#because with each of these names comes another identity

[mrgrimreaper1]

Dude this is sick, reminds me of this cool different Undertale multiverse idea I've made one day.

[this whole Multiverse happens like, years down the line, pretty much a time skip AU causing error and ink to be much stronger for some reason, there's a reason why I scrapped it a lot of the story is me making a scenario in my head and struggling to explain why it happens the way it does.]

In it error sans finally managed to end ink, and once he does it he regrets it later on because of the boredom that come from no one on his level to really attempt to fight back against him destroying things, and since there was no one making Another AU protector for so long, he needed to slow down on destroying the AU's because of [reasons that don't really make any sense for his canon character to do, because he would probably destroy them all regardless of how he would feel about it afterwards, which is why I've made this a completely different multiverse altogether AND scrapped it.]

Because in this MV (MultiVerse) he would die of absolute boredom if he actually destroyed everything in one swoop, so he needed to balance destroying things and then wait for creators to create more anomalies for him to destroy, which he finds really annoying, so in his absolute bored out of his mind state, he makes the choice to create something himself.

A replacement for ink that could rival him and force creators to work overtime and make more anomalies for him to destroy, he takes a pen and paper and sketches a sans design heavily based on ink, which is why this version of "ink" is named "sketch!sans" with nicknames like "sketchy, sketched, sketchup." [Ketchup joke, made by either classic sans or fresh sans, haven't really chosen who did it, could be any Sans', really.]

Then to bring this character to life error after a while of trying he would get really frustrated, because he doesn't know how to do it, making him throw the drawing away.

Causing it to fall down to the bottom of ink's doodle sphere where the remains of the destroyed AU's remained or something causing sketch sans to actually be created...

[...This only works here because I reworked what happens once you destroy an au, in this multiverse once you destroy an AU, the Portal to said AU in the doodle sphere turns into magic ink and it remains at the bottom of the doodle sphere for the rest of eternity, but thanks to how many AU's we're destroyed they accumulated and mixed together, making a huge mess.]

Thanks to the ink being mixed together this version of ink sans would come out with a lot defects, he would come out of the ink "colorless" or just "black, white and grey." Being straight up a blank Canvas, a husk of what the real ink is supposed to be, so a lot of his emotions were muddled and he didn't act like what you'd expect ink to act like...

...Causing sketch sans to be very insecure? Maybe, his whole character arc that I've had planned for him is him trying to live up to error's expectations and straight up trying his damnest to act like ink would, causing a lot of identity crisis's until he met the star Sanses and they explain to him why he simply can't get his whole attempt to imitate ink right, so they introduce him to the vials ink used to act the way he did, then sketch would start going after said vials to act more like ink, as he kept finding and drinking more of these vials he would slowly and surely becoming a lot more like ink and he would regain his colors with each vial, with error constantly encouraging this to make him keep going and get the real ink back, thanks to error's inability to care for sketch's whole identity crisis causing sketch to reach his breaking point when he meets Cross!Sans and his whole thing and experience with identity crisis's and making him realize how abusive this relationship with error is, causing him to either cut ties with error or just become his own person and completely ignore error's wishes, and just deal with him without the pressure of having to act like ink, or whatever, I don't have a proper ending to it.

It was nice getting this off my chest and head.

ERROR!INK (ASYNC SANS)

ok so, finally came with a full idea of this character:D an error version of ink. i'll be listing some facts and clarifications about him to prevent any kind of confusion, just under the cut!

i wanted to write his entire backstory on here but it ended up being a little too much longer than i expected so maybe i'll make a comic about it- or no (wheheh). but basically everything started when he also tore his soul but appeared in the anti-void instead of a normal void that would eventually become his doodle sphere

now, his design choices

he's wearing the first ever clothes he used in His Story comic

his eyes colors were chosen thanks to their inverts, those specific magenta and blue are the opposites of green and yellow, the first colors he experienced in his original story

the marks on his body are white to represent the meaning of the few white garments in his original design: "The white layer underneath says how he attempts to hide who he is, but his emptiness sometimes shines through."

his "tattoos" are no longer illegible when he turns into an error, they become common binary codes (the font used for these is Note This, ink's official font)

the red (magenta) eye is on the right side to somehow symbolize the blood his "scar" would cause

there is no yellow on his clothes to show how secretive he is, as he constantly hides half his face in his scarf

personality traits and extra facts!

as said before he is someone incredibly reserved, mostly because while being in his 5 senses he is afraid of his self without his doses of paints and tries to not attract attention

nonetheless, he likes being around people, he would probably travel across universes to hang out hidden in crowded places

the "specific situations" mentioned on the first part of the sheet refer, for the most part, to self-defense. but there may be other situations where he simply creates stuff that people ask for from time to time

compared to his original counterpart, he will take much longer to drain as he'll rarely use his powers

if he talks for too much time he'll glitch for an instant and forget everything he was saying. that is one of the reason he doesn't enjoy talking so much

when he's in the doodle sphere he often has momentary traumatic hallucinations, so he tries to leave that place as quickly as possible

these previously mentioned hallucinations also happen in panic situations or as a sign that the ingested paints are no longer effective

okie dokie i think that's all for now<3 if anything comes to my mind later or anytime i'll try to post it or smth! hope you like it🫶

ink sans by @/comyet

[litlestpinkmoon]

I loved my names I truly do, but having so many makes it hard to keep my identity in a way.

