#also the son is like a few hundred years old obviously

[s0ull3ss-p3rs0n]

I fucked up, I thought about Garmawhore and how funny the thought is and now I have accidentally created an illegitimate son from a three-way he had once that has just as much family issues and trauma as the rest of the spinjitzu family.

What is wrong with me.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 266

Back on my Danny & Ras frienemies/rivals/maybe-lovers-nobody-can-tell-their-signals-are-very-mixed train. 

See, Danny has gone through time a lot. Often. It comes with being Clockwork’s charge-son-thing and honestly he finds it fun. And several times he’s used this time travelling to get some training in. Enter Ras, stage left, also a teen at the time and also learning swordsmanship from the same person. 

And they… utterly despise each other. They would kill the other for an apple slice, if the other one would die! But also, only they can kill the other, as it is obviously their right! 

And well, they keep running into each other. It has been a hundred years, surely the other would die by now? But of course their rival would live through utter spite. Probably to spite them specifically. 

The amount of times they have ended up sparring- trying to kill each other or not- the moment they see the other is actually ridiculous. But time is also passing. And… Danny understands, not having another to talk about things people are forgetting, or have already forgotten. 

How they ended up actually talking without a murder attempt was a long story that included a demon, a dragon, a pair of fae, some bandits, and a lot of alcohol, but it happened. And then it happens again. And again, and now it’s just kind of normal to share a drink after their spars, talking about things that no longer exist, and things they miss. 

Sure Danny can go back in time again, but he knows better than to do it willy nilly. He’s matured, he’s been an adult for a hundred years now, he knows there’s consequences for messing with time, even with Clockwork’s blessings. 

The first time they got married was technically for an undercover assassination. Well, Ras was there to assassinate someone, Danny was there to grab an artifact that should Not be in the realm of the living. And they got divorced after, it was fine. 

They just, also got married again when they met a few years later, for another job. And… okay, so maybe they have gotten married over a dozen times now and only divorced like half of those times. Half of those were for the bit or while drunk! 

And even if technically they’re married or shared a bed, it’s not like they're exclusive! As Ras’ daughters’ existences attest to (adopted in one case or not). They don’t exactly have a label for their relationship, despite others asking for one or trying to put a name to it themselves. 

Now Danny knows Ras isn’t exactly a good dude, or at least on the side of ‘good’ as he’s a literal assassin. But he also knows that good? Bad? Rather relative. He had gotten labeled as a villain when he was just trying to help all that time ago after all, and really who was he to tell someone else how to live their life? 

Which brings him to now, where he’s run into his old frienemy-rival and his youngest daughter. Who has a braindead teenager and a small toddler. Which is fine, really- but also, Talia dear, why are you using a brain dead teenager to guard your three year old son? 

…

Okay, Talia dear, Ras (Derogatory), why are you using your brain dead son and grandson to guard your younger son and grandson? Do you not have the Pits, which you were soo proud about Ras? Yes, he will spar with you, but for Realms’ sake, heal, what’s his name? Ah yes, go heal Jason and he’ll actually stick around for a few years, deal? Good. 

[shepherdsheart]

Forgotten Child

DpxDc

Bruce would admit that he wasn’t near a perfect man. In all truth he was far from it really.

He had made hundreds of mistakes through his life and he had hoped he had learned something from them all but there was one mistake that stood out more than anything else.

The box in his hands had been proof of such, everything in it entailed just how badly he had failed. Failed as a man, failed as a person but most of all how he failed as a father.

It all started a year before he welcomed Dick into his life. It was one of his biggest regrets but also one of his biggest blessings as he stared at the new born baby boy in his arms. Soft blue wrapped around the little boy like tight arms as he held the sleeping baby close.

He had drilled that moment into his memories as he held the soft little bundle. It would be his first and his last memory of the boy in his arms. He knew the moment the pregnancy was announced that he wouldn’t be able to keep the babe. His life as Batman was to dangerous for a baby and as such he had made the decision to hand his baby to someone else.

Nobody but a trusted few would ever know of the young babe, no one would know Batman or Bruce Wayne had a son.

It had taken time and research but he had picked the perfect family. They would take care of his little star, he would be their son and not his. He would grow up safe and protect as Daniel Thomas Marshal.

Or at least he thought so.

Bruce didn’t give up contact with Daniel, each year he would send the boy anonymous gifts for his birthday and the holidays just as the elusive Uncle B. And as the boy grew they often exchanged letters.

His boy was smart, the top of his class and he was ohh so brilliant. He often drew pictures for Bruce where then man would store each with the letters in a box for sage keeping. Things had gone that way for years and Danny and he talked about many things. Bruce talked about life and Danny liked to talk about stars and the things he learned at school.

It had all been going so well till it all fell apart.

Jason had died and Bruce fell apart, losing himself in his grief for his lost child. Somewhere along the line after Jason’s death Bruce had stopped responding to the letters young Danny sent. He couldn’t bear to read them while he grieved Jason and at one point he must have told Alfred to just store them in Daniels letter box in instead of bringing them to him.

Somehow he had forgotten, he had forgotten the letters of messy cursive and doodles of stars and galaxy’s. Stories of school or life in the farm where he was being raised out in Wisconsin.

It was only because of his children that he remembered. A normal day of roughhousing and being shooed away by Alfred to take their antics elsewhere while he cleaned.

The kids had decided to take their games to the halls between there room and Damian and Jason to pick a locked door of a spare room that was never used and always locked. The others would never think to check the room as it was never opened. 

The boys weren’t expecting to find a old but well cared for nursery. The walls a soft blue, the The ceilings dark blue with plastic stars in the patters of constellations. A crib in one corner with space themed decor and a small bed in the middle of the room obviously for when the crib was outgrown.

On the far wall was multiple shelves with a few old toys along with books and many other small items. Then there were the picture frames scattered about the shelves and other furniture in the room. All had one thing in common, a boy with soft black hair and ice blue eyes but each photo the boy was more grown.

At first they thought it was Bruce but the photos were to new and Bruce didn’t have ice blue eyes. The boy was in a picture with his parents, a blond woman with blue eyes and a Black haired man with green eyes. Those weren’t Bruce’s parents so who were they and who was the child that was in each photo.

Before they could snoop any further the door had been opened and a Stern Alfred shooed them away.

It didn’t take long for the boys to question Bruce about the room he had long ago forgotten about. Bruce didn’t say a word as he had rushed over to the room that he had long sense abandoned before he closed himself inside.

There Bruce had cried, he had forgotten one of his children and he cried as he looked at the photos.

He had spent hours in that room before a wooden box to the side on a Dresser caught his attention. He knew exactly what that box contained and he dreaded opening it.

When he found the courage to lift the lid he was greeted by hundreds of letters. A portion opened but most were untouched, never opened to be read.

He’d spend the next few weeks slowly going through the letters. Danny wasn’t sure why he hadn’t responded but the boy wrote that even though he didn’t get a response he hoped the letters were reaching him.

He learned soon after Jason’s death when Danny was 10 that the Marshals had died leaving Danny to the State only to be adopted by a family called the Fentons a year later.

After that Danny’s letters became less detailed and more vague about his life but instead asking questions Bruce would never answer. The boy avoided talking about his home life and manly talked about school and his 2 new friends or he’d ask about Bruce, how he was doing? If he was ok? And so on. Somehow Danny never gave up writing to Bruce.

That was until the last letter, sent over a year ago in handwriting Bruce didn’t recognize. Jasmine, Danny’s adopted sister had written that dated letter over a year ago.

Over a year ago Danny had been killed, killed in an accident in the Fentons Lab. No body left to be buried only the address of an empty grave.



Notes

(Danny is 11 years younger than Dick, 4 years younger than Jason, 2 years younger than Tim, 4 years older than Damian)

Damian - 11

Danny - 15

Tim - 17

Jason - 19

Dick - 26

(Danny is Phantom but when he died he decided he didn’t want to deal with an abusive Jack and Maddie anymore so he continued on as phantom only being Danny with his friends and in the realms when he was safe with Allies)

[brucewaynehater101]

Hear me out for something Silly. Jack is not Tim's biological parent. Jack, Janet, and Tim all know this. So does Tim's biological parent. Tim does have contact with his Biodad and they do get along wonderfully. When he has time off from his very busy job and thinks it's safe, he will 100% drop by Gothem to see his son. Even if they can't see eachother a lot, Tim and his dad are still very close.

As for how this happened, Janet and Jack had a three way with a *very* interesting stranger about the time Tim would have been conceived. Since he didn't exactly look like Jack, they did a DNA test and then called the guy and asked him to do a DNA test. He told them he would but only if he got his DNA back after the test. Just one of his weird quirks that worked as Rizz on the pair.

Honestly though, it's nothing short of a miracle that they got The Question of all heroes to do a paternity test, but then again. He has always wanted to be a dad and this is an opportunity that just fell into his lap! And the day he walked into his son of 7 years old standing infront of a corkboard covered in pictures and string? It was the proudest day of his life. He had little Tim talk him through all of the strings and explain his theory and Tim started by smacking his little hand on the board and saying in the most manic voice, "BATMAN IS BRUCE WAYNE."

By the end, Question was pacing around the room as Tim also paced around the room, both rambling at eachother as they used Bruce's connections to uncover who well over half the leauge are. Does Question feel a little guilty about finding out his coworkers identities? Maybe. But he doesn't care, he's bonding with his son! His son is brilliant!! Not even he knew who Batman was!!! He could never have been prouder and it nearly made him cry.

Years later when Tim became Robin, he freely told Question about it and while Question didn't approve fully, he knew there was nothing he could do to stop his brilliant, wonderful, adorable, *stubborn* son. Tim could out stubborn a hundred mules, just like both his mother and his father. Maybe he could even out stubborn the both of them, as evidence by Question being the one to cave first. He caved on the condition that Tim get *proper* training and go to a few people of his choosing after he trains under the people that Bruce wants him to train under. Tim agrees and gets a few extra teachers in his time away.

Tim does not tell the Bats that Question is his Dad, simply assuming that if he could figure out who they were at 7 years old, they can figure out something as simple as who his parent is. Turns out, all of the Bats think that Jack Drake is his father and he doesn't find this out until Jack dies. When he does so, Bruce asks where Tim is going to stay and he replies, "with my Dad and his wife, obviously." To which there is quite a bit of confusion until Tim scoffs and crosses his arms as he states, "Jack Drake was never my father. He and Mother were very open about the fact that they had a 3 way and the other guy there is my biological father. I've been in contact with him regularly since I was 3. Sure he's not there all the time but he makes sure to visit minimum once a month. Usually at least twice a week. He's a good person and I'll be fine living with him and his wife. Hell, he's been trying to get me to move in with him for years anyways! Honestly, I thought you already knew this Bruce. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to see my Dad." And simply walked out if the cave.

The Bats. Don't know who his father is. Nor for lack of trying though. His dad is The Question that man leaves no evidence of anywhere he has been and never walks into cameras. He leaves just enough that they know he's real. Jason has seen the man with his own two eyes and swears he is a red head, but the man vanished before Jason could say a word to him. However Damian saw Tim talking to someone with black hair and and blue coat on patrol, but didn't get a look at his face. The guy was gone before Damian could get there and Tim tells him that it was his dad doing a mid patrol check in, which he does sometimes.

There is nearly a very big fight about civilians and identity hiding until Tim snaps, "HE KNEW FROM THE DAY I KNEW. HE HELPED ME WITH MY FUCKING EVIDENCE BOARD AND ENCOURAGED ME. BESIDES, HES NOT EVEN A CIVILIAN ANYWAYS!" And before anyone can question it, he goes on a long rant about how it can't be that hard to piece together who his dad is because they haven't been hiding it from them At All and how disappointed he is in them. As he does so, he is texting someone and when asked who, Tim snaps, "my Dad! I'm telling him to come to the Batcave because you're all idiots who couldn't find the link between us!" This leads to Bruce getting angry about inviting strangers to the Batcave and Tim scoffs about Bruce having invited his dad there before.

30 minuets later, when The Question walks in and says, "Hello Batman." Bruce turns to him to ask why he's there but Tim cuts in and says, "finally! Dad, can you believe that none of these idiots put it together?! They have no idea were related!" And Question just says, "but. We've been living together for nearly a year. I've known you all your life and you are the greatest thing I've ever helped to create." And Tim blushes a bit at the last part but plays it off by insulting The Bats, "right? And they call themselves Detectives!"

They spend the next hour roasting the Bats together and also mentioning off the walls crazy theories that are actually true.

Years later when Tim goes on the Brucequest, he doesn't go alone. He shows his evidence to his dad and Question and Huntress both come with him to help. Tim doesn't loose his spleen thanks to them but they do have to team up with the LOA because they have Tam held hostage. They also blow up the leauge but all credit goes to Tim and when they get Bruce back, they try to give credit to Tim but the Leauge just points at Question and Huntress and says, "those two did it."

Holy shit. This AU is fantastic.

I do not know nearly enough about Question, and you've pointed out the errors in my ways. I should know more about him because you are absolutely correct (also, AUs that speculate who can be Tim's bio parents are hilarious to me).

Fuck. I just binged some of his content (a very small amount), and I swear to gods this man is hilarious. His dry wit, conspiracy theories, humor, and overall demeanor is grand. I should find more.

Anyways, I absolutely love how Jack, Janet, and Question are peacefully coparenting. There's no drama or tension. Jack isn't jealous or mad. They just raise Tim together.

Tim and Question bonding over theories, research, stalker tendencies (referencing when Question said he goes through everyone's trash), and pin boards is adorable. This is a friendship/mentor bond I didn't know I needed in my life until now.

I'm also vibing with Question messing with the Bats while Tim us legitimately confused how they haven't figured anything out yet.

I'm also imagining post Jack's funeral (if this is a good dad Bruce AU), that Bruce turns to the newly orphaned Tim. He has adoption papers metaphorically behind his back and does a blue screen at realizing that Tim has been hiding even more parents all this time. It seems his adoption addictions were stopped this time, dagnabbit.

[seakicker]

☆ My Next-Door Neighbor is an Annoying Older Woman Who Constantly Bothers Me

☆ between: college au!scaramouche x milf!reader

☆ synopsis: scaramouche insists he doesn’t want to fuck the milf living next door, but all his friends think he doth protest too much.

☆ word count: 10.5K words

☆ a/n: like with my venti x milf!reader fic over on ao3, this is supposed to give a sort of doujinshi vibe, hence the embarrassing title and the lunacy of some ideas like milf!reader going outside in a super sheer shirt. hopefully you feel the doujinshi vibe i was going for as i have a lot of fun trying to replicate the style, themes, and flow of doujinshis using only text!

☆ contents: fem + plus-sized reader (reader is explicitly described as chubby, busty, and taller than scaramouche), age gap obviously; scaramouche is a senior in college and reader is in her early 40s, degradation, a couple insults (such as scaramouche calling you a hag/loose/etc.), degradation, exhibitionism (scaramouche fucks you in front of a glass sliding door), sexual frustration, and unprotected sex + scaramouche pulls out

also posted to ao3 with the same title and under the same username!

Scaramouche has a problem.

Well, a problem slightly more irritating than the approximately nine hundred other problems he deals with on a daily basis. These issues include, but are not limited to, the consistent problems he has with the hot water heater in his apartment, his obnoxious group project teammate Ajax who insisted upon being the group’s leader despite his complete and utter lack of intellect, his annoying circle of friends that always seem to find ways to poke their noses into Scaramouche’s business, his frustratingly-dull history professor that always goes off on tangents completely unrelated to the class’ subject matter… and so on and so forth. It’s one issue after another; there’s always something when it comes to Scaramouche.

A matter more pressing than all of those other nine hundred issues put together, however, comes in the form of his next-door neighbor— you.

You’re a divorced woman in your early forties who lives by herself, works during the daytime while Scaramouche is on campus, and always seems to leave and return home at the same times he does. He moved in next door to you a few months ago at the start of his junior year, but you’ve never really gotten the chance to get to know him beyond the curt responses he gives you when you ask how he’s doing or what he did over the weekend. His coldness towards you doesn’t make too much sense— have you somehow offended him without knowing? You like to consider yourself a good neighbor: you don’t party (like a woman your age would ever do such a thing), you don’t blast loud music long into the night (or at all), you take good care of your things and avoid causing trouble for Scaramouche or your other neighbors, and you’re very, very tidy. When you’re in the mood to brag a little, you’ll say that you have the nicest balcony in the entire apartment complex.

…Avoid causing trouble for Scaramouche, huh? He’d beg to differ.

If Scaramouche has nine hundred problems in his life, then maybe it’d be more accurate to claim that you’re the cause of at least seven hundred of those problems rather than claiming that you’re one single, self-contained issue separate from all of those other problems. Maybe it’s the way you insist upon butting your way into his life and, in what must be your way of expressing it, “taking care” of him that irritates him more than anything else. Really, if he had to sum up your advances in one word, he’d have to go with aggravating.

At first, he bitterly wondered if you’re just some senile old hag using him as a replacement for your son, who’s surely moved out by now given your age. All you are is a woman looking to cure her empty nest syndrome by doting on someone her son’s age according to Scaramouche— he viewed your kindness as underhanded and delusional because he can take care of himself, you know. He’s an adult man living on his own; he knows how to navigate the trials and tribulations of young adulthood without some old lady insisting upon knocking on his door and gifting him home-cooked meals, bringing up his mail from the first-floor mailroom, or helping him with chores where you can. It’s not like Scaramouche would ever let you into his apartment, but that hasn’t stopped you from finding ways to help outside by sweeping outside his front door or washing the outside of his front window while he’s not home.

Okay, maybe it’s a little creepy to wash your neighbor’s windows without him asking you to help out, but it’s not like he’s going to do it. You would know— you had once waited a week to see if he’d clean up a spilled drink stain on the walkway in front of his door. As you expected, he never got around to it, so you happily cleaned it up on his behalf. Cleaning up for him doesn’t really put you out of your way either— whenever you sweep his doorway, it’s because you were already outside tidying up in front of your place; why not help out your neighbor in the process?

When you bring him meals you prepared yourself, it’s out of the goodness of your heart and because you can’t help but worry about a college boy’s diet— fast food, pizza, frozen microwave meals, and instant ramen don’t have all the nutrients a hardworking man needs. When you bring him his mail, it’s because he has a tendency to forget about it until his mailbox is, quite literally, overflowing. Whereas you check your mailbox every single day, Scaramouche seems to forget about his until the end of the week, which is certainly no way to live— what if he misses an important bill or notice? As a result, you took it upon yourself to check his mailbox for him whenever you go to retrieve your own mail.

Again, maybe it’s a little creepy to gather your neighbor’s mail, but it’s not like you’re hurting anyone, right? You certainly don’t root through his mail or open any of it. Even though Scaramouche rolls his eyes and mumbles a halfhearted little “thanks” every time you hand him his mail, he doesn’t really seem to mind. Despite his initial reluctance to accept any of it, he still eats the food you prepare for him if the empty containers he returns to you a few days later are any indication of that fact. You figure maybe he’s just a little shy or tired from his long day on campus— it does your heart well to know that he’s working so very hard.

On the flip side of things, Scaramouche considers your… activities a total inconvenience. He’ll admit that your meals taste very good— though he’d never say it to your face— but he doesn’t like feeling indebted to you or thinking that he owes you something even though you’ve told him multiple times that your favors don’t need any payback. You’re just happy to cook for someone other than yourself, you had told him once, confirming Scaramouche’s suspicion that you live alone. It’s not his fault you’re bored enough to make food for someone you barely know, so do you have to rope him into your wiles? He already has groceries and though he doesn’t really know how to cook, what’s wrong with having a bowl of cereal for dinner? It’s none of your business, is it?

Between your constant insistence on involving yourself in his life and the fact that he’s never seen anyone else leaving or entering your apartment, Scaramouche was able to correctly guess that you live alone… a realization that can’t help but annoy him. He figures that if you had someone, anyone else in your life like a spouse or another child living with you, you’d stop pestering him and stick to involving yourself in the lives of your family instead of your neighbor.

Would a pet do? Should he find some stray kitten and leave it on your doorstep? Is that what it’d take to make you mind your own business?

“Hey, Kuni, tell me about your little neighbor lady again,” Venti coos, accidentally knocking over his—thankfully— empty beer bottle when he leans forward to grab his phone. He’s drunk, but that barely makes a difference; he’d still make this request sober.

Glowering around the mouth of his own bottle, Scaramouche rolls his eyes in Venti’s general direction. “Why? If you want to know that hag so badly, go talk to her yourself.”

Venti busts out laughing, an action that his drunken body clearly can’t handle seeing as he falls sideways into Aether’s shoulder, making the latter grimace in response. Venti’s already a handful sober, but when he drinks… it takes the entire friend group to get him home and/or in bed safely. “Don’t threaten me with that, ‘cuz I really will do it— I’ll go steal your hot older girlfriend.”

Glaring up at him from his spot on the rug, Scaramouche has half a mind to shove that empty beer bottle into Venti’s eye for suggesting such a thing. Hey, wait a minute— why is Scaramouche the one sitting on the floor when this is his damn apartment?

“She’s not my fucking girlfriend,” he barks, turning to direct his glare at Kazuha too when he hears him chuckle.

“The more you deny it, the less convincing you are— you talk about her all the time, so I’m inclined to believe you really are dating,” Venti chirps, reaching for a bottle of beer that is most certainly not his.

“That’s mine,” Aether protests, watching as Venti takes a sip from his bottle anyways.

“Oops, my bad.” He doesn’t sound sincere.

“Well… get me another whenever you stand up.”

Venti waves his hand dismissively before redirecting his attention back to the more important matter at hand— Scaramouche’s complete and utter inability to just admit that he has the hots for his hot MILF of a neighbor and that any protest otherwise is a feeble attempt at hiding the truth.

“They say you’re attracted to things that make you mad,” Venti says. “…Cuteness aggression. Yeah. I saw a video about it once.”

“That’s not what cuteness aggression is, and ‘they’ say that you attract the things you fear,” Kazuha corrects him from his spot in the nearby armchair— again, why is Scaramouche the one sitting on the floor?— before he goes to take another hit off his blunt.

Venti repeats what Kazuha said in a nasally voice in an attempt to mock him, but the gesture only makes Kazuha chuckle again. It’ll be hard to draw any response more eloquent than a single laugh or a sigh out of him for the rest of the night— it’s a very, very stark difference from how he usually is.

