few agonizing minutes, he was just rubbing your hands with his thumb. "Tell me, please?" You whispered, "It has been in my head for that long- overthinking it."

"I wanted to say I love you but someone else already did." He finally answered, his voice was barely above a whisper, "Someone beat me to it. He was a lucky man." Again, no possible replies came to your mind. You just started thinking how your life could've been really different had not that abusive man came to your life. If you just waited for a few days for Ringo to get back.

"I ran away from him tonight," You admitted, trying not to choke on your words. "I thought being drunk and abusive was going to be a one-time thing. But it got worse and worse and worse, I couldn't bring myself to leave." You sobbed, he pulled you closer, letting you cry on his chest, "I am stupid, Rich."

"You're not, you're not, y/n. Don't say that." He says, caressing your back, "You loved, that's what you did. You weren't being stupid, you were loving someone," He sighed, "Just the wrong guy."

"I'm scared, Richard." You cried. "Don't be. I'm here, okay? I'm never leaving. He's never touching you, nor is he ever going to get close to you. I'm not letting it happen." He comforted along with a few calming words while he continuously let his hand run on your back.

You calmed down after a few minutes and Ringo was still rubbing your back, comforting you, "I'm sorry I had to call you out this late especially because it was storming."

"It's okay, you know I'll always be here for you."

"Which is why I'm apologizing, you're doing all these nice stuffs for me and I never do anything for you- I feel like I'm taking advantage of you and-"

"You're not, y/n. I just really want to be here for you," He smiled, burying his chin on your head, "Because you mean a lot to me and I love you. You're the very best friend I ever really had."

You smiled, moving your head back enough so you could see him, "Thank you for existing, Rich. I really don't know where I'll be without you." You gave him a quick peck on the chin before snuggling back into his chest, "And I really love you too."

-end-

That's an I love you as a friend ( ˘ ³˘)♥ (jeez she just came from a break-up) but don't worry, they ended up together in the future, so yes, Ringo doesn't get heartbroken, I also don't want that to happen, he's a softie. ❤

P.S- This is my very first Ringo request so I LOVE YOU WHOEVER YOU ARE

P.p.s- I AM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG HUHU I WAS STUDYING (╯3╰)