While I only have two birth names I have so many others, I have Lin Tingxian from my friend from Chengdu, it’s the name I use with all Chinese friends, she gave it to me after realizing she had no translation for my name, in turn I picked out her English name Clementine.

I have Mitzi from the aunties and uncles at the store, and then I began using that name online.

I have Noor from Arab friend because she thought the name would fit me beautifully, she said it as a joke but then it was all she called me and what she introduced me as.

I have Svetlana from Russian friend from when I told him how I disliked my first birth name, and he wanted to give me a name that I could love, and I do love it! I love it very much.

I have my Cherokee name, my Christian name, my other name from my biological father, I have so many other names.

[libraryleopard]

Young adult contemporary coming-of-age story (releases 4/16, I read an early copy from Netgalley)

Follows two first-year students at Wellesley College who run dueling anonymous advice columns and befriend each other in real life as they bonded over both being aroace, unaware of the other's internet identity

Platonic love story

Explores themes like aroace identity, finding community, being the queer child of immigrants, and trying to find your place in the world as a young adult looking towards the future

Love letter to platonic/familial love and finding community

Aromantic asexual Chinese American protagonist; aromantic asexual gender-questioning/nonbinary (she/they) protagonist; lots of QPOC side characters

[tomboy014]

But if Batman won't adopt Danny... who will?

Starfire, and she is all over her new little brother!

Shortly after establishing the Teen Titans, Robin (Dick) introduces “Phantom” to the group, because seriously, he’s not introducing him as “Danny.”  Kinda defeats the purpose of a secret identity when you use your name in your superhero moniker.  And shows Phantom his room.

Robin’s actual goal is to get Phantom to join the Titans, but even taking short cuts through the Ghost Zone, Jump City is still a good ways away from Amity Park, and he has parents, so… It’s still a nice gesture and all, and Phantom will come visit, but no.

Still, he’s never met other teens who are heroes in their own right like he is, so he’s excited to meet Robin’s new team.  The other Titans think it’s a little weird for this not-member to have his own room in the Tower, but the place is huge, and Robin trusts him, so it’s fine.  It’s a bit awkward at first as they’re all still getting used to each other, but Phantom quickly makes friends with all of them.

But it’s his friendship with Starfire that grows first and fastest.  As soon as he finds out she’s an alien from another planet, he latches on and must know everything.  Starfire more than welcomes the attention. While she knows the Titans care for her, they’re not always… receptive to the traditions and customs of her culture. Phantom, on the other hand, is enraptured as she tells him about her culture, her holidays, the planets she’s been to, everything.

So she asks if he’d be interested in learning Tamaranean? Yes! 100%! Absolutely! Phantom picks up the language quickly and returns the favor by helping Starfire with her English. While the ability to absorb language through lips is handy, it’s by no means perfect, and Phantom helps her with things like contractions, slang, idioms, etc.

It also helps that after a couple sparring sessions with each other, Phantom and Starfire realize just how durable their partner is.  For Starfire, the people and things on Earth can be so delicate. And for Phantom, if he doesn’t watch himself and hurts a human too badly, it’s just more justification to call him an “evil ghost” that should be ripped apart molecule by molecule. Both are thrilled to finally be able to fight all out again without worrying about the consequences if they lose. And Starfire also uses it to teach Phantom some Tamaranean martial arts for aerial combat so maybe he’ll stop crashing into so many walls.

But what really changes the relationship is the Body Swap incident (not to be confused with the Freaky Friday incident). Similar to what happened with the Puppet King in Switched, Phantom and Starfire switch bodies while fighting an enemy.  Unlike what happened in Switched, Phantom and Starfire and two teen powerhouses with green energy powers triggered by emotions. And the emotional triggers they use are in the same ballpark. Starfire’s “unbridled joy of flight” to fly is very similar to how Phantom revels in the pure freedom of flight he feels. Both get angry when they use blasts. It’s very much a “if you believe in it, you can do it” kind of power set. Starfire can’t really figure out Phantom’s more ghostly abilities like invisibility or intangibility, but they very quickly adapt to each other’s shared powers on the fly during battle.  But there’s one power Starfire wants to use against the hordes of minions that Phantom won’t share the trigger for: the Ghostly Wail.  He tries to tell her it’s not a good move, that it’ll use up too much power, it should only be used as a last resort, it’ll cause too much collateral damage, etc., but Starfire wants to know, and eventually he tells her.