“Why the fuck do I ever invite any of you over here?” Scaramouche sighs, taking a long swig from his own bottle. He doesn’t even really like the taste; it’s something Venti found on sale and decided to bring over, but Scaramouche has decided it’s better than spending his Friday night sober. Besides, it’ll take at least four more of these to deal with the impending conversation that he’s been trying so hard to pivot away from since Venti first brought it up.

“Because we’re best friends forever, next question. Why do you deny how much you wanna fuck your sexy neighbor, Kuni?” Venti asks again, pouting when Aether snatches the bottle Venti stole from him. “It’s super obvious. Xiao and Heizou agree with me, and I’m not just saying that because they’re not here tonight and can’t contest me on it. It’s true.”

Kazuha nods, and Aether simply shrugs. Christ alive, do they all think the same thing?

“And why on Earth do I— in theory— want to fuck her? She’s probably loose or something,” Scaramouche argues.

Venti busts out laughing again.

“It’s the opposite, really,” he starts, glancing between Aether and Kazuha when neither of them laugh along with him. “What, have you guys seriously never been with an older lady? They’re the best; the reason I know Kuni wants to get with that lady next door is because I got with the lady next door to me a couple months ago. It takes one to know one, or something. Trust me, Kuni, I know what you’re going through and we are seriously gonna get through this together.” Why is he making it sound like a relative died or something?

“They’re experienced,” Venti sighs longingly, blindly reaching out again for the bottle Aether’s holding, who moves it further away and out of Venti’s reach. “They feel really, really good. They actually know what they’re doing… sometimes the girls—and guys, mind you, I’ve gotten with plenty of both— our age clearly don’t know they’re supposed to be doing, but getting with somebody’s mom…”

“You’re gross!” Aether gasps, though his pink cheeks tell a different story.

“Not as gross as the guy who’s told us the same story about seeing his neighbor lady braless like four times now,” Venti replies, glancing over at Scaramouche with a grin. “Really left an impression on you, huh, Kuni?”

Just like that, Scaramouche finds himself instantly reminded of, well, the time he saw you braless first thing in the morning. A few months ago on some random Saturday morning, Scaramouche was out smoking a cigarette on his porch when you stepped outside to water the plants you keep on your balcony. There were so many of them: a small tomato plant, a pot overflowing with basil that you took to trimming after you finished watering everything, a couple of hanging baskets field with flowers, and a few other vegetable plants and potted succulents. More glaringly obvious than the abundance of plants occupying your balcony was your complete and utter shamelessness— even a quick glance in your direction was enough to draw Scaramouche’s attention to the distractingly sheer fabric of your white camisole.

It’s not like Scaramouche was actively staring at your tits— really, he wasn’t, he swears— because anyone would notice something that egregious. The low, low sweep of your camisole around your ample bust, your nipples beading up against the thin fabric, the constant fucking movement of the top as you shifted and bent over to water the plants sitting on the ground, moved, and walked, all of it. He complained to his friends about your complete and utter shamelessness— What kind of woman steps outside practically naked? he spat, much to the amusement of Venti, who had said that wearing a thin shirt does not, in fact, make one naked.

Worst of all, you had actually fucking caught Scaramouche staring, an action that made you grin wickedly and run your hands down the sides of your soft, plump body as if to try and draw his eyes down along with your hands. Instead, Scaramouche had only whipped his head to the other side, busying himself with tapping the ash off his cigarette as if it were the most important task he’d ever complete in his life. Jesus Christ, he was only staring because he couldn’t believe you’d be so shameless as to wear something like that outside, not because he was genuinely aroused by how low your camisole sat on your chest, how big your tits are, how soft they look…

He thinks he shuddered then, and he insisted to his friends that it was because of a sudden chilly breeze and absolutely nothing more. It was either that or because he was just so shocked by your display that a shiver went down his spine— he can’t even remember the exact reason he gave anymore.

Either way, none of them really believed him.

“Ah, he seems distracted,” Kazuha notes simply, raising a hand to point at Scaramouche before grinning. His words pull Scaramouche from his little daydream, and he groans at the realization that, yes, he spaced out remembering yet another instance of your abhorrent shamelessness and perversion.

“Spaced out thinking about cute MILF boobs, I get it,” Venti affirms, nodding. “Nobody gets that more than me. Not only that, but you’ve also, uh, ‘complained’ to us about seeing her in her swimsuit. Really, Kuni, it’s like you’re biding your time and waiting for her to take her clothes off so you can tell us about it.”

…That’s a story for another time. Scaramouche has had enough of thinking about you for one day; it’s bad enough that you brought him his mail today just mere moments before Venti, Kazuha, and Aether arrived to hang out— what if they saw you?— but to be reminded of the image of your tits underneath that pathetic excuse for a top…

He shakes his head and takes a long, long sip from his bottle.

“And they’re so soft, Kuni,” Venti says, slumping over further into Aether for support. “They feel like absolutely nothing else. I feel like firmness or perkiness or whatever is really, really overrated— the softness of a cute MILF’s boobs is unrivaled!”

“Can you not say things like that right into my ear?” Aether mumbles bashfully, making Venti laugh.

“Why? Am I gonna put the mental image of MILF boobs in your brain, too? Are we gonna become an entire friend group full of MILF chasers? That’d be hilarous. I already know about Xiao’s little crush on his English professor.”

Jesus, Scaramouche has got to steer this conversation somewhere else or he’ll go mad. “Anyways,” he beings, “Where is that pizza you ordered ages ago?”

“I thought Kazuha was taking care of it,” Aether remarks, glancing over at him. Kazuha goes to reply, but nothing comes out— yep, he’s gone for the night. He won’t be able to get out any more than four words max until morning.

As if the universe heard their request, the doorbell rings to signify the arrival of dinner. Before Scaramouche can go to pull himself up off the floor—he really should make Venti move; it’s his couch in his apartment— Venti’s already in the process of skipping towards the door. Aether takes the opportunity to kick his feet up over the other couch cushion, making Scaramouche wonder if the three of them formed some secret pact to ensure that he stays on the floor the entire evening.

However, what stands on the other side of the door is not, in fact, the pizza delivery boy. It’s you, aluminum foil-covered glass casserole dish in hand, leading Scaramouche to believe that while the universe did hear their request for food, the devil answered by sending you to his doorstep while he has three of his friends over.

“Oh! You’re not the pizza guy,” Venti beams, putting on his best ‘polite’ voice possible. Scaramouche groans and looks over towards his other two friends just so he doesn’t accidentally make eye contact with you, but neither Aether nor Kazuha look back at him. They’re looking at you.

Christ, he’ll never live this down. Not only do they know who you are, they now know what you look like.

“I’m not,” you giggle. “I live next door; I bring food to Scaramouche sometimes whenever I get a little too excited in the kitchen and make too much. I can’t eat the leftovers fast enough before they go bad, and I would hate to waste food, you know?”

“You can call him Kuni,” Venti offers. “We all do. It’s less of a mouthful, don’t you think?”

Scaramouche decides that Venti will be leaving his apartment in a body bag tonight.

His cheeks burn with equal parts humiliation and anger, and the realization that his friends’ teasing is only about to get worse now that they know who you are and what you look like more than motivates Scaramouche to devise a plot to kill the three of them.

After introducing yourself to Venti, he smiles and replies that “the pleasure is all his” when you tell him it’s nice to meet some of Scaramouche’s friends. Venti has half a mind to invite you inside for a moment, but he decides that’d be unnecessary— he figures he’s already done more than enough to inspire Scaramouche into action. If Scaramouche won’t act on his feelings himself, then maybe a little shove from his friends will help him along.

“That’s sweet of you!” Venti praises, taking the dish from your hands. “I’m glad Kuni’s eating properly these days. One time, he told us that the only thing he survived off of during finals week was a sleeve of Saltines and some peanut butter. You’re so kind, miss.”

You giggle sheepishly, a sound that Scaramouche would like to claim grates his ears. Miss? Can’t Venti see that you’re, well, old? “Well, I’m glad that he has such kind friends to support him. You all take care, okay? You too, Scara— Kuni!” You call out past Venti’s shoulder, making both Aether and Kazuha chuckle.

After bidding farewell to the four in what has to be the most mortifying moment of Scaramouche’s entire life, you leave, allowing Venti to close the door behind you and make his way back to the others. “Those boobs are huge,” he sighs dreamily, looking up at the ceiling. “If I got suffocated between those, I would die a fully satisfied man.”

“Then go die,” Scaramouche mutters in agreement, cheeks still burning with humiliation. Why does the universe insist upon tormenting him so?

Eyeing the dish in Venti’s hands, Aether pipes up too “She cooks for you? Kuni, you have it so good.”

Scaramouche is amazed that, after all this time, his friends still find it in them to be jealous of him despite all of his attempts at framing you as annoying, invasive, and overbearing. Can’t they see that you’re doing this on purpose?! Scaramouche has half a mind to wonder if you’re psychic— what other explanation is there for your obnoxiously perfect timing? He asks about food and suddenly you appear on his doorstep, dish in hand as if you had heard him through the walls. There’s no way they’re that thin, are they?

Venti moves to set the dish down on the kitchen countertop before turning around to look Scaramouche square in the eye. “Kuni, I’m saying this because I respect you as my longtime friend,” he asserts, tone and gaze both deathly serious in a way that’s genuinely almost out of character for someone as flippant and carefree as Venti. “But you better fuck that lady the first chance you get because, if you don’t, I’m taking her for myself.” That should do it.

Scowling in response, Scaramouche crosses his arms over his chest and sighs bitterly. “Why would I stop you? I don’t care what you do with her. For the last fucking time, I’m not into her.” Despite his words, Scaramouche can’t deny that there’s something… unsettling about the idea of Venti getting with you. Does he really want to watch his friend take four A.M. booty calls in order to fuck the woman living right next door to him? Can Scaramouche truly stomach the idea of his friend fucking the brains out of someone just a few walls away from where he lives? It’s hard to put his finger on why, but something about Venti getting with Scaramouche’s neighbor, despite his insistence that there truly is nothing between the two of them, really, really irks him.

Well, it’s probably just because a lot of Venti’s behavior tends to irritate Scaramouche in the first place, right? Yeah, it’s probably just that. He doesn’t need to hear every last gritty detail of his friend’s sexual trysts.

That characteristically smug grin of his finds its way back to Venti’s face as he reaches over Aether’s shoulder and snatches his beer bottle again. “Fine, I guess I’ll have to take your word for it. How about we forget the pizza and eat what she brought over?”

“Oh, I see now,” Kazuha interjects after having been silent for the past twenty minutes. He turns his phone around to show Scaramouche, Venti, and Aether the check-out screen on the pizza chain’s website. “It seems I failed actually submit the order; it was still waiting for me to pay.”

Scaramouche doesn’t have a hangover the next morning, a blessing he owes to the fact that he only ended up drinking two beers last night. He probably would’ve consumed more if he had the chance to, but Venti blew through the rest of the box quicker than the other three could try to stop him. It took both Kazuha and Aether supporting Venti’s hardly-conscious body to get him down the stairs to the parking lot so they can drive him home— there’s no way Venti would be able to safely get himself home amidst such an awful hangover.

As he pokes through his apartment scooping up empty beer bottles and stained paper plates to toss into a trash bag, the glass casserole dish sitting out on the kitchen counter catches Scaramouche’s eye. Save for a few scraps shoved into the rounded corners of the pan, it’s practically been picked clean— the four boys tore through it easily with Venti, Kazuha, and Aether all fawning over just how good a home-cooked meal tastes after months of campus cafeteria food, fast food, and instant ramen. Venti mentioned that there’s just something about a MILF’s cooking that makes it so much better, leading to a conversation about how, in Venti’s educated opinion, older women just do everything better: sex, cooking, cleaning, caretaking, all of it.

Scaramouche scoffs at the memory. “She’s nothing special,” he mutters to himself, still failing to understand Venti’s obsession with somebody he’s never even met until last night. Scaramouche is the one who’s actually been living next door to her for months now— as his friends know by now, he has plenty more to say about her than Venti does.

Shouldn’t he be the one to comment on things like the size of your bust, the softness of your legs, the plumpness of your ass and belly, and the flavor of your cooking? He’s the one who’s actually seen you lounging in tiny string bikinis by the apartment complex’s pool, watering the plants out on your balcony in a pair of shorts that certainly break publicly decency laws, and retrieving your mail in a shirt so thin he can make out the little bumps of your nipples up against the fabric.

“Christ, what am I thinking?” Scaramouche stops himself and second-guesses whether or not he’s actually hungover. There’s no way his sober mind would drift to thoughts of you, right? Clearly something must be wrong with him— he blames Venti for putting all these thoughts in his head with his never-ending discussion of what makes older women so utterly sexy.

He’s then reminded of what Venti told him right before they all sat down to eat your cooking: that if Scaramouche won’t hurry up and fuck his neighbor, Venti will do it for him. Even now, the idea still bothers him for reasons he just can’t quite put his finger on— Venti’s been with tons and tons of people; why does he want Scaramouche’s neighbor too? Can’t Venti see how awkward that would be?

Setting the trash bag down on the floor, Scaramouche takes to the sink to wash out the casserole dish you brought over for them last night. His mind concocts disgustingly vivid images of you as he scrubs at a particularly stubborn piece of dried cheese, and maybe he’d be shocked by how little effort he’s putting into warding those thoughts away if he weren’t so utterly immersed in them. His mind conjures up the image of you in that tiny black bikini he saw you wearing by the pool while he was out smoking on his balcony— he remembers the little number being so small that you had to readjust it every single time you simply sat up or lied down because every last motion was enough to threaten a nipslip. It makes him wonder if you dress like that on purpose or because you’ve deluded yourself into thinking that clothes and swimsuits you used to wear still fit you despite clear evidence otherwise— are you actively vying for the attention of any man who’ll give it to you, or are you brainless enough to throw something on without caring about how poorly or not it fits?

It’s probably a mix of both; you’re just that shameless.

Scaramouche grits his teeth at the mental image of you straddling him while adorned in that tiny little bikini that seems to only get tinier and tinier the longer he allows his imagination to run wild. Of all the fucking things to imagine you doing…

He pictures what you’d look like with your thick, plump thighs enveloping either side of his hips as you run your hands up and down your ample chest and soft stomach. God, he can see it all now: the little bumps of your nipples beading up against the thin fabric of your swimsuit, the soft hang of your tummy spilling over the tiny, flimsy string keeping your bottoms secured around your wide hips, the way your tits would bounce as you ride him…

“Something’s wrong with me,” he grumbles, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. The clump of cheese he’d been scraping at finally separates from the pan, and he realizes that if he wants to rid you from his mind for good, he should take matters into his own hands before Venti does.

No, wait, this has nothing to do with Venti— this isn’t about staking claim over you before any of his friends can, this is solely about him finding ways to release the grip you have on him as if you’re some kind of wicked succubus. Scaramouche glances downwards after setting the dish aside to dry and, much to his chagrin, finds that the mere thought of you was enough to fucking get him hard. The eager press of his cock against the confines of his briefs moritifies him solely because of the very reason why he’s like this in the first place; how the fuck did the thought of you in a bikini so tiny your areolas peek around the sides reduce him to such a state? He’d like to believe that he’s only this hard because it’s been a while since he’s jerked off, but that would be an excuse less believable than any of the ones he’s ever given his friends.

He knows that he’s too dignified to jerk off to the thought of you— if he’s feeling horny, then surely he can find things more deserving of his attention than some hag next door. He refuses to give you that kind of satisfaction (despite the fact that you’d never even know unless he told you, so how could you be smug about it?), so he decides that an ice-cold shower is in order before venturing out to settle things with you.

After a shower so cold Scaramouche swears he saw his fingers begin to turn purple, he dries off, gets dressed in something other than the clothes he fell asleep in last night, grabs your clean casserole dish, and leaves to go to the one place he wouldn’t have ever imagined himself stepping foot in— your apartment. If this is what it takes to sever the connection between you and his mind…

God, this is going to be annoying, Scaramouche thinks as he knocks on your door using his foot, casserole dish supported safely by both of his hands. He feels the need to steel himself because he just knows you’ll answer the door in something sheer, skimpy, or some combination of the two and he needs to be ready for that.

Why? Are you hoping for that to happen, Kuni? Venti’s voice whispers from the back of Scaramouche’s mind.

He really is losing it.

“Good morning— oh, Kuni! This is a surprise,” you greet him upon opening the door, flashing him a smile so bright it nearly makes him cringe. Can you spare him the pleasantries so he can just get to the point?

Fucking Venti— why teach her that nickname? Turning his head to look at a faraway bird instead of you, Scaramouche scoffs. “I need to talk to you.” Straight to the point, emotionless, and rude, it’s all so in-character for your neighbor that you can’t help but giggle.

You grin wider. “Of course. Come in; I’ll put a pot of coffee on.”

Scaramouche waits until you’re a good few steps ahead of him before following you inside, glancing around the living room of your apartment as he makes his way to the kitchen table. Your apartment’s clean, impeccably so at that— every book on your bookshelf faces the same direction, the blanket draped over the back of your couch doesn’t have a single crease, and he can’t see even an ounce of dust on any inch of your tables and countertops.

He snorts a little. Rather than viewing the cleanliness as impressive or inspiring, he bitterly interprets it as a testament to your overabundance of free time and lack of other hobbies or pastimes.

“I’m not sure how strong you like your coffee, so I’ll just make it how I normally do,” you pipe up from the kitchen, pulling Scaramouche away from scrutinizing the titles of the books on your shelf. Restless Summer Nights? The Devil’s Mistress? They all sound like bargain bin erotica novels.

It was a mistake to direct his attention away from your novels and to you instead, he figures, because only now does he get a look at what you’re wearing— if one could even call that clothing. You’re dressed in something he wants to call a workout outfit, but anyone leaving the house in an outfit like that surely has goals other than simply exercising— they want to attract attention. A sports bra that sits so low on your chest that a single bounce on an exercise ball would expose you combines with a pair of spandex leggings so tight they reveal the lines of your panties to comprise your “workout outfit,” and to say that Scaramouche is mortified would be an understatement. He can’t help but find the combination of your manner of dress and your collection of novels completely pathetic.

And despite his apparent disgust… he’s been staring at you long enough to pick up the most minute details about your outfit. The indifferent passerby likely wouldn’t notice your pantylines— a certain amount of staring is required to actually notice them; they’re really not obvious from a quick glance. Actually, why can’t he stop looking at you? He writes it off as a simple morbid curiosity at how someone can be so completely and utterly shameless— one could almost liken his sick, cynical fascination with your ample curves and soft body to rubbernecking.

Scaramouche instead stares down into the cup of coffee you’ve set in front of him like it’s the most fascinating object in the entire world. He’s half-inclined to just close his eyes entirely, seeing as the slightest glimpse of your bust still occupies the uppermost part of his peripheral eyesight when you sit down in the chair opposite of him.

“So,” you start, sliding a porcelain dish with a small bowl of sugar cubes and a saucer of creamer his way. “What can I help you with? It’s rare for you to talk to me first, Kuni.”

He adds “drop that nickname” to his mental list of topics to bring up with you. Scaramouche plucks a few sugar cubes from the bowl before him and drops them into his coffee before absentmindedly stirring the liquid with a serving spoon.

“Last night,” He clears his throat. “Why did you come over to talk to V— to my friends?” Why are you always in my business? he really wants to ask, but he feels like you’ll start crying if he presses you too firmly.

And that’d just be obnoxious.

You giggle. “That makes it sound like I came over on purpose because I knew you had people over, and that’s not true. Haven’t we been in the habit of food delivery and acceptance for months now?” Scaramouche’s eyes follow yours to the squeaky-clean casserole dish he placed on your counter.

“I’m glad your friends seemed to enjoy the food just as much as you do,” you add sweetly, pursing your lips and blowing on your coffee to help it cool down.

“It was humiliating,” Scaramouche counters, a statement that prompts you to look up from your coffee and make eye contact with him. “They wouldn’t— they wouldn’t stop fucking talking about you after you left.”

Wait, that’s not the point here, is it? Surely Scaramouche’s main complaint isn’t that Venti practically sweet-talked you right into his bed, it’s that Scaramouche is tired of you invading his business and his space, right? He doesn’t care about Venti’s comments about your soft tits or your wide hips, he doesn’t care about Aether’s bashful confession that he exclusively jerks off to older women, he doesn’t care that he has competition because there’s nothing to compete over and he’s really, actually, truly angry that you always find a way to worm your way into his days and his mind and his free time and his wet dreams and his—

“Oh, I’m flattered,” you reply simply, sipping your coffee and smiling around the rim of the cup. “They’re such nice boys. I’m glad you have such sweet friends, dear.”

What’s warmer: the tips of Scaramouche’s ears or his untouched cup of coffee?

“That’s not— what? That’s not the point I’m making and you know that,” he grimaces, clearing his throat again. “My friends shouldn’t have to put up with a shameless old hag the way I have to.”

You set your cup down. “That’s not very nice. I look good for my age— that charming boy down at the corner mart always asks for my ID whenever I pick up some wine!”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “That’s his job. Anyways, I’m telling you to mind your own business.”

“Oh, is that all? Of course I can do that for you.” Your reply comes without a single skipped beat.

“I mean it, that means don’t touch my mail and— what?” Wait, there’s no way you’re making this this easy. A shameless, conniving, lustful, lewd seductress of a woman like you agreeing to just… fuck off at the first request? Scaramouche doesn’t buy it— this is just another phase of your plan to throw him off guard and pull the rug out from under him so you can sink your claws deeper and deeper into him.

“I like cooking for you and cleaning for you, and I was very happy to meet your friends yesterday, but if you want me to stop, of course I will,” you explain. “I wonder who’ll help me eat my leftovers now… your friend from last night gave me his phone number; does he like potato soup? I’m making that tonight.”

Scaramouche almost, almost feels a shiver tear down his spine. He’s starting to believe that Venti’s just as much an antagonist in this situation as you are.

“Why the fuck did you accept his number? Delete it,” he grumbles, crossing his arms and glaring over at you. His coffee’s surely gone cold by now, but that’s alright— he was never much of a coffee drinker anyways.

You shrug, a sly smile forming on your lips. “Oh, I don’t know. He was so sweet I didn’t want to say no… it’d give me someone new to talk to, if nothing else.” Why do you need to talk to Venti when he barely knows you and I’m right fucking here?

“It’s not like you talk to me much despite all my best efforts, Kuni,” you offer him the subtlest of pouts, an action that would look out of place on the face of a woman your age if you weren’t so… if you weren’t so…

Forget it, he’s not saying anything about you that could be interpreted as a compliment. “…Especially now that you and I have agreed to leave each other alone.”

Oh, Scaramouche doesn’t like this feeling. He hates feeling like a situation has spun out of his control, and that’s, unfortunately, exactly what he feels is happening here. You’ve agreed to his terms and you’ve promised to stay out of his way, so why does he feel so… angry?

Yeah, you must have some underhanded motive here. Why else would you be making this so… easy? That’s not like you at all— he was expecting you to fan your eyelashes, pout your lips, push your tits forward, and whimper that you’re sorry and that you’d love to keep talking to him, so will he please give you a second chance?

I’ll do anything, he was sure you’d say.

You clear your throat. “Well, is there anything else you’d like to discuss now? If not, I’ll get back to my yoga. It’s good to be active, right?”

What the hell? You’re ending the conversation? No way, no how— this ends on Scaramouche’s terms, not yours. Who do you think you are?

“No, that’s not it, actually,” he blurts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Staying out of my business means staying away from Venti— from any of my friends. Don’t talk to them, don’t text them, don’t— I don’t know. Don’t be around them.”

You smile a little wider. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you sound jealous, Kuni.”

He scoffs, staring you directly in the eye as if to challenge you. “Seriously? Shit joke.”

Of all the adjectives you could have picked to describe him… “It’s just that the thought of you getting with Venti is nauseating, alright?”

You hum. “And why him specifically, hm? You had other friends over last night— are they single?” Jesus Christ, what is this, an interrogation? And where the hell are these sorts of questions coming from— did you already send Venti an invitation to hook up?

Sneering so hard his nose scrunches up, Scaramouche can’t help but feel appalled. “Did you decide I’m not good enough or something? Who do you think you are?”

You go silent.

Scaramouche, somehow, goes even quieter than silent when the weight of his words finally sets in. There it is— the culmination of your grand plan to humiliate, embarrass, and utterly demean him in your own home. You had this outcome planned from the start, didn’t you?

“I didn’t say that,” you stammer, attempting to correct yourself. “Why do you think I’ve been vying for your attention all this time? Of course I like you, Kuni.”

God, how you piss him off. Who do you think you are— some bashful schoolgirl confessing to her first crush?

“I know that I’m just an old woman and that you could certainly find a cute, young, perky college girl whenever you’d like to, but if you’d ever like me…”

Of course Scaramouche could get someone his age from one of his classes— he doesn’t need to settle for some loose old hag— and yet… the thought of you getting with anyone else, Venti or not, pisses him off in a way he can’t quite describe. Maybe he views himself as some kind of hero protecting everyone else from your shamelessness, maybe he views himself as the only one worthy of your attention as the one who has to put up with you the most, maybe he views you as someone actually, genuinely worth being with…

He sits up a little straighter. “You have no idea how obnoxious you are,” he mutters. “Taking up my time and attention even when you’re not around.”

“What a forked tongue,” you reply, leaning forward and, much to Scaramouche’s chagrin, pushing your breasts together with your hands. “You know that’s why I like you, right? Mean boys have always been my favorite— ever since high school.”

“You’re not worth the time,” he spits. So fucking annoying. So fucking shameless. What kind of woman your age behaves this way, anyway? So obnoxious, so pathetic, so intoxicating, so impossible-to-keep-out-of-his-mind—

“Venti sure seems to think I am,” you offer with a smug, self-satisfied smile as you rise from your seat. Hooking your thumbs up under the straps of your sports bra, you quickly snap the elastic fabric back against your shoulders to give your tits a little bounce, an action that, of course, does not go unnoticed. Slapping his hands down flat against the perfectly-ironed lacy tablecloth covering your dining room table and standing up so quickly he nearly knocks his knees against the table’s hardwood underside, Scaramouche laughs.

What a time to finally, finally accept that he has the hots for his neighbor— the same neighbor who’s supposedly the cause of so many of his bad days and sour moods. You’ve prompted many a disdainful mutter from Scaramouche after catching a glimpse of you through your drawn curtains, you’ve been the subject of many a snide comment made in the presence of his friends, and, most frustratingly of all, you’ve inspired countless, countless inappropriate thoughts that he cannot believe you’ve been the subject of.

And all it took was one of his friends hitting on you for him to realize that.

“Constantly flaunting a body like this,” he chides in a way that he wants to come off as insulting and condescending rather than sadistically flattering, but the little grin you offer in response gives him reason to believe you interpreted it as the latter. Seriously?

“Other boys your age seem to enjoy the flaunting,” you counter, slipping your thumbs into the waistband of your spandex leggings. As if to tease the act of pulling them all the way down your legs, you flip the fabric of your waistband over its seam to expose the majority of your soft lower belly.

Anger burns hot behind his pale cheeks. “Is this some kind of pathetic hobby of yours? Fucking guys half your age?”

“I like to consider it a lifestyle,” you reply, shimmying your leggings further and further down your thick thighs until your thong’s completely exposed. A black lace thong— how becoming of a nymphomanic like yourself. “I’m fine with trading experience for virility and stamina; do you know how many men my age finish in thirty seconds and call it there because they’re ‘just so tired’? College boys either go until they can’t hold themselves upright or until they have nothing left to pump into me.”

There’s that vulgar nature that’s both irritated and (subconciously) aroused him for months. He wants to believe that your disgusting nature doesn’t make his cock twitch, but the time for pretending has clearly passed. You don’t believe he finds you ugly or unappealing and neither does he anymore.

“And do you find this… lifestyle fulfilling?” Scaramouche challenges, grimacing at the pressure building in the frontside of his tight jeans.

You laugh. “Is that your way of saying you don’t? Are you a virgin, sweetheart?”

“Of course not. Just because some of us don’t fuck everything with two legs and a pulse doesn’t mean we’re virgins.” His clumsy escapades are none of your business— his high school girlfriend and that guy from the concert Venti dragged him to over the summer don’t concern you.

Bending forward to push your leggings down to your knees, you gaze up at Scaramouche through your eyelashes and giggle. “Don’t make it sound like I don’t savor every last cock or strap I ride. You could put every last one of them in front of me and I’d be able to tell you who they belong to with my eyes shut.”

Venti mentioned something about experience, didn’t he? What a sanitized way of calling older women complete and total whores.

The inferiority complex in Scaramouche wants to prove that he’s the best thing a whore like you will ever experience, that he can make you feel better than any of the other bumbling college morons he probably knows can, and that you’ll give up your ways of fucking everyone that looks at you in order to devote yourself to him and him alone. That’d be some nice payback for all the pain and humiliation you’ve subjected him to these past couple of months, right?

No, he has a better idea.

“If you want to show yourself off that badly,” Scaramouche huffs, doing his damndest to ignore the nearly-painful throbbing in his jeans. “Then I’m sure you’d be fine with doing it in front of that glass door, right?”

With your hands still bunched in the fabric of your leggings, you look back at the glass sliding door that leads to your balcony and bite your lip. It’s not likely anyone would actually see you— you and Scaramouche live on the third floor— but it’s still a possibility and an exciting thought nonetheless. Maybe you could give that nice redheaded quarterback boy you fucked a few months ago a nice show; he lives just across the parking lot in the building parallel to yours.

“Now who’s the deviant one? I’ve never fucked anywhere more public than a nightclub’s bathroom stall,” you tease, finally pushing your leggings all the way down and off your legs. He doesn’t believe you, but Christ, those thighs of yours look soft…

You accept his offer nonetheless and make your way over to the balcony door, your thong riding high on your wide hips and your hardened nipples pressing into the flimsy fabric of your pathetic excuse of a sports bra. “You’re helping me wipe off all the fingerprints afterwards,” you scold, inviting him over with a wiggle of your hips and a glance back over your shoulder.

Now, rationally, Scaramouche would never propose the idea of fucking in a place as public as right in front of an apartment complex parking lot. He’s never considered himself an exhbitionist and he’s always been somewhat obsessed with his image, and people who care about their image generally don’t have sex in the potential presence of others. Additionally, there’s probably something to be said about him potentially getting caught fucking the same woman he’s spent the better half of this past year complaining about, but the current irrational, horny, angry Scaramouche wouldn’t listen to better judgement or rationality anyways.

The relief that comes with unbuttoning his jeans and giving his almost painfully-hard cock room to breathe is so euphoric he can’t help but sigh, the throbbing in his crotch more aggravating than any pounding headache he’s ever experienced after an evening drinking with his friends.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” he laughs, incredulous. “To think the hag living next door to me is the reason I’m like this.” Jamming the weight of his bulge into the plumpness of your soft ass, Scaramouche seizes hold of your hips in both of his hands and gives the fat of your love handles a painful squeeze just to hear you suck the air in through your teeth.

“I thought you’d never come around, you know,” you breathe, beyond eager at the prospect of finally, finally getting to fuck the neighbor boy you’ve been actively working at breaking for months upon months now. A guy this mean, this arrogant, and this demeaning doesn’t come around that often, especially when so many of the guys you get with take the polite route by calling you “ma’am” and complimenting you over and over again— which certainly isn’t a bad thing, but cruel has always satisfied you in ways that kind cannot.

The height difference between the two of you means that Scaramouche has to stand up a little straighter than he normally does in order to press his hips against yours, a realization that’s only slightly humiliating. Granted, it could never compare to how humiliating it was for you to show up at his apartment in front of all his friends.

God, does it feel good to put you in your place.

“Spread,” Scaramouche mutters, knocking one of his feet against both of your ankles. He doesn’t tell you that he needs you to spread your legs so your hips will lower a bit, allowing him to reach them a little more easily since you’re a bit taller than he is.

You would tease him for skipping the foreplay and just jamming himself right into you, but you know that you’ve been plenty wet enough ever since your discussion with him first wandered to sex and masturbation. Well, that, and if you had to wait another minute to get the cock you’ve been so desperate for for so long now, you very well may go crazy. It’s taken months, but you can already tell that it was all so, so worth it.

Running his knuckles down the center of your thong, Scaramouche relishes in the smug satisfaction that comes with realizing that you’re wet. It’s equal parts arousing and equal parts pathetic— just how desperate are you for any cock you can get your hands on?

“You’ve already kept me waiting for months,” you say with a pout cast back at him from over your shoulder. “Why make me wait even longer when I’m right here?”

“Shameless and impatient,” he remarks with a frustrated huff. “Can’t you do something good with your life or yourself for once and just be quiet?”

As tempting as it is to make a teasing quip in return to only further rile up your angsty neighbor boy, a frenzied giggle is the only sound you can muster up when you feel the firm press of a cock against your clothed pussy. Even through your flimsy thong, you can tell that he’s hard, which is a reward in its own right. It’s what you’ve wanted to achieve since the very first time he caught you half-naked watering plants on your balcony— is it so wrong for you to want to rile up the cutie next door?

Scaramouche roughly yanks your thong down to hang around your lower thighs, leaving you entirely on display for him when you follow suit by tugging your sports bra up to your collarbone. The cool, smooth glass against your bare tits is an unfamiliar sensation, but it’s certainly not an unwelcome one— especially when you remember that anyone could look up from across the parking lot and get an eyeful of your bare tits squished up against the glass door.

“I wish I could watch you sink it in for the first time,” you hum, reaching down between your legs to part the outer lips of your cunt for him a little wider. “In front of a mirror or something maybe. Wouldn’t that be romantic?”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because you’re the spitting image of the romantic type.” There’s no way you consider him the romantic type, is there? He’s not going to hold your hands and whisper in your ear about how cute you are, you know.

Damn it, you’ve got him actually wanting you more than he’s ever wanted you before— this makes all his filthy fantasies about taking you bent over your kitchen counter or being underneath you while you ride him into oblivion look like a cheap, budget porno from a video rental store. His desire has always been real—albeit subconscious, sure—but it feels so much more genuine now that it’s been realized.

“Don’t say a word about this to anyone,” he mumbles in a brief moment of humiliation, biting into his bottom lip as he finally, finally sinks the full length of his cock into you.

Jesus Christ, if there’s anything Venti’s ever been right about, it’s how good a mature pussy feels. You’re soaked all the way down to your inner thighs, you’re so warm Scaramouche nearly feels his knees give out from underneath him, and you squeeze him so well he can feel your pussy gripping the sensitive underside of his tip.

“Why not? I can invite your friend next time,” you propose, squealing with delight when Scaramouche slaps a hand down against the side of your ass. “Venti, right? It’d feel so good to have my ass used while you—“

“Just shut up,” he hisses bitterly, glaring at you hard enough to give himself a stress headache. “Don’t talk about other guys right now. Especially not ones I know.”

“You’re right, it’s rude to talk about other men when I have such a good one right here with me already,” you feign sympathy, pushing your hips back flat against the front of his thighs. “Oh, Kuni.”

There’s that damn nickname again. As much as he hates the idea of you using it to tease him or fluster him, he can’t deny the way his dick twitches whenever you coo it in that soft, sultry tone of yours. It’s like you were custom-made to gobble men up or something— just how many of his classmates have you fucked?

Oh, it doesn’t matter. Not when he knows he can establish himself as the best of the whole damn lot of them. Not when he knows that he gets the privilege of seeing you every single day and nobody, nobody else does. Not when he’s seen your cute nipples peeking at him through that tiny, flimsy pajama top he caught you in all those months ago. Not when he gets to peruse on over to your apartment whenever he wants because you’re right fucking there and nobody, nobody is physically closer to you than he is.

Jesus, this is all starting to sound like some kind of crush.

“How’s that?” Scaramouche taunts, slapping his hips against you so wildly the sound of skin smacking on skin almost drowns out his voice. He’d like to claim that this sort of pace is supposed to be punishing, and he’d be right if he were to say that, but he wants it hard and rough just as much as you surely do. He couldn’t stop his hips even if he wanted to because he knows there’s nothing he’s wanted to do more than fuck your brains out for months upon months now.

You don’t answer him, too preoccupied with relishing in the feeling of his cock pounding into you with everything he’s got. How befitting of Scaramouche to fuck you like he’s angry at you— if he could even claim to be mad anymore. The combined sensations of his hips hammering against yours, his fingernails digging into your soft, plump love handles, and his balls slapping against your ass on each thrust are all far too overwhelming to even attempt a reply.

“Seriously? You run your mouth for ages and now you shut up when I ask you a question?” You’re doing this on purpose— Jesus, you’re insatiable.

Your back arches when Scaramouche digs the tip of his cock into a particularly sensitive spot inside of you, a broken whine leaving your lips instead when you attempt to reply with a dirty quip. He laughs when he realizes what’s just happened— that’s certainly one way to get you to shut that filthy mouth of yours.

“I hope somebody’s watching you, actually,” he admits despite all the jealousy even a single mention of his friend stirred up in him. “That way they can see you’re not worth their time because you don’t value yourself whatsoever. Why would anyone want someone who’s happy to just give themselves away like this and get fucked in a place so public?”

Maybe that’s just a weird, roundabout way of saying I want someone to watch me fuck you so they know a whore like you has been whipped into shape and that you only want me now. Who’s to say?

“You don’t care about getting caught yourself?” You finally pipe up with a grin.

Scaramouche snorts. “Getting caught with the likes of you? I’d transfer universities.”

You pout. “Would I still get to see you?”

For whatever reason, the question catches him off guard. How many times does he need to remind you that you’re not his girlfriend, that you’re not some sweetheart with an innocent crush, that you’re just his fucking neighbor who just so happens to have a hot body and just so happens to feel so, so good around him like this and just so happens to be the subject of his wet dreams and fantasies and—

He’s only able to spit out one word. “Obnoxious.”

His hands reclaim a firm grasp on your ample hips before he takes to fucking into you at a whole new angle— one that’ll surely hit that spot that got you to shut the fuck up moments ago. Your hands clamor for anything you could possibly grab onto to steel yourself, but there’s nothing except for the cool, flat glass beneath your palms.

“Kuni,” you rasp in a broken voice, beyond impressed with his ability to have found your most sensitive spot and target it specially. Call it sheer dumb luck or a testament to how perfectly compatible your bodies are, it doesn’t matter. He won’t let up on it until you’ve collapsed— maybe it’ll be a nice change of pace from your partners being the ones to collapse after an evening with you.

With the task of finding something to hold onto having proven fruitless, you instead slip a hand back between your legs to rub at your clit. Scaramouche snickers at your apparent desperation to orgasm, but he’s not letting you off that easily.

“What a pathetic display,” he remarks, pounding into you so quickly you can barely register the full length of his cock before he’s pulling it all the way out of you again. With your legs trembling and your knees buckling, the possibility of actually collapsing underneath him is becoming increasingly likely— these wild, frenzied thrusts of his prove exactly why you’re so into college guys.

Looking down from the fuzzy reflection of your face in the glass, Scaramouche watches each sink of his cock into your tight, dripping cunt with all the intensity and attention of a virgin. It may as well be his first time— you feel so fucking good he’s starting to lose his train of thought. You take him all the way to the hilt on each thrust so easily that he’d absolutely call you a common whore if he were able to form even a single word.

Despite his inability to form a coherent sentence, Scaramouche finds that he has just enough rationality left to pull out mere seconds before coming all over the swell of your ass, his cock twitching in his hand as he bites back moans. Here he is, coming all over the soft ass of his obnoxious older neighbor lady after spending so many months convincing his friends that he does not, in fact, want to fuck her.

You laugh breathlessly, the hand between your legs still rubbing frantic circles over your clit as you attempt to reach your own orgasm as well. “What’s wrong with coming inside? I’m hurt.”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. That’d be irresponsible.

“Well, that’s alright,” you chirp, standing upright and turning around to face him. “I can always wring it out of you myself, right?”

“You’re insatiable,” he replies, inching backwards towards the couch as you step forward in time with his footsteps.

“Pot, kettle. You’re still hard, Kuni.”

With the realization that he’ll need some kind of excuse to offer his friends when he inevitably returns to a slew of unread messages a few hours from now, he falls backwards onto the couch just before you make yourself comfortable in his lap.

Well, not that any of them have ever believed any vague, half-baked excuse Scaramouche gives.

[add1ctedt0you]

I know that everyone, projecting, can have different interpretations about the same character, but I really can't understand some of them. For example "jc is an arrogant asshole" : I mean, he is an asshole, but arrogant? I personally disagree. Jiang Cheng is a kid who is grown been compared his own life to Wei WuXian, his perfect sect brother, by both his parents.

Kids like that grown with an inferiority complex, not being arrogant. And I think that the text proofs it enough :

Madam Yu stood up and mocked, "What do you want me to do? Like your father, you want me to hold my tongue? You really are an idiot. I've told you long ago that you'll never in your whole life be able to surpass the one sitting beside you. Not over cultivation, not over night-hunting, even shooting kites, you can't surpass him! It can't be helped. Who would change the fact that your mom is worse than another's? Worse it is, then. Your mom feels injustice for you, tells you countless times not to fool around with him, yet you are still defending him. Just how did I give birth to a son like you? "

Chapter 50

After a speech like that, something that seems usual for them, how in the hell jiang cheng could have ever get arrogant? How?? His mother, the one whose love he doesn't question, is saying to his face that he isn't enough, that he would never been enough. When a child grown hearing this all the time, how can become arrogant??

In fact, Jiang cheng's greatest wish in his youth is not to be the best, is to be enough, is to make his parents proud of him, is to been seen for his worth:

He raise his voice, "You killed the Xuanwu of Slaughter together with Lan WangJi, bathing in blood! How great is that?! But what about me?!"

He punched his fist into a pillar in the hall, clenching his teeth, "... I have also been running around for days, completely exhausted, with not one second of rest!"

Chapter 56

Jiang cheng is extremely upset not because he didn't kill the Xuanwu of Slaughter but because his efforts have been overlooked. "But what about me?" that's what he said and what tormented him. His father had praised wei wuxian and lan wangji, but what about jiang cheng effort? I see a kid who wants desperately love and appreciation.

I want to point out, that obviously his trauma influence his life. As anyone with an inferiority complex, he doesn't think himself good enough, so he behaves according to his belief (I strongly believe that people with inferiority complex don't always achieve everything not because they aren't able, but because they don't think to be able, - something very different - sabotaging themselves without even realizing it). For example, he doesn't think himself able to fight and win against lan wangji not necessarily because he isn't good enough, but because his inferiority complex runs deep. In fact, he is pretty good as cultivator and fighter!

When Jiang Cheng was unaware, he stuffed Zidian's ring back into his hand and sprinted toward the crowd, all the way up to the most dangerous area before the mouth of the cave. Jiang Cheng was about to chase after him when he managed to slice a few corpses, staggering. He felt that Sandu was no lighter than hundreds of pounds.

Jiang cheng, without his spiritual powers, managed to slice a few corpses. (Not having spiritual powers means that he can't heal readily and he gets tired easily)

Jiang Cheng chased over to fight Wen ZhuLiu. Wen Chao saw that his eyes were bloodshot and had on a terrifying expression. The rest of the disciples had also been excited, and there was still a gigantic beast inside the pool, the front-left claw of which had already stepped onto the shore. Wen Chao finally began to fear, "Retreat, retreat. Retreat right now!"

Without any weapon and knowing well what wen zhuliu was capable of, 17 years old Jiang Cheng chased him down. And he was so terrifying that wen chao called for retreat!

That's to say, his insecurities and fears don't ever stop jiang cheng from doing what he has to do. He doesn't feel enough because of his childhood but, nonetheless, jiang cheng is extremely hardworking and competent.

The most laughable one was the YunmengJiang Sect, the people of which either had been killed or had scattered, leaving only Jiang Cheng, who was younger than even Lan XiChen and was still a child born yesterday, who had nobody in his hands but still dared call himself sect leader, holding up the banner of rebellion as he recruited new disciples.

After lotus pier's fall, despite his young age, being younger than Lan Xichen, despite the fact that his sect has been destroyed and despite the fact that he was alone, he dared call himself sect leader, holding up the banner of rebellion recruiting new disciples! Jiang cheng worked hard every day to rebuilt lotus pier!

Within these few years, Jiang Cheng insisted on working late into the night every day. That day, just as he decided to rest early, he had to rush to Koi Tower overnight because of the thundering news.

Chapter 73

Thanks his efforts, lotus pier is reborn again as one of the greatest sect, despite her isolation. No one dares to insult lotus pier or jiang cheng himself!

So, jiang cheng is a strong sect leader, a man accustomed to give orders, but that, again, doesn't make him arrogant. He is probably proud of his sect! As every person who fights, works hard and makes every effort, he is probably proud of his achievements.

[atlasalexanderwrites]

Malcolm Merlyn x Queen!Reader Pt. 5

IMAGINE…it’s Moira and Walter’s wedding day, people aren’t as oblivious to your “thing” with Malcolm as you previously believed they were, and after (nearly) two years, you and Malcolm take a step further in your relationship.

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this! I’m so excited about getting to events that take place during the first two (ish) seasons of Arrow! ALSO, I such at summaries sooo sorry for the “imagine” line above.

Pt. 1 2 3 4 6 7

WORD COUNT: 3,804

WARNING: None, possible ooc!Malcolm Merlyn

(GIF ISN’T MINE! FOUND ON GOOGLE IMAGE SEARCH!)

Moira and Walter’s wedding ceremony was beautiful. Breathtaking even and you could do nothing but grin like an idiot next to Thea, both of you shedding tears of happiness (and some sadness as Oliver wasn’t alive to be there as well).

The reception was held at your family’s estate and thankfully the weather remained warm and sunny.

“…welcome, thank you for coming.” You and Thea stood under the arch that led to the designated reception area, greeting the guests.

With everyone you smiled at and thanked for coming, your nerves intensified. You knew the Merlyns were invited; they had been at the church after all. You just had no idea where in line they were. There were at least four hundred guests (six hundred at most).

“I am very glad mom went with blue for us. Can you imagine us in the pink?” Thea grumbled in between guests. She was growing impatient – no doubt your fifteen year old sister was ready to mingle with whichever of her friends had shown up.

You couldn’t argue with her; the baby pink dress had been…questionable. No way would Thea have worn it without a fight, and there was no way it would have looked as good as your step-mother had believed at the time.

“Thank you for coming. It means so much to us,” you smiled, hugging a few women you knew were companions of Moira.

And then you caught sight of Malcolm and Tommy. They were six people back, dressed in black with near matching ties (no doubt, Tommy had been coerced into wearing his by something fast and expensive).

Soon enough they were standing in front of you with Thea giggling Tommy’s name and hugging him while you greeted the CEO of Merlyn Global.

He was grinning, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he stepped toward you.

Your breath caught and you could do nothing but say his name, a nervous smile tugging at your lips.

“Y/n,” Malcolm said your name with amusement as he leaned forward and kissed your cheek as you placed a hand to his chest, grabbing at his shirt as if you were struggling to remain on your feet. “You look stunning,” he added, the hot air of his breath hitting your ear as he began to pull away.

Dropping your hand from his chest and reminding yourself that the two of you weren’t alone no matter how much the feelings you had for him always made you forget you weren’t the only two people on Earth, you teased with a laugh, “Save your compliments for the bride, Mr. Merlyn. Although Walter might forgo his poshness if you’re too friendly.”

Malcolm’s blue eyes held yours and for a moment you weren’t sure if he was going to be suggestive about the secret affair the two of you had or if he would simply go along with you, finally he said, “We wouldn’t want that.”

God he’s so attractive…

Your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest and you could hear all the noise around you disappearing, your existence narrowing to Malcolm and only him.

Malcolm…

“…why don’t I show Tommy to your table?” Thea’s voice brought you crashing back to reality and your head snapped in her direction, confusion momentarily crossing your face as you watched her wrap an arm around Tommy’s, “I’m so bored.” Your sister mumbled, silently pleading for you to not argue – obviously unaware of where your mind had just wandered to.

“Thea,” you began, not too sure of what you were going to say after

Malcolm saved you by stepping in, his gaze locked on his son as he said, “Make sure you congratulate Moira and Mr. Steele.”

Tommy nodded, throwing a smirk in your direction as he let Thea drag him away neither giving you or Malcolm a chance to say anything differently.

Turning back to the guests waiting in line (and not allowing Malcolm a chance to speak right away), you greeted a few more before saying softly, “It wouldn’t have hurt her to stay put. Even a little longer. People can’t let her just…do whatever she wants when she wants.” On one hand, you were purposefully picking a fight in hopes that he would go away, and on the other, you were talking to him about something you had (in private) discussed with him a dozen times already so to avoid the man standing next to you from saying anything that might fluster and distract you further.

Malcolm, being Malcolm, just laughed and greeted guests alongside you, “Pick your battles. Thea is a child, let her have fun before she has to enter the world of adulthood and endless responsibility.”

“She’s not too far away from being an adult, Malcolm.” Your teen sister was spiraling like Oliver had. It just worried you because Oliver’s acting out could have had some serious consequences (they DID if you consider Sara Lance getting on the Gambit – and eventually dying – as a consequence of Oliver’s unchecked, poor behavior), and so could Thea’s if it continued to escalate. “She needs structure and…”

Malcolm placed a hand to your lower back as he leaned closer, cutting off your sentence to say, “You are not her mother, Y/n.”

“Neither is Moira at this point.” It hurt to admit, but it was the truth. Moira acted more like a friend than a parent when it came to Thea. She had since your father and Oliver had died. And you understood why Moira was like that. Thea was her last reminder of Robert so of course she didn’t want to risk hurting the bond she had with your sister, but there came a time when enough was enough.

And, unfortunately, your step-mother refused to listen to you no matter how often you brought it up to her.

Thankfully, for now, Malcolm didn’t press the conversation further.

Soon enough, you had finished greeting the rest of the guests and let Malcolm lead you to your table, frowning when you realized the Merlyn father-son duo had been placed at the same table as you and Thea.

“Wait…” you frowned, looking at Malcolm for a second before looking at the name card in the center of the table.

Malcolm and Thomas Merlyn

Y/n and Thea Queen

With the last two of six names belonging to Thea’s friends (who were currently too busy staring half in love in Tommy’s direction).

Deciding to rescue your dead-brother’s friend from teenage hormones, you were quick to rearrange the seating with Tommy safely placed between his father and Thea. At the least, it was sure to save you from a headache and Tommy (should he get wasted as he normally did at such events) from any possible legal trouble.

Placing a hand to Malcolm’s shoulder as you sat down, you murmured, “Either you had something to do with this – somehow – or my dear stepmother is attempting to prove herself right about there being something between us.”

Malcolm slipped his hand under the table and placed it to your knee as the both of you looked toward the table Moira and Walter were seated at, talking away to one another. “We both know I didn’t.” he smirked, returning his gaze to you after a moment, “If I did, however, it would be so I could do something like this.”

Once again in the course of your affair, you found yourself caught off guard by the boldness Malcolm showed as he let his hand slide from your knee, up your leg, and under your dress – his fingers digging greedily into your inner thigh.

Luckily, you were able to mask your gasp of surprise at his touch with a breathless laugh.

Throwing a look at the others at the table to make sure they hadn’t noticed anything, you steadied yourself before attempting to say anything. “If anyone notices where your hand is, our secret is out.”

Your lips barely moved, but you knew he heard you by the way he leaned toward you to respond, his breath hitting warmly off your cheek, “That’s what makes our game so fun,”

“Malcolm.” You warned, throwing him a pointed look of frustration, “I’m not playing games.”

Not only was this far from how you would want your family, friends, and associates to find out about your affair, but you couldn’t continue to treat you and Malcolm as just the two of you having fun.

You had allowed yourself (stupidly) to grow far too many feelings for him to try and act like it was a game, like things weren’t serious for you. Like it didn’t take everything you had not to admit your feelings to him and just…beg him to love you back.

“Please, not here.” You finally added, your breath nearly catching in your throat as you spoke.

Malcolm’s blue eyes watched you for several long moments before he was pulling his hand away and getting to his feet, moving his body away from you just enough so you couldn’t grab his arm without others noticing and drawing attention to yourself.

“Excuse me,” he smiled at Tommy, Thea, and Thea’s friends before looking back at you, “Miss Queen, we’ll speak later.” And he just walked away, heading for the bar, and away from you as you watched after him, your head and heart screaming for you to go after him.

You were thankful that he hadn’t gone any further, but you couldn’t help but wonder if you had been too snappy.

He wasn’t angry, or he didn’t seem to be, and he had never gone too far in crowded, public spaces…you could have trusted him to remain playful but also to keep his usual discretion.

And then you began to wonder if he wanted to get caught but wasn’t sure whether to admit it or not. To be fair, you always made a fuss about people finding out. Maybe he took that as you never wanting to tell anyone. Ever.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. That he would want to get caught.

Letting out a shaky breath, you grabbed your glass of champagne and lifted it to your lips. As you did, you locked eyes with Moira who was looking at you like she definitely knew something.

Shit.

**

Once the dancing began, you wasted no time in accepting partners. You loved to dance and didn’t bother to keep yourself in check or to wisely choose who your next dance partner was. It was a wedding, and it wasn’t like you were doing anything that would disgrace your step-mother and her new husband.

And so, you didn’t bother (or think) to turn Tommy down when he appeared beside you at the end of a slow song.

“May I?” he teased, already grabbing your hip and pulling you into his arms

Placing your hands to his shoulders, you teased just as another slow song started up, “Are you sure you want to leave your fan club?”

Tommy cringed at the mention of Thea and her friends who had watched him all night, following him everywhere and asking him a million questions about college parties, fast cars, and anything else they thought he was interested in (and that’s all you knew about before you started dancing). “I am pretty sure Thea dared one of them to follow me into the bathroom.”

“Oh no,” you laughed, playfully concerned about your sister doing that knowing Tommy was only playing around.

“And what about you?” Tommy questioned as the two of you moved around in a slow circle, not truly trying to dance “My dad hasn’t stopped looking at you since your first dance. And I noticed the tenseness between you two before that. What’s going on between the two of you?”

His words froze you to the spot, your eyes wide as you tried to think of something to respond with.

Tommy wasn’t upset, but he wasn’t being playful anymore either. You knew him well enough to read the emotions on his face. Tommy was curious and…worried, maybe?

“My father hasn���t shown attention to another woman since my mother, as far as I know. And suddenly he’s…he’s different when he’s with you, Y/n. I don’t…I don’t know how, exactly, but he is.”

“Tommy,” you croaked, shaking your head to try and get him to stop talking. “Malcolm and I are…friends.”

Panic. Absolute panic was in your chest as you tried to defend yourself and Malcolm, to hide your secret from his only child.

Tommy laughed, almost as if he could sense the internal conflict within you, “Y/n, I’m not stupid and my eyes work just fine.”

The memory of a month earlier, at Malcolm’s, when he had spoken in some foreign language and how he had looked at you so gently came rushing to the front of your mind. Is that what Tommy was referring to? Is that the “different” Tommy had seen in his father?

Licking your suddenly dry lips, you forced yourself to meet Tommy’s gaze as you whispered, “Your father and I are…close friends. That’s all.” You stepped back from him, needing to put space between the two of you as soon as possible, “I’m sorry Tommy. Please don’t be upset but I…I can’t…it’s complicated.”

As quickly as you could, you left the dance floor and headed away from the reception, off to a more secluded area away from prying eyes.

Your hands were sweaty, and your heart was racing.

It wasn’t in panic, however.

For a moment you had been excited about someone knowing about you and Malcolm. Finally, you would have had someone you could confide in.

Then you considered others knowing and that, undoubtedly, they would have bombarded you with questions and wanting to know everything about your affair.

But at least you wouldn’t have had to be so secretive anymore.

So caught up in your desire to tell someone, you had nearly told Tommy until you caught yourself, realizing you didn’t want to cause problems for Tommy if Malcolm didn’t want him to know or if Malcolm wanted to be the one to tell him.

You were certain that a moment longer and you would have told Tommy, disregarding how Malcolm may have felt about it.

So lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear anyone approaching until a hand was on your arm and Moira was standing in front of you – a look of concern and a little hint of suspicion on her face.

“Mom,” you were quick to, forcing a smile

“Are you alright? I saw you with Tommy. Did something happen?”

You appreciated how worried she sounded, but you saw the look in her eyes that she always had when she was trying to be sneaky and pry information from people, waving a hand about to try and make it seem like everything was fine, you said “What? No. Tommy didn’t do anything. I just got dizzy and…and needed some fresh air.”

Humming, Moira looked you over and then asked, refusing to let it go, “And the other Merlyn? Has he done anything?”

Gotcha. So obvious.

You wondered how long she had been waiting to ask you that?

Deciding to play dumb, you laughed and shook your head, “Malcolm? Of course not. I’ve hardly seen him today except for what little time we were both at the table at the beginning of the reception.”

“Honey,” Moira clicked her tongue with a small shake of her head, and you knew the look she had given you earlier hadn’t been you misreading her expression, “If there is anything between you and Malcolm, it needs to end. He’s far from the right guy for you.” She placed a hand to your arm, squeezing as if to comfort you.

“Mom,” It took some restraint to hold back any rude comments you had about Moira trying to tell you who to see romantically. You knew it was just you being defensive while Moira was just looking out for you (as she always had). “For the last time, I am not dating Malcolm Merlyn. We’re friends and close associates….”

Moira was quick to interrupt, her voice coming off sharp with a clear sign of frustration. “I see the way you look at him, Y/n. I don’t want you to get your heart broken.”

You sighed and opened your mouth to ask her to just stay out of your business when a threat cleared from behind you, stopping you before you could do something you would have absolutely regretted.

Moira’s gaze slipped over your shoulder and you watched the way she nodded and took a step away from you, “This family doesn’t need any more secrets, Y/n.” she advised with a smile, sad smile before she let go of your arm and walked away.

Her words were icy, and killed any excitement you had felt earlier about the possibility of people finding out about your affair.

“I couldn’t help but notice that my son upset you.”

You weren’t surprised that it was Malcolm who had interrupted you and Moira. Anyone else would have been sent away by Moira with a simple rejection. Still, the sound of his voice nearly surprised you as it filled the space between the two of you.

Turning to look at Malcolm, you shook your head and whispered, “Nothing happened. Tommy is a sweetheart.” You forced yourself to sound okay, to keep your emotions in check as you looked at him, doing your best to hold his gaze.

“Yes. He’s always been a charmer.” Malcolm’s gaze flickered over you as he moved closer, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dress pants.

You laughed softly and said, “Moira knows. Or she thinks she knows. She warned me about you, said you’re not safe for me. That there are other, better options for me.” As you spoke, you rubbed a hand over your forehead – completely exhausted – which made it possible for you to ignore the look of annoyance that flickered briefly over Malcolm’s face.

Grabbing your hand, Malcolm tilted your head back and held you against him. The warmth of his body nearly had you tucking yourself against him, searching instinctively for the comfort of simply being in his arms.  “What options?” He was smirking, trying to come off as playful, but he was also clenching his jaw and his fingers were digging into your chin silently screaming that he was only acting amused.

“Tommy? One of my dance partners?” you shrugged and grabbed his wrist, squeezing it until he released your face, “Why? Are you jealous?” Any other time and you would have been teasing him, trying to push him buttons. Tonight, however, you were just cranky.

Malcolm didn’t respond with words, only wrapped his arms around you – holding you as close as possible with no hope of you getting away unless he allowed.

And although you wanted him to, you hated him a little bit for holding you like that. For making you feel comfortable and comforted without even really trying to do so.

Your arms wrapped around his waist, your face pressed into his chest as you breathed in his cologne and the natural smell of him. It was comforting enough to nearly pull tears from your eyes and almost had you breaking down in soft sobs of confusion – your emotions feeling like they were snow balling and were threating to just spill over.

“We’re done playing games.” Malcolm finally said after a few moments, pulling back and moving his hands to grip your shoulders.

“Malcolm,” you started to say, to remind him that he was the one who always treated your affair as “fun and games” and “no strings attached,” but was silenced by the man in front of you as he pressed his lips against yours in a heated kiss, his will power seemingly breaking and making it impossible for him to hold back any further.

He growled something in that unfamiliar language once more before he was speaking English again, “You’re mine. All mine. I don’t’ share. I thought I made that obvious.” No doubt, he was referring to you dancing and your/Moira’s comment about there being “possible others” you could be seeing.

“You did,” you murmured, feeling light and like you were dreaming. “Malcolm…what is going on?” It was usually you who had erratic mood swings and made rash decisions. The man in front of you was frazzled and so unlike the Malcolm you knew…

His jaw was set, his fingers digging into your shoulders as he held you to him. Every ounce of possessiveness he had was in his darkened blue eyes as he pulled back just enough to look down at you.

“You want this to be serious? Monogamous? No games? Fine.” Malcolm hissed, one hand slipping from your left shoulder to tangle in your hair at the back of your head, “But you’re mine. Entirely mine.”

There were no words to express your scrambled thoughts.

What he was proposing was…what he was offering was a relationship. The one thing you had been dreaming about for months. At least, what you had been dreaming about the last month.

“You…you would have us be public?” You managed, laughing in disbelief as you stared at him, wide eyed.

“Unless you want to take Moira’s advice and run.” Malcolm suggested it, but it was clear by his tone and the way he was holding himself that there was no way Malcolm would go without a fight.

“My step-mother doesn’t get to decide my life, Mr. Merlyn.” Was your immediate response before you had collected yourself enough to ask, “Are you sure about this?” in a softer tone, searching his face for any signs of regret or that he was saying all of this without truly thinking it through.

“I refuse to let you end up in another man’s arms, Y/n.”

“Oh? So you didn’t like my dancing then?” You teased, dryly

Malcolm tried to look annoyed but a chuckle slipped out in the end, “Trust me, you don’t want to know what I thought about your dancing.”

What he thought about my dance partners is more like it…

“You know,” You hummed, reaching up to grab the knot of his tie, ‘I don’t want you in anyone else’s arms either.”

Malcolm’s face softened near completely as he placed a kiss to your forehead, “There’s no need to worry about that.”

Somehow, you knew he would respond with that.

After all, Malcolm Merlyn didn’t really seem like the type to cheat anyway…

Grinning, you leaned up to steal (another) kiss from him, “Good.”

In the back of your head, you knew this decision asnt as easy as you and Malcolm were making it out to be.

But, for now, you let yourself enjoy the moment.

Do not fall in love with him!

Too late.

**

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this and wish to support me, please consider leaving a tip over on my Kofi and stay tuned for further installments of this series and other words coming soon both FANDOM and Original Content!

[catdoingblep]

Ok, I do not make tumblr posts, but I have this crossover stuck in my brain (and I am having a hyperfixation on the Shadow and Bones rn), so...

Shadow and Bones (TV) x Sandman (TV) crossover, Hob canonically was involved in the slave trade.

Hob Gadling, the new owner of New Inn (a small Inn on the edge of Barel) and your local saint (yes, he is known as Sankta Robert, and he hates this) and fellow Ketterdam immortal in his six hundreds, is trying to live his life in the Ketterdam right after his Stranger missed their meeting.

He was away for a few years after planned meeting (you know, all this “die and return as your nephew from Novyi Zem” things) and just returned to the city when Fold was destroyed. He doesn't want to interact with any of Barel’s gangs, because it is hard to hide your immortality when someone shoots you in the middle of the street (it happened before. Twice, actually).

He still tries to know all the local rumours, so he knows about Crows, and now his Inn is apparently the Dregs’ territory.

Meanwhile, Kaz is planning how to destroy Jan Van Eck and heard a rumour about the devil in the basement.

So, whatever it is, Jan Van Eck is very interested in it and spends a huge amount of money every month to cover the costs of Burgess. And the guards of the basement are so well-payed that no one can buy them. Wylan barely knows anything about it, he only knows that once his father said him that Burgess promised his father to guarantee that his next child will not be an embarrassment (in exchange for the favour that is taking away the Dream bc Alex wants to get rid of the ball). 

(Roderic Burgess was not a grisha himself, but Randall Burgess was a grisha and Burgess was already making a lot of plans for how he will monetize his grisha abilities and how he will use Randall in his barely legal plans before he died in the Fold and Roderick was stuck with useless otkazat'sya second son)

Crows think that maybe this is imprisoned healer because older Burgess was too old to be alive.  

(Alex considered himself “forced through circumstances” after his father died bc he was too afraid of both Dream and Van Eck telling everybody that is in the basement)

So Crows start some shenanigans to break into the basement, and Burgess or Van Eck heard about it and hires some killers to take them down. One of the killers? Corinthian.

Corinthian caught one of the Crows (Nina who cannot take him down because he was made from the dreamstuff?) in the side street, but Hob is passing by. And he doesn't want some kid to be killed on his watch. 

Hob attacked Corinthian and killed him (obviously temporally) but got stabbed in the process. In his heart. With a knife. So Nina tried to save him, but once she took out the knife, Hob comes to life.

And this makes Hob involved in all the things that he tried to avoid because he didn't want to simulate his death too soon (and these children already saw that he is immortal), and Crows offered him to “forget” about his secret. Price? Help to steal whatever it is in the basement. 

After this someone (Inej who will have very mixed feelings about Hob being a saint? like they already met some saints but no one was a slave trader in the past) understood who Hob is.

All this Sankta Robert stuff that Hob hates. He is not only a saint because he just died and was resurrected with too many witnesses, but he also did this during the period when he tried to destroy his own slavery business after his Stranger’s advice. So years after he was known as a patron of the slaves and the ones who were illegally detained.

The eternal reminder of his own mistakes. He is not a saint, ok? Just an immortal man who made a huge mistake and tried to do something right when he understood what a crime he did.

(And in that life, he was going with his real name for some time, so he cannot use Robert Gadling anymore because everyone knows his name as the name of the saint)

Idk what will be next but it all ended up as Hob saved Dream from the fishball and they got together trope, yes. Same story but with some extra Crows flavour.

(And after the rescue of the Dream he is very amused with the fact that mortals call Hob Sankta Robert. Like previously, he never paid attention to the life of Hob between their meetings, only to the Hob’s stories on the meetings, and Hob did not mention this so he didn’t know).

Hob also somehow "adopt" the Crows because they are just a bunch of youngsters for him. Like they're in their twenties, they are totally kids for Hob. Have they already saved the world? Not changing his opinion, they are kids! Kaz is trying to resist this but unsuccessfully (he is not so unhappy with this as he shows).

[walkingstackofbooks]

SNW 2x1 "The Broken Circle" thought-stream

Obviously this has spoilers, so I've put it under the cut :)

Oh I DO love the initial music and the little Enterprise doo-du dooo!

TOS MUSIC!!!! I love this show 🥰

"I am concerned my emotions may impact my judgement." Ohhhh. Oh. This Spock is SO YOUNG. I have had trouble seeing SNW Spock as *Spock*, but no, this is it. He hasn't settled in his place yet and it shows.

"You'll just have to learn to live with it [feeling emotions]. Like we all do." "I would prefer not to." Oh, Spock XD

THE LYRE

Did Erica always wear red?

YES UHURA. "And I have a job to do." Don't take any nonsense! Love seeing her so confident in her role.

I don't remember what happened to La'an. Guess I have to watch the whole first season again, oh no... /s

Spock stealing the Enterprise hehehe. Love how he's so ready to just throw down, he's ridiculous.

Dahh. Dahh. Dahh. Dahh. "Space: the final frontier." THE MUSIC I SWEAR THE FEELS

"A Vulcan with a hunch!" Boy I need to rewatch TOS too to see how much it is lining up.

"Commander Grayson's son." Commander Grayson? That's cool!

This old commander who clearly has no fucks left to give is wonderful

Crew banter :3 "I would like this ship to go. Now."

I love seeing Starfleeters not in uniform. These outfits are neat - Christine looks stunning.

I so don't get how universal translators work. But I'm glad Uhura is still being the best linguist.

"Are you sure you don't have Klingon blood in you?" La'an is awesome

What did they drug themselves with???

Jeeez. M'Benga. What on earth? You're scaring Christine.

A Klingon being scared enough to actually answer doesn't ring true to me though...

"Enterprise destroy the ship" ooof

Spock having feelings 💔

Not a fan of the super dramatic music I have to admit idk. I guess I also don't really like the romace crisis plotline either though. But this all feels too dramatic for a very regular star trek thing

"You are not a typical Vulcan." "No, I am not." The ear with which he says that surprised me. When does he start trying to cover that up and start acting typically Vulcan again?

Spock drinking and making tiny roaring noises is ridiculously cute. Once again he seems so young :3

Living among humans for hundreds of years? Are the Landonites what Flint was?

I've just remembered about Pike. Love how he's away for a few days feeling like he's going the rebellious thing and then Spock goes and does this. I cannot wait to see his reaction

A war on two fronts? Intriguing but also I'm not here for worlds-encompassing plot I just wanna see the Enterprise going on silly little adventures.

Oh. Gorn again?! Sighhhh.

"For Nichelle, who was first through the door and showed us the stars. Hailing frequencies forever open..." 🖤🖤🖤

Alright, I quite enjoyed that, although the long action fighting sequence and the overblown Spock-has-confusing-romance-feelings were a bit too much for me. But I do love this crew, and it was nice to see them all again <3

[sakaiyuji234]

Once Promised

Chapter 3

*MTL*

Two hundred years later, Shennong Mountain.

Shennong Mountain is the mountain where the Shennong royal family lived. It is located in the heart of Shennong Kingdom. It has four rivers, nine mountains and twenty-eight peaks. The highest peak, Zijin Peak, is where Emperor Yan lived and held meetings.

Because Emperor Yan was obsessed with medicine in recent years, all the trivial matters such as documents and papers were handed over to Prince Yuwang, the only son of Emperor Yan. Yuwang had low divine power and was not even among the top 100 in the Shennong tribe. However, because of his kind heart and generous behavior, he was also supported by the court officials and princes of various countries.

After today's court meeting, Yuwang did not go down the mountain. Instead, he left his attendants behind and rode quietly to the forbidden area of ​​Caoaoling.

Caoao Ridge was designated as a forbidden area by Emperor Yan two hundred years ago, but Yuwang was obviously familiar with the route. He stopped his horse at a secluded open area, parted the thorns and weeds, grasped the rocks, and climbed up the cliff.

There was a thatched cottage on the top of the cliff, but no one was inside. Outside the cottage, the clouds and mist were so thick that one could not see far. Just a few feet away was a steep cliff, with green pines and cypresses growing diagonally on the edge of the cliff. A few white-eared macaques were eating wild fruits with relish. Two kites flew over one after the other, landed on the treetops, and chirped.

Yuwang stood at the edge of the cliff, gazing at the sea of ​​clouds, and waited quietly. After a while, he said to the macaque and the kite, "I'm afraid that you guys have already informed Chiyou while I was still in the air. Why haven't you seen him yet?"

The macaques were playing and chewing wild fruits, and the kites were pecking and preening their feathers and chirping, but they obviously did not understand human language. I could not answer Yuwang, but a voice came from the bottom of the cliff, "I didn't smell the aroma of wine, so I ran slower."

Just then a gust of wind came, the humidity became heavier, and the clouds and mist rolled. Like a veil, it covered the fields, the pines and cypresses swayed, the shadows of the rock walls were dim, and a sense of mystery suddenly arose. A blood-red figure, like the scorching sun, swept out from the sea of ​​clouds and flew towards Yuwang, seemingly careless, but actually extremely fast.

When the red shadow settled and the mist dissipated, only a tall man was seen standing lazily. His robe was wrinkled, his hair was disheveled, and he looked nonchalant. However, his eyes were extremely sharp. Even though he was a noble man, he lowered his head slightly and avoided his sight.

The man in red was Chi You, whom Yuwang had been waiting for. He looked at Yuwang's empty hands and muttered, "You didn't bring any wine, so why did you sneak into the forbidden area to look for me?"

Yuwang smiled and said, "If you help me find out one thing, I will go to my father's underground palace and steal the best tribute wine for you."

"You have so many capable subordinates. What can I do to help you?"

"I heard that Zhurong coveted the underground fire of Bofu Mountain and used a mountain as a training furnace. No grass grew in the area of ​​hundreds of miles, and the people of Bofu were living in misery. But no official dared to report it to my father. I want to send a god to investigate this matter. If it is true, I will immediately report it to my father and order Zhurong to destroy the training furnace. It's not a big deal, but you also know Zhurong's hot temper. Few gods dare to offend him. After thinking about it, you are the only one who is not afraid of him."

Chi You shouted twice, and an old white-eared macaque jumped onto the cliff and respectfully held a few scarlet wild fruits in front of Chi You. Chi You grabbed the wild fruits and threw them into his mouth, while mumbling, "I'm not afraid of him, but that doesn't mean I'm going to provoke him. The grudge between him and me is deep enough. You should also know that Master designated this place as a forbidden area, which means he forbids Zhu Rong from contacting me, fearing that he will lose control and kill me."

Yuwang knew that Chiyou would be easily persuaded by soft tactics, so he bowed and kowtowed with a sad face, using his strength to say, "Good brother, please help me."

Chi You smiled and shook his head, "Forget it, forget it, forget it! I will help you make a trip to Bofu Mountain."

Seeing Chiyou agreed, Yuwang became worried again, "Be careful, just quietly find out whether the rumor is true, and leave the rest to me. Don't confront Zhurong head-on. Also, comb your hair and tidy up your clothes. Outside is a place where humans live, not like in the mountains, don't scare those honest people..."

Chi You frowned, flicked a wild fruit into Yuwang's mouth, and jumped off the cliff. In an instant, he disappeared in the sea of ​​clouds. Yuwang half opened his mouth, stunned for a moment, and left with a smile while chewing the wild fruit.

In the wilderness outside of Bofu Country, Chiyou stepped on the ground and looked up at the sky. He explored the overabundant fire spirits and felt the struggles and cries of all things. Zhurong was indeed practicing here.

He did not think Zhu Rong had done anything wrong. The law of the jungle prevailed among all creatures in the world, but Yuwang was too kind-hearted and always liked to meddle in other people's affairs. However, if Yuwang had not been nosy and had chased him back to Shennong Mountain at night, there would be no Chi You today.

He withdrew his spiritual power and turned his head carelessly, only to see—under the west wind, beside the ancient road, a young girl in a half-new green dress was walking slowly out of the sunset glow. The surroundings were barren, the sky and earth were dark, but she was full of vitality, like a wild flower blooming in the wind on the top of a cliff.

The wild wind blew her hair up, and her eyes swept around the road, and when they fell on him, she smiled, and at that moment, the setting sun was shining. The sunset glowed brightly, and on the dusty ancient road, it seemed as if thousands of peach trees were in full bloom, with gorgeous colors and colorful petals.

Chi You's heart was full of spring, but his expression was still as cold and desolate as the earth under his feet. He glanced at the woman in green and walked straight past her, ready to rush back to Shennong Mountain. For two hundred years, he learned to be a human from a wild beast. The first thing he understood was that ferocity was often hidden under a smile. The first thing he learned was to use a smile to hide ferocity. He didn't want to explore the meaning behind her smile.

The woman in green quickly chased after him, smiling before she spoke, "Sir, may I ask how to get to Bofu Country?"

He stopped walking, and didn't speak for a long time, nor did he turn around. But he didn't leave either, just staring at the red clouds in the sky, his expression was cold, but there was a little struggle in his eyes.

The girl was confused and tugged at the corner of Chi You's sleeve, "Young Master? Are you not feeling well?" She didn't know that what she was trying to keep him from doing might lead to a fatal disaster.

Well, let's see her true face! In the moment of turning his head, Chi You changed his mind and expression, and said with a smile: "I happen to be from Bofu country, young lady...Oh, if you don't mind, you can go with me."

"That's great. My name is Xiling Heng, a country bumpkin. No need to be polite. Just call me Ah Heng."

Chi You stared at Xiling Heng for a moment before he slowly said, "My name is Chi You."

Ah Heng and Chi You traveled together and arrived at Bofu City on the second day, where they found an inn to stay.

The Bofu Mountain in the distance was blazing with flames, making the sky bright and transparent. It was a place of decadence and extravagance regardless of day or night.

Because of the scorching heat, the shop assistants sat listlessly. They saw a man and a woman coming in side by side. The man's scarlet robe had turned yellow with age and he looked down and out. The shop assistant was too lazy to even stand up and pretended not to see anything.

Chi You shouted, "Bring me some water! I'm dying of thirst!"

The guy rolled his eyes and spread out his five fingers, "A pot of clean water, five jade coins!" The implication is, can you afford it?

Chi You also rolled his eyes. He really couldn't afford it! But he looked at Xiling Heng with a playful smile. He had been eating and drinking for free all the way here. Xiling Heng was used to it. He took out his money bag and counted it. There were exactly five jade coins.

"You can't just drink water without eating." Chi You said with concern.

"Then you have money..." Before Xiling Heng finished her words, Chi You spread out one hand and pointed at the jade earrings on her ears with the other hand, "Use them. Although the quality is not good, they should be enough to exchange for a meal."

Xiling Heng smiled bitterly, took off the earrings and placed them in Chi You's palm.

The guy swiftly took away the jade coins and earrings. Before leaving, he rolled his eyes at Chi You and said, "I've seen scoundrels before, but I've never seen one as shameless as this!"

After the waiter brought water and food, Chi You hurried to pour himself a cup first, but Xiling Heng frowned and looked at the "Flaming Mountain" in the distance.

Chi You slowly sipped the water in the cup and squinted at Xiling Heng, his eyes shining brightly, like a leopard that had just woken up from a nap and was lazily examining its prey.

Xiling Heng seemed to realize something and suddenly turned around, only to see Chi You secretly pouring water again.

Seeing that she had noticed, Chi You chuckled and said, "Would you like a drink?" and handed the cup of water to Xiling Heng.

Xiling Heng shook his head good-naturedly, "Drink more!"

Xiling Heng called his servant over and said, "I heard that the country of Bofu was prosperous and the people lived and worked in peace and contentment. Why did it become like this?"

"Decades ago, the country of Bofu was blessed with good weather and abundant harvests, but since some time ago, Bofu Mountain has started to catch fire. The weather has become increasingly dry, and water has become increasingly scarce. People fight every day for water. Here, water is more valuable than life!" The man looked at the flames in the sky, sighed, and said, "The elders said that the flames on Bofu Mountain were lit by the gods to punish us, but what did we do wrong?"

An old man in his sixties with a goatee and a sanxian on his back walked into the inn. His face was purple and red, and his forehead was covered with sweat. He said to the waiter tremblingly, "Please give me some water to drink."

The waiter was used to such scenes and remained unmoved with a straight face. The old man hunched over and begged the few customers in the store: "Which guest would like to give me some saliva?"

Everyone turned their heads away.

"Come over here and sit down!"

The old man hurried to the table. Xiling Heng wanted to pour water for the old man. Chi You held the kettle tightly and kept winking at Xiling Heng, implying that she had no money. Xiling Heng pulled it over, and he pulled it back. He only saw the kettle move left and right, and the old man's eyes moved left and right.

Left and right, left and right…

After a few rounds, the old man saw stars in front of his eyes and almost fainted.

Xiling Heng hit Chi You hard, and he reluctantly let go. The old man also breathed a sigh of relief and sat down softly.

After the old man drank a glass of water, his complexion gradually improved. He thanked Xiling Heng, "Thank you for saving my life, young lady. I have nothing, so I will play a sanxian for you and tell you a story to express my gratitude." He tuned the strings of the instrument and cleared his throat. "Just now, I heard young lady asking about the fire on Bofu Mountain, so I risked my life to tell you the truth. In fact, the fire on Bofu Mountain is not a heavenly fire that punishes mortals, but an unknown fire ignited by the fire god Zhurong. Because Bofu Mountain is connected to the earth fire and has abundant fire spirits, Zhurong led the earth fire up to refine his fire spirit and turned the entire mountain into his training furnace. The nearby villages used to live in harmony, but now they fight frequently for water. The strong men either died by swords and axes or had their legs and hands broken. Those who had some connections fled to other places. The rest were orphans and widows, as well as the flowers, plants and trees, which had no hands or feet and could not escape..."

Chi You interrupted the old man, his face full of fear, "Stop talking! You don't want to die, but we do!"

The old man stared at Xiling Heng in silence, as if he was praying for something. After a while, he put away his sanxian and left quietly.

Xiling Heng looked at the "Flame Mountain" from afar, thinking silently. Fire is easy to put out, but Zhurong is hard to deal with! Zhurong is one of the top ten masters in the God Clan. It is rumored that he is narrow-minded and vindictive. If his training furnace is destroyed, I am afraid he will really pay with his life.

Chi You leaned close to Xiling Heng's ear and whispered, "I think there's something wrong with this old man. He said he was dying of thirst, but he was sweating all over. He doesn't look like someone who is thirsty at all. I don't know what he's thinking."

Xiling Heng nodded, "I can see that he is not a human... not an ordinary old man." The old man is a demon, with strong spiritual power, but unfortunately he is a wood demon. He is naturally afraid of fire, so he must have seen that she has spiritual power and came to save the plants and trees here. Although he has other intentions, his intentions are not sinister.

While Chi You was resting, Xiling Heng secretly got rid of him and rushed to Bofu Mountain.

Because of geothermal heat, Bofu Mountain is surrounded by dangers. From time to time, scalding hot air gushes out from the cracks in the ground. Some of the land may appear solid, but the ground underneath may have already melted completely.

Xiling Heng carefully avoided the hot air column and walked towards Bofu Mountain with difficulty. She raised her right foot and was about to step down when she heard a scream. She turned around and saw Chi You being burned by the air column and fell to the ground. She hurried back and helped him up, "Why are you here?"

There was a huge explosion behind him, and scorching heat swept over. Xiling Heng immediately used his body to protect Chi You and rolled away with him in his arms.

The place where she was about to step down just now has turned into a bottomless cave. Billowing steam rises into the sky like a giant white dragon, and even the hard rocks are smashed into powder.

Xiling Heng was so frightened that he broke out in a cold sweat, not daring to even think about what would have happened if she had stepped down just now.

Chi You hugged Xiling Heng and said shyly, "Miss Xiling, I am not married yet. If you want to be my wife, I have to go back and ask my mother first."

"Ah?" Xiling Heng was uneasy and didn't understand what Chi You meant, but she looked at herself pressing on Chi You. She hugged him tightly with both hands and immediately stood up with a red face, "I'm not... I'm here to save you. By the way, why are you here?"

"Why are you here?" Chi You asked back.

"I want to destroy..." Xiling Heng was angry, "I'm asking you!"

"I'm asking you too! You speak first, then I'll speak!"

Xiling Heng had already experienced Chi You's roguery, so he turned around and left, "You can see it too, it's very dangerous here, let's go back quickly."

After walking cautiously for a while, he saw a bumpy muddy ground. After testing it out and finding no danger, Xiling Heng was about to step in when he heard screams from behind.

Chi You held his feet that were scalded by the molten lava, jumped in pain, and waved at her with a grimace.

"Why are you still following me? Aren't you afraid of death?"

"Everyone who sees it gets a share. I don't ask for much, just 40% is enough!"

"What do you see? What do you want to share?"

"Baby! You're sneaking around like that. Aren't you going to dig for treasure?"

"I'm not going treasure hunting!"

Chi You shook his head and said, "Birds die for food, and people die for money. Don't try to deceive me, I'm very smart!"

It was difficult to turn back after arriving here, Xiling Heng had no choice but to walk over, "Follow me, don't run around."

Chi You nodded repeatedly, clutching Xiling Heng's sleeve tightly, with a nervous look on his face.

Because of Chi You's hesitation, it took Xiling Heng a while to get back to the mud. Seeing yellow bubbles emerging from the mud one after another, Chi You was excited and wanted to rush over, "It's so beautiful!"

Xiling Heng grabbed him and said, "This is poisonous gas from underground. It's extremely toxic!" She was secretly glad that if she hadn't been delayed by this scoundrel, she would have already walked in.

Xiling Heng led Chi You on a detour. After walking for a whole day, they finally arrived at the foot of Bofu Mountain without any danger.

The heat wave rolled in, scorching his body to the point of being cooked, and Chi You kept screaming. Ah Heng could only hold his hand tightly and try to cover his body with her spiritual power. She felt worse and worse. Fortunately, the clothes on her body were woven by her mother with ice silk, which could restrain the earth fire.

After walking a little further, Chi You's face turned red and he had difficulty breathing. "I, I really can't walk anymore. Don't worry about me. Go up the mountain to dig for treasure. I'll wait for you here."

"I told you this is not a treasure hunt!" If Chi You is left here, he will be eroded by the fire spirit and disappear in no time. Xiling Heng thought about it and took off his coat.

Chi You was still unwilling to wear women's clothes, so Xiling Heng forced them on him. Chi You suddenly felt cold, "What is this?"

"You should put on your clothes properly!" Xiling Heng forced a smile. Her spiritual power was not high to begin with, and now she had no clothes on and had to take care of Chi You, which was very tiring.

Chi You walked away, looking at Xiling Heng. Her face was red, and it was obvious that she felt very uncomfortable after giving him the clothes.

As Chi You walked, a strange smile suddenly flashed across his lips, and just as he smiled, he stepped on empty air and fell to the ground. Xiling Heng wanted to help him up, but he screamed miserably as soon as he exerted force.

Xiling Heng touched his leg bone and asked him where it hurt. Chi You groaned and his face turned pale, obviously unable to walk.

"Let me carry you!" Xiling Heng squatted down.

Chi You was not polite at all, and lay on Xiling Heng with a playful smile, "Thank you, thank you!"

Xiling Heng climbed the mountain with great effort, not knowing whether it was an illusion or she had consumed too much spiritual energy. She only felt that Chi You on her back was getting heavier and heavier. Later, she felt that she was not carrying a person at all, but a small mountain, which was pressing her to the point of collapsing.

"Why are you so heavy?"

Chi You's entire back had turned to stone, causing the weight of the surrounding rocks to gather and press down on Xiling Heng. He said unhappily, "What do you mean? If you don't want to carry me, put me down! I risked my life to accompany you up the mountain to dig for treasure, and you actually want to abandon me just because I'm injured!"

"That's not what I meant. I just think you're so heavy..."

"Do you think I'm heavy? Shouldn't I have let you carry me on your back? But I got hurt because of you! You think I'm a burden, and you wish I would die soon! Then just abandon me and let me die here! My poor eighty-year-old mother is still waiting for me to come home..." Chi You cried sadly with a trembling voice.

"Forget it, it's my fault!"

"What do you mean it's your fault?" Chi You refused to give in and struggled to get down from the ground.

In order to keep the peace, Xiling Heng could only swallow his anger and say, "It's my fault."

Xiling Heng carried Chi You on her back and walked with difficulty, always on guard against falling fireballs and avoiding traps on the ground. There were many dangers along the way, and she almost lost her life several times, but Chi You kept yelling and complaining that she was not carrying him steadily enough.

Xiling Heng was so angry that he gritted his teeth, but he couldn't really ignore his life or death. He could only curse Chi You in his heart and secretly swear that after this time, he would never have anything to do with this scoundrel again!

After finally climbing to the side peak near the top of the mountain, Xiling Heng put Chi You down.

Xiling Heng was sweating and covered in dirt, looking miserable. But Chi You did not walk a single step, did not exert any strength, and looked refreshed and clean.

Xiling Heng wiped the sweat from her forehead and suddenly felt something was wrong. She realized that the noisy Chi You hadn't spoken for a long time. She turned around in confusion and saw Chi You staring at her with an unusually focused look, which was simply domineering, as if he didn't care about the whole world.

Xiling Heng was shocked, and felt that Chi You had become a different person. "What's wrong with you?"

Chi You grinned and said shamelessly, grabbing Xiling Heng's hand: "Why don't you be my wife? You are so strong and you are a good hand at farm work."

Still the same scoundrel!

Xiling Heng was too lazy to pay attention to him, shook off his hand, looked up at the huge flames rising into the sky, and sighed that Zhurong was indeed the God of Fire, as it was only a training furnace that was so powerful. If she put out the fire, it would be difficult to escape Zhurong's pursuit, so she could only take one step at a time.

Xiling Heng took out a "jade box", which looked like white jade, but was actually thousand-year-old black ice. Two ice silkworm kings, which were so white that they were almost transparent, emerged from the black ice, with transparent wings as thin as ice silk on their bodies.

The air around them seemed to have dropped to freezing point, and Chi You shivered while hugging his arms. Xiling Heng handed the "Jade Box" to Chi You, "Stand behind me."

She used her spiritual power to drive the two ice silkworm kings to fly up, and they began to spin silk and weave a dense web around the flames. As the web became denser and denser, Xiling Heng's face became redder and beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.

Finally, a huge ice silkworm net was formed, and Xiling Heng urged his spiritual power. He pressed the net downward, and the flames began to fade away little by little. When it was already in the mountain pass, the ground fire suddenly swelled up again. In order to break through the ice silkworm net, Xiling Heng was shocked and retreated three steps, almost falling off the cliff. Fortunately, Chi You grabbed her.

Xiling Heng didn't bother to talk, he just nodded to express his gratitude, holding his breath. He forced the ice silkworm net to continue to close, but the flames still did not get suppressed, but grew higher and higher. Xiling Heng's face turned from red to white, and became more and more white, and his body swayed.

A sweet and fishy taste spurted out of her throat, splashing onto the ice silk. With a loud bang, the ice silk burst into a dazzling white light, but the red light also surged, swallowing up the white light. The flame broke through the ice silk net and rushed towards Xiling Heng. Xiling Heng was hit by the heat wave, his eyes went black, and he fainted on the ground.

At this time, everyone on the street was staring at Bofu Mountain in the distance in amazement.

The red light that was originally as bright as the morning glow was gradually reduced by the white net-like light, and the entire sky became dim, and the flames were about to be completely extinguished. But suddenly, it began to surge again, the white net disappeared, and the flames reflected half of the sky red.

Just as the flames were raging and dancing wildly, a blinding white light suddenly rose up, and everyone subconsciously turned their heads and closed their eyes.

When everyone opened their eyes, they found that the white light and the red light had disappeared, and the whole world became a darkness that was difficult to adapt to.

The sky is a dark blue, like the purest black crystal in the world, with countless stars shining in it, and the breeze blowing on the face brings the refreshing coolness of the night.

This is the most ordinary night in the world, but it has not appeared in the country of Bofu for decades.

Everyone stood there stupidly, staring up at the sky, as if the entire Bofu Kingdom had been cast under a spell.

After a long time, water columns gushed out from the cracks in the dry ground, some high, some low, forming beautiful water flowers, one after another blooming in the night. They were not dazzling, but they were the most beautiful flowers in the eyes of people who had experienced drought for a long time.

Seeing the water, all of a sudden, people in the street started screaming and running. People who knew each other and didn't knew each other hugged each other, the old people, with tears streaming down their faces, scooped up water with their hands and put it into their mouths, and the children ran and laughed, jumping in the water. The giant children took the stone troughs, and the mortal children took the wooden buckets, and they splashed the water on each other, laughing as they did so.

When Xiling Heng woke up from his coma, he saw a sky full of stars, twinkling, peaceful and beautiful.

She was stunned for a moment before she realized where she was. "The fire is out, the fire is out!" She excitedly shook the unconscious Chi You. Chi You opened his eyes dazedly, widened his eyes in surprise, and stammered, "No, no fire! Did you put out the forest fire?"

Xiling Heng stared at Chi You suspiciously, "I don't know who put out the fire, maybe it was you." The moment before she fainted, she clearly saw the flames sweeping towards her, and she thought she would be seriously injured if not dead.

Chi You immediately jumped up and patted his chest with great pride, "It was me! When I saw the two fat silkworms were about to be swallowed by the fire, I poured all my spiritual power into it and threw the box in my hand out. The wildfire was extinguished by my powerful spiritual power!" Chi You seemed to think that he would be thanked by all the people when he went down the mountain later, and his face was intoxicated and proud.

His self-righteous admission relieved Xiling Heng's suspicions and he burst out laughing. It seemed that he had hit upon it by mistake. This man didn't even recognize the Ice Silkworm King, called the Earth Fire Mountain Fire, and he didn't know where he had secretly learned some messy Jianghu magic, and thought he had great spiritual power.

Chi You said unhappily, "What are you laughing at?"

Xiling Heng said with a smile: "Have you forgotten who started this mountain fire? This is the fire started by Zhu Rong. The fire god Zhu Rong's temper is even hotter than his. He only needs to flick his finger..." Xiling Heng stared at Chi You, "to burn you into powder!"

Chi You shuddered, looking terrified and uneasy, and tried to shirk responsibility by whining, "Actually, I was so frightened at the time that I saw the fire suddenly jump up so high, so I threw the box and ran away. I fell down and didn't know anything."

Seeing that this scoundrel had finally been humiliated, Xiling Heng laughed and pushed him down the mountain, shouting, "Here comes the fire-fighting hero!"

Chi You tightly grasped Xiling Heng's hand, his face pale, "Don't, don't shout, I didn't put out the fire." Xiling Heng laughed so hard that he fell backwards, still shouting, "The fire-fighting hero is here!"

Everyone gathered around and knelt before them.

Xiling Heng pushed Chi You into the crowd with force, walked in front of everyone, and said with great confidence: "I put out the fire." She blinked at Chi You and said, "I'm just teasing you, you coward!"

Everyone poured water on Xiling Heng. She dodged and laughed happily, "Remember, my name is Xiling Heng. If anyone asks you who put out the fire, just say it was Xiling Heng."

The people, immersed in ecstasy, splashed water and laughed and shouted: "Xiling, Xiling, it was Xiling who saved us."

Chi You, squeezed in the crowd, silently looked at Xiling Heng who was hiding and laughing. His eyes were unusually dark, and the lazy smile on his lips brought out a little bit of vague warmth.

The next morning, when Chi You woke up, Xiling Heng was nowhere to be found.

The waiter smiled and brought a pot of water to Chi You. "Miss Xiling has left. No one will buy you water today. But now the water from Bofu Country is free to drink!"

Chi You took the kettle and thanked him lightly.

The guy was stunned, feeling that the person in front of him seemed completely different from yesterday.

There were a few bird calls in the sky, but no one paid attention. However, Chi You immediately stood up and opened the window.

In the blue sky, ordinary people could only see a tiny black dot, which would be ignored if they didn't pay attention. But he could see that it was a huge Bifang bird, and on the bird sat Zhurong, who was known to control the fire of the world.

Chi You was very surprised. He thought Zhu Rong would be angry, but he didn't expect that he would be so angry that he would disregard his status and personally chase and kill Xiling Heng who destroyed his training furnace. If Xiling Heng was caught by him, he would surely die.

Chi You immediately put down the cup and walked away. He seemed unhappy, but he soon disappeared into the wilderness.

[tragcdysewn]

was that zhang linghe? oh no no, that was just shi wudu, a canon character from heaven official’s blessing. they are hundreds of years old, use he/him, and are aware that they are not actually from washington dc. too bad they can’t stray from this city for long.

how long has your character been here:

about a year and a half now

what is your character’s job:

technically, he's the head of a large imports company, but i do not think he's ever been to work

where has your character been pulled from in their fandom:

right after he xuan killed him

has any magic affected your character:

he's been unaware for like... a few hours total due to some murder shenanigans, but other than that, only his multiple resurrections

and any other information you might find useful for us and the other members to know:

shi wudu is one of those characters i love but also hate, i will not elaborate beyond that thank you very much

he was the first born son of a wealthy and prosperous merchant household, and his younger brother, shi qingxuan, was born when he was six years old

qingxuan was cursed from birth by a being known as the reverend of empty words, to live in suffering and die a horrible death. to confuse the monster, their parents passed qingxuan off as a girl and raised them as such

when shi wudu was sixteen, his parents died after a downward spiral for their luck, and his family began fighting over the inheritance they left behind. shi wudu couldn't take it, and left the family home with qingxuan in tow, determined to protect his younger sibling

he joined a cultivation sect, and gained ability in cultivation fairly quickly, always returning home to his sister down the mountain at the end of the day. until the night he lost track of time and stayed far later than expect, leading qingxuan to come looking for him

his sister was discovered by the reverend, and the two fled, living in fear until shi wudu managed to ascend to the heavens, taking qingxuan with him until they managed to ascend on her own

he spent centuries as the water master, the god of wealth, and thrived in the heavens. he was known as one of the three tumors, alongside his friends, ling wen and pei ming, and spent most of his time with the two of them and his sibling

eventually, however, the reverend of empty words was being rumored to make a reappearance. qingxuan and shi wudu began looking for a solution, but it was quickly revealed that the reverend had been killed by none other than qingxuan's best friend, ming yi

ming yi than revealed to qingxuan that he hadn't ascended naturally. shi wudu had swapped qingxuan's fate with a man who shared her name and birthday, damning he xuan to qingxuan's miserable demise while qingxuan became a god in his place

qingxuan fell into a depression, and shi wudu did what he could to keep his brother away from whatever was to come, even tying her up in an attempt to keep them from harming himself

this did not work (obviously) and the two of them ended up in the lair of he xuan, now the calamity black water sinking ships, and he reveals that ming yi had been a guise, the real ming yi killed long ago to allow he xuan to take his place and find who had damned him

he offered the brothers a choice, swap qingxuan's fate with a mad man and live in poverty, or force qingxuan to kill his brother with a rusted blade. shi wudu tried to fight for his own demise to spare his brother, and goaded he xuan into ripping his head off, rather than allowing his brother to suffer more

arriving in dc, he immediately picked a fight with he xuan, resulting in his next four deaths, as well as the loss of his spiritual weapon. qingxuan also confronted him about what he'd done, and the two are working to repair the lost trust between them

[erodasfishtacos]

~ MLB Curious Gazes ~

prompt: four different situations where people have run into or hung out with MLB!H - told from their perspective.

word: 6k +

warnings: language, mentions of sexual content

If you enjoyed this please - reblog, like, recommend, comment, and inbox me to chat about it!

please consider donating to my kofi - my work is FREE and it is a great way to show support!

enjoy!

-=-=-=-=-=-

The Doctor’s Office

Aubrey couldn’t believe her eyes as she sat in her uncomfortable, too small chair in the empty waiting room at the OBGYN office in the early hours of the morning. 

She was sitting alone with her baby boy sitting in his carrier on the floor - it was his nine month checkup and it was taking forever to be seen.

The woman was sitting, scrolling on her phone when out of her peripheral she saw an extremely - like extremely handsome man step into the area with a carrier.

Aubrey was a married woman but holy shit this guy was hot- without even trying is the thing. 

He had on a New York Yankees Nike hoodie and a pair of Nike athletic shorts with some calf length Blake Nike socks and trainers.

In the carrier was a fresh little baby, couldn’t be older than three months who was bundled up with a sunflower headband on.

The man was multitasking with a curly haired toddler on his other hip as he finds a seat a little bit down from Aubrey on the opposite side.

His wife was standing up at the check-in and of course it made sense that she was absolutely beautiful as well even though Aubrey could relate to how tired she looked.

The woman still had a small bit of her pregnancy bump left signifying that the baby was indeed very very new to the world.

She keeps glancing over at the man, he looks so familiar but she would remember if she had even met someone that handsome.

Then the context clues hit her, his hoodie, his toddler son was also in a little Yankees hoodie that matched his fathers and Aubrey googled quickly.

Her eyes flitted throughout the recent articles.

Styles’ Alleged $65 Million Dollar Bonus

Hot Head Harry Styles - how he managed to start three bench clearing brawls in one game!

Breaking Records and Bats - Styles manages to break his own record in the same season followed by breaking a bat in celebration

Holy shit.

She could help but watch them - this was much more interesting than reading a magazine.

Aubrey didn’t follow baseball but Harry had turned celebrity status and was this well known cocky dickhead to the media - women and men loved and drooled over him for his looks and his skills.

Right now, he sat down with his two babies - the boy looked exactly like Harry, it was quite unbelievable from the curly locks to mossy green eyes that was copy and paste.

Harry was currently tucking an applesauce pouch between his lips and guiding the boy's small hands to hold it for himself.

“Good job,  ,” He murmurs in the dead quiet waiting room as he tucks him further into the crook of his arm.

Harry looks up to his wife who joins them, she is a bit in awe when Aubrey sees him palm a bit at her bloated belly and whisper, “Y’look gorgeous today, mama.”

Aubrey couldn’t help but frown, she wished her husband did that.

YN sits down, leaning her head on his shoulder - Aubrey didn’t know her but she seems tired - of course she was a new mother.

The silence is broken when a nurse comes out and with an apologetic face says, “I’m sorry, we are running really behind today. It might be another thirty minutes,” before shutting the door again.

Harry kisses his wife’s forehead before wrapping his unoccupied arm around her shoulder, a flashing gold band on his ring finger.

Aubrey zones off for a little when her son wakes up, rocking the carrier a few times before he settles again.

She’s brought back to the couple when she hears a sniffle comes from Harry’s wife and his face turned towards hers, hand rubbing her shoulder reassuringly.

“Mama, she’s so healthy. There’s nothin’ to worry about, did a perfect job growing her in y’belly. I know these check-ups make you anxious but nothin’ is gonna be wrong,” He soothes, a near whisper because of how quiet the room is and he didn’t want to disrupt.

“I just don’t know if she’s been getting enough milk, it’s so hard to tell,” YN replies sadly, like she’s disappointed in herself.

“Y’kidding me? She’s our chunkiest baby - look at those little rolls. She’s on y’tits more than any of the boys including me,” He jokes softly, obviously trying to make her feel better.

It seems to work a little bit because she lets out a light giggle with a roll of her eyes, “No one is on them more than you.”

Harry shrugs unashamed before replying seriously, “Everything will be okay. She’s perfect and healthy.”

The curly haired little boy gets a bit squirmy with the wait after he finished his pouch, asking to be set down which his father does.

Harry is watching him carefully, his nervous but still adventurous little two and a half year old, as he toddles around the waiting room.

When he spots Aubrey and her carrier, he wanders over looking up her with wide curious eyes, he points at her son and squeaks, “Baby?”

Ever the diligent father, Harry is up and next to his son, Aubrey is a bit starstruck if she’s honest when he talks to her.

“M’sorry, he’s a curious little one,” Harry smiles at her, going to pick Ezra back up to guide him away from bothering her.

Aubrey waves her hand though, lifting the visor to show the sleeping baby, “Yeah, he’s a baby. That’s Dominic.”

The boy gazes at the baby before lisping, “Bry!”

Aubrey isn’t sure what he means but his father clarifies, “You’re right, Dominic is a baby just like your little sister Briar.”

“Okay,” Ezra shrugs and goes back to his mom to inform him of what he just discovered before crawling up and cuddling into her chest.

Harry nods, “Thanks for indulging him.”

“No pro-problem,” She stutters like an idiot and Harry smiles a bit like he knows but doesn’t say anything else before going back to his family.

A few minutes later when a high-pitched cry resounds through the room, Harry is carefully cradling his daughter who Aubrey notes looks nothing like him but like her mother even though her features were still so little.

“Shush, darlin’,” Harry coos with a soft drawl, leaning in to kiss at the newborn’s button nose.

Briar roots at her father’s chest, smacking her plump lips, and squeaking in frustration when she doesn’t find a nipple. It makes Harry chuckle before he glances at his wife and his smile falters a bit, “Sweetheart, did y’bring a bottle?”

Aubrey watches his wife shake her head, she is facing away from her so she can’t see her expression but gauging Harry’s it seems that she may be upset, “No, I completely forgot. I didn’t bring my nursing blanket either - I’m going to have to go the bathroom. M’being such a bad mom.”

The observer feels a pang in her chest, she can definitely relate to not always feeling like she is a good mother because of little mistakes she makes like forgetting diapers, buying the wrong formula, forgetting to bring a pacifier.

“Hey,” Harry’s voice is firm, “Y’not going to talk like that when s’the farthest thing from the truth. S’okay, we have four babies, we’re both goin’ t’forget things sometimes, okay? Here, let me help you.”

Aubrey wishes she had a husband who was as empowering, supportive of his wife.

He hands the whimpering baby over to his wife, he’s then tugging off his hoodie. Aubrey tries but fails to divert her eyes when his shirt rides up revealing  a glimpse of his taut abdomen and a light dusting of hair leading into his shorts, obscene tattoos covering his hipbones .

Harry maneuvers the hoodie over his wife’s shoulder, helping her tug down her loose shirt and nursing bra, and guiding his newborn to his wife’s breast until she latches and starts suckling hungrily.

“There y’go mama,” He whispers encouragingly before tugging Ezra back onto his lap to rock him a bit as he’s getting whiny - ready for a nap soon and not liking being in an unfamiliar place for too long.

-

Aubrey is buckling Dominic into his carseat when she spots the other family exiting the office. 

Harry’s wife looks much more relaxed, a smile on her face, and her arm tucked around her husband’s narrow hip, they’re parked close to each other, and Aubrey climbs into her small sedan - blasting the aircon.

She watches the parents strapp their kids into a massive, tinted and brand new cadillac escalade that was no doubt over a hundred thousand dollar car but who could expect them to be driving around a mid-level minivan?

After the kids are secured and they close the doors, Harry presses his wife up against it with his arm resting over her shoulder against the window. He is whispering to her, their mouths close before he ducks down to connect their lips.

His hand comes back to her deflating baby bump like he did in the doctor’s office, hand massaging the skin with adoration that was visible even to Aubrey as she sat in her car watching them.

Later on in the week, as she sits on her couch, a video pops up on her timeline. It’s a sports report she was about to skip until the name caught her attention. 

The sports reporter stated, “Harry Styles was fined an alleged sixty thousand dollars at last night’s game after getting into a verbal altercation when the second base man purposely tripped him.”

It flashes to the man she just saw in the doctor’s office in a form-fitting Yankee’s blue and white striped uniform with a helmet on as he ran at an impressive speed from first to second, stumbling when the baseman put out his foot.

Harry recovers quickly enough to touch the base to be considered safe. 

After that though, he’s pushing himself up and brushing off the dirt, then he’s charging towards the man who fucked up the play. 

He has no fear as he gets in the man’s face, veins on his neck standing out as he shouts. They don’t play the audio but you could tell Harry was cussing this man up and down.

It flashed back to the reporter speaking to another, “Nearly every team in the league reports that Styles is an absolute nightmare to play against from his skill to his downright arrogant and cocky attitude. He’s not someone I’d find myself wanting to hang around.”

“I agree with you there, Tucker. He has a right to be proud with all of his broken records and achievements but being a bit humble would do this man so good. I feel sorry for his wife and kids. He probably just spends all day bragging about himself.”

Aubrey clicks off the video, if only everyone in the world just saw the Harry Styles she saw just a few days ago - well they’d all change their minds on what kind of person he is. Especially what kind of husband and father.

--

The Charity Event

It was a charity event at Madison Square Garden in Time Square. 

It was for all Major League Baseball teams who had qualified for the playoffs and of course, The New York Yankees were there.

There were tables filling the whole stadium, extravagant in white linen tablecloths, multiple bars, and it was black tie dress code. 

It was a private event and it was not open to the public but after the dinner there would be awards given out and that would be broadcasted.

Nicole was there with her husband, Trent, the left outfielder with an average batting score. He wasn’t the most popular on the team by far - well everyone got outshined by Styles. 

She couldn’t help but be a little bitter that Harry had gotten a $60 million dollar bonus (the biggest bonus ever gifted but also the Yankees were not taking any chances at losing their star and their ultimate money-maker). Trent got a measly bonus of $100,000 which was nothing in baseball terms. 

The wives and girlfriends of the Yankees players did not like YN one bit. It really wasn’t fair because she was always lovely, kind, and friendly. It didn’t matter because they were all spurred on by jealousy of what she had.

Nicole couldn’t help by gaze at Harry as they sat at the same circle table towards the podium where the awards would be presented after dinner. He was in a sharp all black suit with a small team logo pin of the lapel.

She couldn’t deny how stunning YN looked in an absolutely stunning dress. It was a one-shoulder with sparkling black stripes against a tan background, it fit like a glove and accentuated her stunning legs with a high slit. ***

It blew Nicole’s basic black Gucci dress out of the water which made her even more infuriated at the woman. She knew she was being irrational and if she hated her so much, why couldn’t see stop staring at the couple?

Nicole could get away with it by looking past them at other tables but to be quite honest, the two were much too wrapped up in each other to be aware of any of their surroundings or people watching them.

Trent was off bullshitting with all the other players while the Styles’ sat at the table and Harry waited for people to approach him - like the cocky asshole that he was. He would give them a minute of his time before becoming visibly bored and returning his attention back to his wife.

As the appetizers arrived, Trent finally sat down with a grunt, giving his wife literally no attention as he dug into the salad like a slob. 

Across the table, Harry looked down at his plate, picked out all the tomatoes and stabbed them with his fork. He then brought his hand over to his wife who giggled and let him feed her the three little tomatoes for his salad.

“Don’t like tomatoes, Styles?” Henry, third-baseman, jokes as he watches him feed his wife without any shame.

“I love ‘em, m’missus just really like the little grape ones,” Harry shrugs casually - like that didn’t just sound like the most whipped thing that he could say.

Trent probably couldn’t even guess Nicole’s favorite color - let alone know something so minuscule like YN like the little tomatoes that come on house salads. 

Throughout the whole dinner, it was quite disgusting how infatuated these two were with each other - Harry had at least one hand on her body at one time - her thigh, shoulder, even cupping her neck in a way that was almost too intimate for the setting.

At one point, Harry notices that YN is a bit quiet - sipping on her glass of water and he pulls back from the conversation, murmuring, “Y’alright, mama?”

Nicole bites her lip hard at the cute pet name, feeling even more dislike towards YN - why couldn’t she have had someone like Harry?

“D’you think the babies are okay? Ezra’s been so anxious lately,” YN replies quietly, there were no phones allowed at the event and had to be left at home or at the door.

Harry kisses her temple, “Y’know Ezzie is good with m’mum, doesn’t get as anxious as he used to at sleepovers. Y’know East and Cash are probably on a sugar high.”

YN nods, agreeing and Harry jumps right back into the conversation but she notices that he keeps looking over at his wife to check on her.

Trent accidentally knocks her elbow hard and just grunts out a bland, “Sorry.”

The topic changed to traveling for games. Ellie, another wife of a player who was nice to YN were chatting about how stressful it is.

“I know, loading all three boys up is rough when we do decide to travel to games with H,” YN says to Ellie, a small smile on her face.

“Ugh, I know. Lily and Parker are the worst flyers! They usually end up throwing up or not being able to nap at all,” Ellie groans about her two little ones she has back at home.

YN let’s out a laugh that just irked Nicole to not end.

“It's going to be even harder when we have more kids,” YN laments like she’s bothered.

“Oh? More kids?” Ellie squeaks with excitement, clapping her hands together.

Nicole reaches a breaking point, jumping into the chat,“Really? More kids? Don’t you think you should focus on the ones you have? Or do you think because your husband makes an unfair amount of money, you can just have as many as you want? Hire nannies and act like you take care of them?”

Before YN frowns, about to respond when Harry interjects with a booming, displeased voice, “First off, why don’t y’mind your own fuckin’ business. My wife and I can ‘ave any many kids as we want, last time I checked.”

He continues with tense posture, all of his previous calmness disappears, “Second off, don’t take it out on my wife tha’ your husband got a shit bonus, we all know tha’ why y’pissy. And don’t act like y’dont have a nanny for your one kid while we don’t nor ever will have one.”

Nicole sneers, “You’re a cocky bastard.”

Harry smiles in faux charm, “Of course I am, dear. I’ve got a fucking beautiful wife, three healthy babies, the most records broken in history, and the fattest bank account in this room.”

“Alright, alright,” Trent interrupts and it doesn’t go unnoticed that he doesn’t defend his wife. Instead he shoots Harry an apologetic look for his wife’s behaviors.

Harry just scoffs at the couple, rudely rolling his eyes, and tugging his wife in for a kiss that’s a bit too intense but he can’t help himself, smiles against her lips when his wife pinches his thigh playfully.

He says (not quietly at all), “All these women are jealous of you, hm? S’cause you’re so beautiful and such a fuckin’ catch.”

Nicole feel a sharp pang in her chest at the indirect comment - fucking asshole.

Deep down, Nicole is unfavorably realizing that somehow YN has it all - a loving husband, who is seemingly head over heels four her, three well-behaved children, and everything she could ever want - sitting on Harry’s $600 million dollar net worth, on top of being gorgeous.

She didn’t have that. Trent and her were on the rocks constantly, has definitely cheated on her, their kid is a literal nightmare, and they’re both so reckless with money they have no savings.

It made her jealous to see Harry whispering in YN ear to make her giggle- lips brushing her ear, his hand splayed across her bumcheek while they waited for drinks at the bar, she even hears them murmur ‘I love yous’ at least twice.

Then the lights dim, spotlight on a podium in the front of the room, an older man in a crisp navy suit taking the stage.

“It is an honor for me to announce ‘Player of the Year.’ The decision by the board of Major League Baseball wasn’t a hard one. The statistics and records broke continuously by the man has led us to only one option.”

Everyone watches all the other players in room deflate a bit because they realize the award is going to Harry yet again.

 “He is again breaking a record tonight, he is the first player to earn this achievement four years in a row. The duality of this man when it comes to pitching a curveball or hitting a homer is truly remarkable.”

It makes all the players even more irritated than they already are when they look over at Harry who’s sitting back, manspreading, hand on the back of his wife’s neck gently, and a cocky, unbothered grin.

Like this award wasn’t the biggest accomplishment he could earn.

One of the players from an opposing team at a different table mutters to one of his teammates, “Fucking arrogant asshole. The only thing this award does is feed his gigantic ego.” 

“Such a douchebag,” The other agrees, jealousy tinges his voice.

“I’ve most likely made it obvious who the the recipient is this year. The New York Yankees pitcher with the most strikeouts to date and top-scoring hitter - Mr. Harry Styles!”

The crowd erupts in applause, whistles, and a standing ovation because despite his unsavory demeanor - no one could deny he was a legend.

Before he gets up, Nicole watches as he cups his wife’s cheek - locking her lips in a kiss before she has to give him a playful shove when he tries to slip some tongue.

When Harry gets up to the stage, he shakes the hand of the announcer and takes the award from him, setting it on the podium.

“Fourth year in a row has a nice ring to it,” Harry gives the crowd a dazzling white smile that have his dimples digging into his cheek.

The crowd whistles and coos.

Nicole notices YN getting teary-eyed as she watches her husband accept the award.

“I want t’thank a few people tonight. I want t’thank m’wife and the mama of my babies - YN. She’s supported me from when I was in college with no other career path but baseball, unsure of if I’d fail or not, she stuck through it.”

She can sense everyone’s eyes dart over to YN who is still staring up at her husband - who is giving her a gleaming smile right back.

“We’ve been through some really hard obstacles in our first years as a couple but she’s the reason for all this - the fact that she always believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.”

The audience is respectful, quiet as he publicly tells a story of his deep love for his wife.

“I want t’thank m’three babies. Easton, Cash, and Ezra. They inspire me to be a better better man and a good role model - even though I think y’all agree they won’t be if they watch too much how I play when I’m out in the field.”

The crowd erupts in laughter at Harry poking fun at his own antics that he’s most famous for. He goes on to thank the team, coaches, Nike, everyone on the professional side of career.

When he’s done, everyone stands back up to congratulate him, patting him on the back as he returns to his seat.

Nicole watches as Harry sits back down, chuckling as he swipes a tear off his wife’s cheek, “Why y’crying, mama?”  

“I’m just so proud of you. Everything you do for me and our babies. The best husband, best daddy. My heart is just full,” She murmurs, clearly not meant for others to hear but Nicole was eavesdropping.

Harry’s eyes darken with something Nicole can’t identify but does notice his hand creeping a bit further up her thigh.

He leans into whisper something into her ear before she sees his lightly nip at her lobe before pulling back to join into the conversation.

-

After the lights come back up, Trent abandons her to go shoot the shit with other guys.

When she trails off to the bathroom, down a long hallway from the main area - she hears a rustling from behind a door labeled with a plaque that says ‘executive meeting room’.

Nicole pauses confused, all these offices and other rooms were strictly off limits during events obviously. She was confused to hear someone in a room that was not supposed to be in use.

Then she realizes it’s not just someone - it’s two people.

“S’good, sweetheart. Give it t’me so good.”

And she knows right then and there all she needs to know about who’s in that conference room and what they were doing.

“Be quiet, you’re being too loud,” YN scolds back, the walls were clearly thin because she could hear the exchange.

“Make y’cunt not feel like heaven then,” He remarks back, his voice slower and more soft than it would be in front of people.

God, Trent and her haven’t slept together in ages - let alone has spontaneous hookups or dirty talk like that ever.

When they all end up back at the table before the closing speech for the night, Nicole spots a nicely sized mark under Harry’s jaw that he’s wearing with pride.

YN had her lipstick wiped off and was much more clingy as the night rolled on which Harry seemed to thrive on.

As she and Trent are on their way home, Nicole speaks into their silence, “I don’t think our relationship is working.”

Not after she saw love and happiness at that event table tonight - she wanted that kind of love not settling for some cheating asshole.

-

The Little League Game

It was a cool autumn evening, it was an important game - if you could call it that for the little league team that Kayla had her son on.

The goal was to determine which team would move onto the playoffs, even though most of this was all in good fun because it was for eight-year-olds and it wasn’t serious.

Kayla couldn’t lie and say that she didn’t spend some of the time curiously gazing at the New York Yankees player who would come to watch his son play.

He wasn’t at every game due to his schedule but it seemed like he came to whatever ones he could with his wife and other three kids.

They had taken the bench on the bleachers right below her so she had an up close and personal view of the family when they’ve never sat this close before.

As the kids warmed up, Harry had his youngest son who looked to be about four sit next to him, squished between his dad and mom happily.

Their middle son was next to his mom on the other side, looking to be about six, and he was wriggling impatiently in his seat - eager to join the other kids in the jungle gym.

The baby girl who looked about a year and a half old didn’t look anything like her brothers - it was obvious that she was a spitting image of her mother (who was stunning).

She was curled up in her mom’s lap, asleep with her face squished against her mother’s chest - a pacifier suckling fiercely between her puffy lips.

“Mama, please,” The curly haired boy begs with greedy puppy dog eyes as he keeps glancing back to look at the other kids.

“You stay right where daddy and I can see you, yes?” YN murmurs, brushing back his unruly curls that where getting long, “And what are our rules?”

“Stay where you can see, don’t talk to strangers, and be nice to others,” He recites perfectly, Kayla was a bit blown away by his manners.

She watches baseball. It was hard to believe their children were so mild mannered when their father was the exact opposite - at least on the field.

Harry was rustling in the diaper bag for something as his son looked at him with wide, concerned eyes, “My baby, daddy.”

“I know, Ezzie. M’lookin’ f’your baby,” His father replies softly, the polar extreme of his normal brash, crude language that had a nasty tone like he couldn’t bother giving people the time of day.

“Daddy, please,” The youngest whines, his little hand grasping at his father’s tattooed wrist as he gets to his knees to help his dad look.

“Left inner pocket,” YN murmurs offhandedly as she makes sure Cash gets to the playground safely with his friends.

“Say ‘thanks mama’,” Harry coos to his son as he manages to tug out the baby doll and hand it to the awaiting little boy.

“Thanks mama,” He replies instantly with a gapped smile as he nuzzles right back into his father’s side as if he can’t get close enough.

“How are you feeling, Ezra?” His mother leans over to ask, keeping the baby close to her chest.

“M’happy, mama,” Ezra replies simply before starting to babble to himself as he plays with the babydoll.

Kayla watches Harry and YN swap a fond look at their son but she couldn’t help but wonder why they asked him that? He seemed fine so why did they feel the need to do that?

The game is going okay, Harry stands up to cheer and whistle when Easton hits a two-base hit but YN smacks his thigh and motions to their sleeping baby.

He looks at her sheepishly before sitting back down, kissing her cheek in apology, and peeking down into the fleece blanket to watch his daughter sleep for a moment.

Then it seems like Easton starts to lose momentum after he pitches two home-runs, his face pinched in disappointment as the other team scores but Harry is attempting to keep him motivated with encouraging shouts.

Easton struggles from then on, he strikes out for his final three turns, doesn’t catch two pop-ups, and his pitches start to get a little shaky. It’s obvious in his facial expression he’s getting upset because he’s breathing heavier like he’s trying not to cry.

Kayla feels a sense of dread for the little boy, his father who’s the best baseball player in modern day history is watching his son not do well during an important game.

 Because of what she knows of him from his temper and attitude on the field - she worries that he’s one of those father’s who will hound their kid for doing poorly.

“Oh, c’mon East,” Harry murmurs softly when his son stumbles over a ground ball before another kid picks it up and throws it in - their son smacking his glove down against the ground in frustration.

“He’s getting himself worked up,” YN notes as she watches her oldest kick his cleats in the dirt with a quivering bottom lip.

“I know,” Harry replies to his wife, “Wish he wouldn’t, he’s gettin’ upset out there, I can tell.”

“Sad?” Ezra squeaks, clambering onto his father’s lap and stating, “Hold me, daddy.”

Harry obliges easily, gathering up his small son before his attention is directed back onto the game - it was down to the last few minutes and unfortunately Easton pitched a ball that resulted in a home run for the other team.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, running a hand through his messy locks before he’s setting Ezra back down on the bleachers, “I’m going to go talk to him. Do you want to meet back home?”

YN nods, leaning down to tuck the baby into the double stroller before buckling Ezra in as well, “I’m going to go get Cash and head out. Why don’t you take him out for some ice cream? I love you.”

“I love you too, mama,” He replies, kissing her softly before kissing both of his kids foreheads and stepping down the bleachers - ignoring all the adults who are staring at him with a starstruck expression as he heads to the dugout.

It cleared out fast, nobody sticking around after the loss that ended with them not continuing on to the championship, and Easton was sat on the bench - he was stoic and there was a hard, angry expression on his face that reminded Kayla of what she saw Harry look like when he played.

As she gathers up her son and makes sure he’s got all of his equipment, Kayla stands and chats to a few of the moms before she’s heading to her car - which happened to be parked next to a sleek Masserati crossover, who would let their muddy kid go in there? Rich people, she guesses.***

Kayla pops the trunk to her van with her key as they get closer, she notices that Harry also has his up and Easton is sitting on the tailgate with his eyes looking down at the pavement. She tries not to appear as nosey or eavesdropping as she tucks her items into the back.

“Sweetheart, s’okay. Y’did so so good tonight,” Harry assures his pouty son, he squats down to start to untie his son’s nike cleats but continues to make eye contact with him. 

“No, I didn’t, Daddy!” Easton whines, tears finally starting to bubble over the surface as he begins to sob with a shuddering chest, “I gave up home runs and then I missed ground balls!”

“Whoa, bubby,” Harry simpers after he tugs off the shoes and throws them carelessly into the back before standing up, “Y’did amazing, are you kiddin’? You did three innings of strikeouts, hit two of y’own homeruns. Y’played like a professional, way better than daddy.”

Kayla’s heart aches a bit when she sees Harry sit down next to him before hugging him harshly into his side, thumbing at the tears that are running down his son’s sweaty cheeks with soft reassurances.

“Daddy, are you mad I didn’t win?” Easton asks shakily, keeping his head buried into his father’s side and his small hand clutching into the fabric of his hoodie.

Harry chuckles lowly, “Daddy would never be mad at you f’anythin’, definitely not a baseball game. Remember what mama and I said? If at any point y’want to stop playin’, just let us know and we can find something else, yeah? Just like how Ezzie does art classes.”

Easton seems to calm down after a few moments of Harry rocking him and reassuring him of what an amazing son he is.

As Kayla drove away that night, her perspective on the all-star baseball player definitely changed. It was refreshing to see someone to not hold their child to an unreasonable expectation just like she thought Harry would.

--

The Campfire

Austin was the shortstop on the baseball team, he’d brought along his girlfriend, Chelsea, to the frat party to celebrate another win.

Everyone was in whispers that Harry was bringing his new girlfriend but nobody knew who she actually was because it was just a rumor.

It was surprising because Harry wasn’t a relationship kind-of man. He wasn’t into hookups much - always said he needed to focus on baseball.

Many of his teammates were envious of how many girls were constantly coming up to Harry at parties to flirt and try to get a dance in but he had always rejected them.

Harry had never showed interest in any of these girls at the parties, never seen him disappear upstairs with one or really entertain a conversation over a beer like they’d expect.

Chelsea pokes his shoulder and nods towards the entrance when Harry walks in with his arm around YN’s shoulder.

Most were in a little shock because they seemed like such an unlikely couple - YN had written some scathing articles about him and it was no secret he hadn’t been a fan of her.

“Holy shit, Harry’s dating YN?” Chelsea whispers to Austin as the group of party-goers cheer and whistle at the allstars appearance.

“Guess so,” Austin replies with a shrug, tugging Chelsea into the kitchen for a drink.

Later on that night, there’s a bonfire on one side of the backyard and a volleyball net on the other where a group was gathering to play.

Austin and Chelsea are on the opposing team of Harry and YN - she can’t help but watch them with curiosity because of what a surprise it is that they’re dating.

Even Austin has been watching because Harry’s acting in a way that he’s never seen throughout his time on the team with him.

Harry is just all over YN which was confusing how he went from not being remotely interested in the college girls to being a lovestruck puppy.

When she throws the ball up to serve, Harry reaches over and pinches her bum which makes her squeak and accidentally drop the ball which has him cackling as she glares at him.

As they change positions, he crowds up behind her, and massages her hips, leaning down to murmuring something in her ear.

She blushes wildly before smacking him off which has him laughing hard and kissing the back of her head before taking his position.

After Harry jumps and spikes the ball hard, earning them the winning point, YN turns around and wraps her arms around him to hug him tightly.

Harry wraps his arms around her shoulders, returning the hug before pulling back to kiss her lips in a soft peck.

Chelsea elbows Austin, “Who’s that and what did they do with Harry?”

Austin shakes his head, “I really don’t fucking know.”

The group migrates over to the fire as they might become cooler and the stars are high up in the sky, the fire flickering orange and yellow crackles of sparks.

Harry plops into a chair, pulling YN right onto his lap, and she wriggles until she’s comfortable. Chelsea notices him tap her thigh as if telling her to cut it out, too much motion right on his crotch.

Jake, one of his teammates, says in a teasing tone, “YN, I’m surprised to see you around these parts . I clearly remember a strongly worded article about how stupid frat parties are.”

YN takes it in stride, smiling as she replies, “And this party just proves my point.”

The group laughs easily, they enjoy YN’s sharp wit and comebacks as they get to know her. Austin can’t help but to notice how quiet Harry is.

Normally, he’s the life of the party, loud and making his presence known to everyone but not tonight. He has his chin propped on her shoulder and she’s cuddled back into his chest.

Austin can’t make out what Harry is saying but he’s constantly whispering in her ear and accentuating each time with a squeeze to her thighs.

“Are you guys official?” One of the teammates asked bluntly, a few beers deep by this point in the night.

Harry replies instantly, a possessive squeeze, “She’s mine and off the market, s’don’t even think about it.”

“Well I don’t think it matters because she’s turned down the whole baseball team by this point. I think everyone tried to ask her out at least once,” Steve jokes as the others agree.

“Tha’s m’girl,” Harry murmurs to her before teasing his friends,“Who’d want to go out with any you? You’re all dickheads.”

Everyone continues to joke around, it’s nearing midnight and that’s right about when Harry gets in his prime - like the party just started.

But not tonight.

YN’s eyes start to flutter shut as everyone banters and drinks around the fire, obviously not used to these late night parties.

“I better get this one t’bed,” Harry states after a few minutes, thumbing at YN’s cheekbone as she tries to stay awake.

“I’m okay,” She mumbles weakly, head still heavy against his shoulder.

“You’re coming back though, right?” Kyle asks expectantly, brows furrowed.

Harry shakes his head, “Nah, m’in for the night when she is.”

All the players look at him with a bit of a dumbfounded look, Steve shooting out, “Who knew you’d be so pussy whipped, Styles?”

Chelsea’s eyebrows raise at the crude comment, waiting with bated breath as Harry’s jaw clenches as it seems like he’s biting his tongue.

“Goodnight,” Harry says in a tone Austin has never heard before - agitated and almost…offended.

When Austin and Chelsea are sneaking up to his room for a late night hook-up, she overhears Harry and YN in his bedroom.

At first, she thinks they’re in an actual argument but as she listens to them - it’s not the kind of arguement she thought it was.

“You’re always the little spoon,” YN groans from behind the closed door.

Harry squawks, affronted before huffing back at her, “S’my favorite, please spoon me, darling?”

“You’re so fucking spoiled,” YN giggles as Chelsea assumes they move into a position where Harry’s the little spoon.

“Mm, I like feelin’ y’tits against my back, s’nice,” Harry hums with a boyish tone.

Chelsea doesn’t even realize she’s smiling until Austin drags her from her stupor. 

All she knew was that Harry Styles really really fancied that school reporter.

-=-=-=-=-=-

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[babyyweebbitch]

AOT characters with an s/o who was a teen mom(modern au) part two

part one | currently on part two |

cw: talk about teen pregnancy, slight ooc(??), age gap with levi (??, i made him like 33-35 because idk how old this mf is, google gave me 70 different answers)

** owl credit -> here **

levi ackerman

this was one of the things you told levi when you first started dating, just so he didn’t come over (once y’all got that comfortable) randomly and was surprised by 14 year old. you explained you got pregnant at around 13-14 from making decisions too fast and levi was surprisingly accepting. he made a secret promise to himself that he would try to be the best step dad as possible — he’s not gonna replace your sons dad obviously but he’ll try to a good step dad

he was nervous to meet your son for the first time, he wanted to make a good impression so he cleaned up his house a bit more, make some tea and some snacks for the three of you and then let you guys over. the two boys got along very well and your son taught him about social media (has a surprisingly good amount of tiktok followers, levi was flabbergasted to say the least)

teaches him about teas, cleaning and other things he likes. i feel like levi would have hobbies that 90% of teenagers wouldn’t like doing nowadays but your son is the type of person to like learning about anything and everything (spoiler alert they have tea wednesdays for the guys only. sorry mom!)

would be genuinely confused about tiktok trends and videos he does. he would kinda just sit or stand there like 🕴🏽 the entire video unless he has to talk/answer questions. he obviously gives him permission to post them because he’s not that mean (everyone loves the two together)

dispite not likeing the dad he will still drop your son off every weekend either with you or for you. he just doesn’t talk to him like you and your son so he just kinda stands there and reacts accordingly. will only talk to him if he asks a question (you kinda to talk to him only about your son but that’s it)

the type to bring your son his lunch during lunch at school. he thinks he deserves a fresh warm mean instead of it having to sit in his backpack all day and get cold or soggy if it’s a sandwich (he does the same for you don’t worry)

onyankopon

just like hange he knew you had a daughter and was there for the birth. he was there for you and your daughter the entire time then after three years you turned 18 started dating him

i have a headcannon he likes fashion and stuff like that so he and your daughter always match together on “daddy-daughter days” and he also watches fashion shows with her and they talk about what they liked most

he wears anything and everything she makes for him. he will proudly show off his new bracelet like “yeah — my daughter made this for me 😌✨” with the happiest look on his face as he shows off his new bracelet along with the seven others he has on

you’re probably wondering where the dad is? well the dad kinda just fucking ✨poof✨ once he found out you were pregnant. which means your daughter will always think onyankopon is her biological dad until you two finally tell her the truth, but let’s not think about that right now — let’s enjoy everything before that talk 😁

totally cried on her first day of school — you had to reassure him she’ll be okay and that she’s gonna make new friends, he has fears she will be bullied by other kids for the next 12 years of public school. (he’s asked more than once if y’all could homeschool her, he’s surprisingly really good at math. just never ask him about science, he’s horrible at it)

takes pictures/videos of literally everything. when she started walking best believe he has like 20 different videos. when she started talking he had hundreds of videos of her saying random words she’s learned from you two. my man had to buy a few terabytes for his phone because he absolutely REFUSES to delete anything from his gallery

yelena (i’m such a simp pls 😌✨)

6’7.5 mommy 😩

so anyway ignore that 😀

i feel like yelena would want kids but she’s not birthing them, she’d either let her girlfriend deal with the pregnancy, adopt or be a step mom so she was every excited once you told her you already have a 4 year old son and promised she would do her best for not just you but him

i feel like she spoils you both alot, like buying you guys whatever you want, doing nice things even though you say not to spend all her money on you both but it makes her happy to her you two happy

she loves to hold/carry your son everywhere. again you have to tell her she can’t do that a lot because he’s gonna always wanna be carried and never wanna walk anywhere. she pouted a bit and then agreed. so now she’s always holding his hand whenever they go somewhere instead of carrying him

she loves you both and will do literally anything to make you both happy. she’d die for the both of you even though she never says it out loud. you and your son are the only things she’s got right now, the only thing really keeping her going so of course she’s gonna walk to the moon and back twice for you both

i didnt know what else to write 🥲

disclaimer: i do not own or claim to own any of the characters from Attack on titan or the show itself. this is simply a fan writing for entertainment purposes only.

[oh-mother-of-darkness]

“Ready?” Tim asked. He took a last look over the microphone on the desk in front of him, then sideways at Dick and Damian, arranged on either side of him, a few feet away, with their own microphones.

Dick held up a sheet of paper. “I have the question list.” 

“I think that’s it, then.”

“Are we supposed to do some kind of intro?”

“Uh, unclear.” Tim snapped his fingers and leaned into his microphone.

“This is a podcast-interview thing,” he said. “We’re answering questions. Okay, I nailed the intro, so let’s hear the first one on the list.”

“Can somebody please explain Bruce Wayne’s family?” Dick read. “I know he has a bunch of kids, but I can’t figure out how many or where he got them from.”

“Interesting phrasing on the back half of that,” said Tim. “I feel like something expensive that went on sale.”

He clutched a hand to an imaginary necklace in feigned admiration. “Why Bruce! You must tell me where you got those!”

“You were never expensive,” said Damian. “Perhaps a grocery check-out display?”

Tim sighed and turned sideways, so he could look Damian in the face. “Being honest, I didn’t think you knew enough about shopping to make that joke.”

“Understandable.”

“I would never set you up on purpose.”

“I know.”

“Let’s get back to the question,” Dick suggested. “Can somebody please explain Bruce Wayne’s family?”

“I don’t know,” said Tim. He swung back towards the microphone, grimacing. “Maybe? It’s complicated.” 

“Complicated,” Dick repeated, flatly.

“Yeah, complicated.”

“It’s your own family.”

“That doesn’t make it simple,” said Damian.

“Do we get time to make an outline?” Tim asked, emboldened by the unexpected support. “Before we do our presentation?”

Damian half-smiled at that, while Dick looked the two of them over with a skeptical expression. 

“Are you telling me you don’t understand our own timeline?”

Tim waved a hand in a why-are-you-looking-at-me kind of gesture. “What, does anybody?”

“I do.”

“You experienced it linearly! We came in partway through, it’s different.”

“Unbelievable.”

“You take the question then.”

“If the two of you can’t manage it,” said Dick, with a distinctly sarcastic shrug.

“Obviously I can do it,” said Tim, suddenly defensive. He knew Dick was trying to get a rise, but Dick was good at that, and it was working. “I’m just saying it’s a confusing story.”

Tim pointed in Damian’s direction. “Back me up.”

“Absolutely not.”

“We can take turns,” said Dick, apparently satisfied with his victory. “Okay. Thomas and Martha Wayne died when Bruce was eight years old. Nineteen years after that, when Bruce was twenty-seven, he attended Haly’s Circus the night two acrobats fell to their deaths during a trapeze routine. Bruce took in their surviving son, me.”

Dick held up a finger. “My name is Dick Grayson, and I was Bruce’s ward from age twelve until the day I turned eighteen.”

“Which is different that being adopted,” Tim put in, “so bear that in mind for later.”

“Right. At eighteen, I became an adult, so Bruce wasn’t my guardian anymore. A year after that, Bruce met and adopted Jason Todd.”

“The second child he took in,” said Tim.

“But the first child he adopted,” said Damian.

“Exactly,” said Dick. “In that moment, Bruce was thirty-four with one former ward and one adopted son— which again, are distinct concepts.”

Tim nodded. “Jason Todd passed away three years after his adoption, when he was fifteen.”

“I never met him,” said Damian, straight-faced.

“Me neither,” said Tim, like he hadn’t spoken to Jason that morning. “I did meet Bruce though, at around that time.”

“The next few years are… harder to explain, I guess,” said Dick.

Tim raised an eyebrow in Damian’s direction, shaking his head in mock disgust. “See? Now he admits it.”

“Unbelievable.”

“The nerve.” Tim grinned as smugly as he could manage, so that Dick could see. Was Tim being difficult on purpose? Absolutely. Was he going to change that? Absolutely not. 

“Right, it can be my turn. I’m Tim Drake, and I met Bruce when I was thirteen years old.”

“I was…” Dick glanced upwards, like he was trying to remember— or, failing that, calculate. “Right now you’re…?”

“Do you not know my age?”

“I probably do.” Dick tapped a finger against the desk a few times, looking pensive. Eventually, he gave up.

“I’m blanking.” 

“Congratulations, Damian,” said Tim. “You are no longer my least favorite sibling.”

“I was your least favorite?” Damian asked, with such innocence that Tim couldn’t stop himself from bursting out laughing.

It took him a few moments to regain control. “You looks so proud of yourself,” he told Damian, as soon as he could.

“Thank you, I am.”

“I’m writing you both out of my will,” muttered Dick, “as soon as we get home.” 

“Shame.” Tim swiped a sweatshirt sleeve over his eyes, still grinning. “I had my eye on your terrible CD collection.”

“The estate in its entirety, I believe,” said Damian. 

“Shut up,” said Dick. “Keep answering the question.”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a minute.” Tim held up a hand to count on his fingers. “We did circus, Jason, Jason’s death— oh right, me. I met Bruce when I was thirteen and Dick was twenty-two, which would make Bruce thirty-seven.”

“I would have gotten there eventually.”

“Go to hell. Two years after that, when Bruce was thirty-nine, he met our sister, Cassandra Cain.”

“She was seventeen then,” said Damian.

Dick nodded. “Simplifying, we met her through a family friend. That same year, Bruce adopted me.”

“Which puts Father at thirty-nine with two sons—”

“One deceased,” added Tim.

“Having already met Tim and Cass,” Dick finished. 

“Now if you think that’s confusing,” said Tim, gesturing broadly, “you’re right, it is.”

Damian nodded. “It gets even worse.”

“Yeah. For another two years we were— again, simplifying— in roughly the same place. After that, Bruce adopted me—”

“—making my life even worse.”

“Shut up, you weren’t even around yet. At forty-one, Bruce had three sons, one deceased.”

“That’s Todd.”

“And then came—”

“Me.” Damian raised his own hand. “My name is Damian Wayne, and I am my father’s genetic son. We met for the first time when Father was forty-one, and I was ten.”

“Four sons,” said Dick. “By age it’s me, Jason, Tim, Damian.”

“But from Bruce’s perspective,” said Tim, “Jason, then Dick, then me, then Damian.”

“I’d note,” said Damian, “that I was born several years before Todd’s adoption, and since I have been a Wayne from the beginning, I am both my father’s youngest child and his first child, whether he was aware of me or not.”

“But wait!” Tim interjected. “There’s more!”

“We’re almost done,” said Dick. “We already mentioned meeting our sister Cassandra. Bruce adopted her formally after Damian arrived, while Bruce was still forty-one.”

“Which means,” said Tim, “that we can do a final tally. Damian?”

“Yes?”

“Assist me. We have Dick—”

“Alive,” said Damian.

“Jason—”

“Not alive.”

“Cass—”

“Alive.”

“Me—”

“Alive, regrettably.”

“And you.”

“Yes.” Damian sat back in his chair. Tim leaned forwards in his, so he could put his elbows down on the desk. 

“That’s pretty much it,” he said. “I won’t say how old we are right now, because it turns out Dick doesn’t know, and I don’t want to help him.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “I barely know my own age.”

“You’re eighty. One thousand, nine hundred, and forty. Some other number. I don’t know, why would I remember a very basic fact about my own family member?”

“To be fair to him,” Damian put in, “you are very forgettable.”

“And you’re my least favorite again.”

“Shame. As a last fact, I’d also note that Martha and Thomas Wayne died when Father was very young, so he was primarily raised by the butler.”

“That’s Alfred,” Tim agreed, “and his formal title is butler, but he’s also, you know, our grandfather.” 

“Can we move to another question now?”

“I guess?” Tim looked over at Dick for confirmation. 

“I don’t know,” Dick sighed. “Maybe.” 

-----------

Merry Christmas, my loves

timeline post / google doc

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Chapter 4: Unexpected (Bonding)

Prev

AO3

Bruce Wayne felt lost. This wasn’t an unusual feeling for him, but he wasn’t particularly fond of the events that led to him feeling lost. First, he found out he had a daughter. Yet another child that he hadn’t known of their existence. Then, he acted as Batman. He researched the girl and found that her school situation was...less than ideal. As was the supervillain situation in Paris. The girl- his daughter- had been targeted several times. Sometimes the Akuma went after her from the start. Other times, she was unfortunate enough to be in its line of sight when it was on a rampage. Any way you looked at it, she was in danger. No, the biggest mistake in researching her came with the phone number for the bakery run by her parents. Two lovely people who had raised her and taught her right from wrong. Something he hadn’t done. Their phone call was what left him feeling lost. They hadn’t demanded that he stay away from his daughter- from Marinette. No, on the contrary, they thought it was a great idea for the two to bond. Especially once Bruce had mentioned his other children. 

“Marinette was distraught when the only information we could give her about her birth father was his name.” Sabine had said, adding to Bruce’s confusion. 

“You had my name but didn’t reach out?” Bruce asked, trying (and failing) to figure out the situation. 

“We didn’t have much to go on. Just your name and that you were American and worked in business. Bridgette didn’t give any specifics, and back then it didn’t really matter. I assumed Bruce Wayne was a common enough name, especially in the US.” Sabine replied simply. The rest of their conversation had gone similarly, with Bruce growing more and more lost until the end. They hadn’t even suggested a DNA test (though he was planning on asking Marinette, just so that they could be completely certain). They just wanted Marinette happy. Even if it meant meeting and bonding with the man who hadn’t known about her existence. 

---

Marinette Dupain Cheng was not having an easy week. No, her week was sucky. In fact it was beyond sucky, it was shitty. So many things were happening at the same time, and she was just grateful that she wasn’t currently in Paris, since she was certain she’d be akumatized. From being attacked by the Joker for simply looking like a Wayne, to meeting Batman who was just as angry in person, and then figuring out Bruce Wayne really was her dad and accidentally calling him Batman, to fighting an Akuma by herself (one that she could barely handle) and then to top it all off, Adrien is Chat Noir. And Adrien has a crush on her, as Marinette. And apparently has for at least a month. Oh and now he knows that she’s Ladybug and so last night was filled with her Chat Blanc nightmares all over again. The cherry on the top of this mess was the fact that the class was practically ignoring her. She was sure they weren’t doing it intentionally and that they were just kinda distracted by Lila’s tall tales of Gotham. Tales that include her dating one of Bruce Wayne’s sons. She wouldn’t clarify which one, which was probably for the best. They two closest to their age were 12 and 19. Neither a great option for the 15 year old Italian. A shrill ringing tugs Marinette out of her thoughts. Glancing down at the unknown number attempting to call her, Marinette silently prayed that this would turn her shitty week around. 

“Hello?” She answers, wincing slightly at the way her voice sounds after a night filled with screaming and crying from nightmares. 

“Is this Marinette Dupain Cheng?” A deep voice asks. Marinette frowns. 

“Um, yes?”

“Good. This is Bruce Wayne and well, I’m not sure how to-”

“You’re my dad.” She blurts out, face instantly heating up. “Oh crap, I mean, um-”

“Well yes. I do believe I may be your father. I was in contact with your parents earlier, to ask about boundaries and such. Your mother says that you had shown interest in meeting me and seeing how we’re similar?” He says, the question clear in his voice. Marinette opens her mouth to respond, then frowns. 

“Just like that? We’re gonna meet, just like that?” She asks, hoping that her distrustful tone doesn’t push the man away. 

“I’ll admit that I was going to ask if you would mind a paternity test. After speaking with your mother, I have no doubts, but I thought it might make you feel better. And of course, if you would prefer to just act as though I didn’t speak to your parents and go on with your trip, we can do that as well. I just- I was caught off guard, if I’m being honest.” Bruce Wayne- her father- says. 

“I’ll do it. I- I would like to get to know you. I can’t have a relationship with Bridgette, but if my parents are okay with it, I do want a relationship with you.” Marinette admits, holding her breath as she waits for an answer. There’s silence on the other end for a long moment, but just as Marinette’s about to apologize and tell him he can go and pretend she doesn’t exist, he answers. His voice a little softer this time. 

“I would like that.” 

---

The paternity test came out positive, to no one’s surprise. Bruce had given Marinette the option of meeting somewhere more public (like a restaurant or museum) to bond, or coming over to the manor. Not quite ready to deal with the possibility of paparazzi and the rumors (no matter how true they may be) that would stem from a public visit, Marinette agreed to going to the manor for dinner. Which is how she ended up sitting in silence in a town car with a man who seemed like he knew more than he was letting on. 

“So, you’re the one who raised Mr. Wayne?” Marinette asks, not quite ready to call the man “Dad” or any variation of the word. The man nods and she meets his eyes in the rearview mirror. 

“Indeed, Miss. I am Alfred Pennyworth.” The man, Monsieur Pennyworth, says calmly. She tries not to let the frustration that she feels building show on her face. She feels like she should know this man, like there’s something important that she’s just barely missing. 

“Have we met before?” Marinette finally asks, racking her brain as she tries to figure out why this man is so familiar to her. 

“I don’t believe so, Miss Dupain Cheng.” He says, and for the first time since meeting him, it doesn’t feel like he’s all knowing. Instead, it feels like he’s just as confused as she is. Drat. She opens her mouth to question him more, when the huge manor becomes visible in the distance. Eyes widening, Marinette forgets everything else and turns her attention to the beautiful architecture. The giant fence and metal gates do little to hide the massive house. Sections of the house rise above others, almost as if there are towers. Dozens of windows are visible, as is the giant fountain at the front of the house. Ripping her sketchbook out of her bag, Marinette immediately starts sketching out the ideas that attack her mind. Dresses and suits and skirts, all using the architecture in front of her for the basic shapes of the outfits. As the car goes past the gate and the gardens come into view, Marinette can’t hold back her shocked gasp. Shaped hedges and flowers, hundreds of different colored flowers, and trees and- it was beautiful. Almost too perfect. Like something that belonged in a movie. She jumps slightly as the car door is opened, Alfred standing on the other side with an eyebrow quirked up. Right. She was actually getting out of the car. And going into this massive house. And spending time with her biological- nope. She can’t do this. She can’t- 

“Miss Dupain Cheng, if it makes you feel any better, Master Bruce seems to have run into some traffic on his way back from the office. You’ll have a few minutes to gather your bearings inside before he arrives.” Alfred says softly. Relief washes over her and she nods, finally moving to get out of the car. 

“Thank you, Alfred.” She says, smiling at the man. He nods back at her before leading her up the steps to the door. He opens it and then steps back, allowing her to take a tentative step into the house. Her previous panic is pushed aside as she realizes the inside is just as gorgeous as the outside. Immediately turning back to her sketchbook, she tunes out the world around her and just stands in the foyer, scribbling furiously into her sketchbook. 

“Um, hi?” A voice says, making Marinette yelp and jump, eyes scanning her surroundings until they fall on a guy. A pretty tall guy. 

“Hi.” She says softly, also confused as to who this guy was. Not her- dad-biological father-other part of her DNA-father-Mr. Wayne- not anyone she had ever met, that’s for sure. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Dick Grayson.” The man says, extending his hand, a smile on his face. Anyone else probably would have thought the smile was sincere, but Marinette had always been good at reading emotions. And she could tell that he was wary of her. Why would he- oh. Grayson. As in, Richard Grayson, as in this man was her brother. Or, well, maybe he wouldn’t want to be. Maybe he would think that she’s ridiculous or that she’s just here to get money or here to try and pull apart Mr. Wayne’s family or maybe he would think that she was trying to take his place and she would never but maybe he would hate her and- She takes in a deep breath, trying desperately to ground herself and wishing she’d taken up Adrien’s earlier offer of him coming with. 

“I’m Marinette. Marinette Dupain Cheng.” She finally says, reaching out and shaking his hand. He nods, obviously still confused. So Mr. Wayne hadn’t mentioned her. Did he hate her? Did he ask her here to have her sign a NDA? Did he not want anything to do with her? Of course he wouldn’t, he obviously already had a family. A family that he chose, not one that he had by accident. His name was on her birth certificate, surely he would have found her sooner if he actually wanted anything to do with her? He chose Dick Grayson to be his son. He wanted him. He didn’t want Marinette. He-

“Ah, Marinette. I see you’ve met Dick.” The last voice she needed to hear says calmly as he walks through the door. Marinette swallows back the thickness in her throat, the one that tells her the tears will be starting soon. 

“Uh, yes. Mr. Wayne. Um, hi.” She says, flinching slightly when he winces. What did she do wrong this time? Was he really going to tell her to take a hike? If he didn’t hate her before, he surely did now. 

“Bruce, what’s going-” Dick starts to ask but is cut off by screaming voices getting closer to them.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Demon Spawn?” 

“Not my fault your blocking skills are subpar, Todd.”

“Sub- you almost stabbed me, you little shit!”

“Almost, yes. But I didn’t. I’m sure Father will be pleased with my restraint.” 

“You little fu-” “Boys!” Mr. Wayne finally yells as the two screaming walk into view. Both freeze and the younger one’s eyes instantly fall on Marinette, narrowing as he takes a defensive position. 

“Another one, Bruce, really?” The older one asks, making Marinette flinch back. Of course. Two more of his sons-her brothers- who he chose. Another two that he wanted. Not like her, someone he was going to be forced to know. Unless he told her tonight that he never wanted to speak to her again and made her sign a paper saying that she would never contact him again and then they would never have to worry about seeing her again and- oh this is a lot. 

“What were you two doing?” Mr. Wayne finally asks, and that’s when Marinette sees the weapons in their hands. And the blood on the older man’s shirt. The man turns slightly so that that part of his shirt is hidden when he notices her staring. 

“Uh, bonding?” He says, not at all convincing. 

“Who is that, Father?” The younger boy asks, the utter distaste clear on both his face and in his tone. And this is it. This is where he’s going to say that she’s no one, she’s nothing, and then he’s going to make her sign that stupid piece of paper and the last chance she has at knowing one of her biological parents is going to fly out the window. Poof. And then she’ll be so embarrassed, she won’t be able to go back on the trip and then she’ll have to change her name but she can’t completely run away yet because of stupid Hawkmoth and-

“This is Marinette, my daughter.” Well that was unexpected.

Next

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[iloveallmyocs]

Letters from the past

Kit Herondale’s breath caught in his chest upon viewing the discovery that he had made. He tried wiping the dust which had settled on the paper over the course of decades, probably centuries. Spidery calligraphy spilled throughout the page and although the paper was definitely six decades or more of age, the paper wasn’t very damaged and Kit could easily make out that it was a letter. A very intimate one. 

kit traced his finger over the parchment, discovering that the letter was addressed to ‘Tom’ and was signed off by one mr ‘Alastair Carstairs’. To be specific, it was signed off as ‘Yours Always, Alastair Carstairs’.

Kit’s mind immediately went to Jem and later Emma. The Los Angeles Institute. Ty. ‘focus’ he told himself, before going back to reading. He felt overwhelmed, like he was holding a piece of history in his hands. 

The scribbling in the letter announced that it was written at the seventh September of nineteen hundred and eleven. 

My dearest Tom,

I am very disheartened to announce to you that work has become the most tedious of affairs. What might have caused it to become so? Well, I must first start by saying that serving as counsul for seven years is all that I have dreamed of and more and never will I be any less interested in it.

you must feel perplexed now, wondering about what exactly I mean to convey. With each passing second, I begin to yearn for you more. Some days it is as if I can feel you lingering nearby but as I look around I am faced with the grim reality that it is all but an illusion. The one thing that brings me solace in those times is the thought of what we could do after all of this is over. I think about us, in Cirenworth. Cordelia has already made a promise to me that she will keep us company every weekend. Kamala and Eugenia-

Kit closed his eyes shut and hastily folded the letter and put it away. He felt as though he was invading Alastair Carstairs’ very, very personal space. 

once again, he opened the letter to have a look at the date written on it. he had read it right the first time. 7th of September 1911. 1911. More than a hundred years from then. Kit hoped that Alastair Carstairs did get to live in his house with whoever was ‘Tom’ after his term.

“D- Jem?” kit called out loud.

A few moments later Jem entered the room to see his adopted son sitting on the floor of the storage room with his head dipped low, resting on his knees.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, his voice etched with concern.

“Were you close with Alastair Carstairs? I think you’ve mentioned him before, but I’d never really paid attention. You didn’t tell me that he was the counsul and that he liked men. IN 1911″ 

“You always fall asleep right when I start with the names” smiled Jem, although he had taken notice of the troubled look still lingering on Kit’s face.

“Di-did anything bad happen to him, or Tom?” inquired Kit, looking up at Jem. 

Jem shook his head. “Nothing I am aware of, no. He had a rough childhood, with an alcoholic father and getting bullied at school because of his race. But he always held his head high. He was very strong, emotionally. Did you know he was counsul for eleven years?” 

kit’s shoulders relaxed. “So, they got a happily ever after? They didn’t killed or anything?”

Jem reached over to ruffle kit’s hair. “Happily ever after. They lived together and both lived a long life” he said, and later added “You on the other hand, will probably live a very short one, because Tessa will probably murder you if you keep her waiting one minute longer. This is the fifth time you’re making us all late for dinner. You’re the one who chose the restaurant this time. Mina is going to start complaining any minute now”

 Kit laughed and held his hand out to Jem, who after helping him up silently prayed that his son would never have to endure heartbreak ever again, as he did when he was Johnny Rook’s son.

******************************************************************************************

ok so someone came with the hc about Kit Herondale finding old pictures of Alastair and thinking ‘wow he’s hot’. That was the inspiration for the fic, but obviously I made a few changes. (also whoever came up with that, you’re a genius)

this is my first time writing a fic (I write other things). Romance is not my forte, so if the letter seems cringe, I am so sorry lol. Also, since this is my first time, please leave feedback, doesn’t matter if it is negative. I only wrote this so that I could have an assessment on my writing.