“T-terror… and desperation.”

Starfire rushes to give Phantom the biggest hug ever because those are such horrible feelings, and she doesn’t want to imagine what conditions must have led to him developing such a power because no one should have to feel such feelings. He is right; and that is not a power she needs to use to win this battle.  The minions are defeated, the villain is forced into a temporary retreat, and the Teen Titans return to the Tower to regroup and plan.

However, Starfire doesn’t know how to power through and hold onto Phantom’s ghostly form, and as soon as the adrenaline from the fight wears off, rings of white light spread out of her middle, and Phantom turns back into Danny in the middle of the living room.

But more importantly, everyone needs to get out of the way RIGHT NOW because while Phantom can ignore his biological needs for days, Danny can’t, and Starfire has never had to pee this badly ever in her whole life and everyone needs to MOVE, PLEASE! as she rushes into the nearest bathroom.

Phantom/Danny is now panicking, because even as an alien, he’s pretty sure she’s bound to notice that some bits of male anatomy that should be there are… missing.  He’s begging her, through the door in Tamaranean, not to tell anyone about his secret.  He’s not ready to come out yet, and he’s honestly pretty scared he’s about to lose her friendship, too.  Starfire doesn’t really care. So long as you’re a strong warrior, Tamaraneans don’t care what’s going on in someone’s pants, and she’s just relieved she didn’t have to figure out different plumbing while in his body.  Starfire opens the door.  While she knows that the people of Earth are not always as understanding, Danny need not fear her.  She will not tell anyone he's trans until he is ready to tell them himself and supports him and goes in for a hug.

Except you haven’t washed your hands; gross!  They both laugh it off, but when Starfire goes to wash her hands, the water freezes.  The cold energy in Danny’s core is building, and Starfire doesn’t know how to let it out.  They need to switch back to their own bodies soon, or Danny’s body, and Starfire, might not survive.  A little more training so Starfire can turn back into Phantom, and the Titans are ready for the final act, take down the final villain and Starfire and Phantom are back in their own bodies. 

But after that, Phantom is no longer Starfire’s friend.  Danny is her little brother, and she tells him her name is Koriand’r, or Kor’i for short.

<<Prev Next>>

[helloilikepurple]

DC X DP - Mirrors

Did Danny want to live in Gotham? No, of course not. Did he have a choice? Nope. When does he ever?

Now, he may be technically homeless, but he's also technically dead, so human laws technically don't apply to him. So, naturally, he pics out an empty mansion so big even if the owners were to come home, the chances they'd run into each other would be really low, and settles in.

This 'mansion' happens to be Drake Manor. Look, Danny lived in nowhere Illinois and kinda had his hands full dealing with ghosts, a double life, bullies, and being actively hunted. He doesn’t know much about celebrities. If you tell him the name of someone super famous, it might sound vaguely familiar, but that's about it. What he knew was superheroes and vigilantes (some of them, okay, give him a break). That's about it.

So the name Drake in connection with Gotham didn't ring any alarm bells. He did some surface level research: the Drakes are dead, survived by their only child, Timothy Drake-Wayne, who now owns their house but was adopted by some other super rich guy called Bruce Wayne and doesn't live in it, leaving it empty for the foreseeable future.

It was the perfect place!

Danny didn't explore much, partly because he didn't care to and partly because he was too tired to from healing. He cleaned up after himself, used only his bedroom (chosen for being tucked way back and out of the way), the attached bathroom, and the theatre occasionally as a treat. He lived off of the provisions packed for him, ectoplasm and water from the sink.

Cut to, few weeks in.

Danny's got a new routine, he's taken his stitches out, and is still super fucked up, but a lot better than when he arrived. He hasn't been outside since he arrived, but ghosts don't need Vitamin D anyway. Is he slightly depressed? Maybe. But he's also dead, so, bigger priorities.

Tim is looking through his stuff for something or other, and it occurs to him he probably left it next door. He hasn't been to Drake Manor in months, but he sort of really needs this thing, so he sucks it up and borrows a car because like hell is he walking the several miles from this front door to that one.

He goes to his old bedroom, opens the door, and comes face-to-face with himself.

And Danny doesn't know what he's supposed to do in this situation.

Listen, Danny doesn't always make the best decision in the moment. It's a very normal flaw to have! So he tells who can only be Timothy Drake-Wayne himself when asked, that his name is Timothy Drake, and this is his house, and, actually, who are you and how did you get in?

This causes Tim to assume Danny is himself from another dimension who he accidentally dragged to his dimension by messing with the Time Stream to get Bruce back. Danny continues to accidently fuel this misunderstanding without meaning to.

(This is not helped by the fact that a DNA test doesn't disprove this. Danny's DNA is corrupted, but what Tim does get is identical to himself. This is how Danny finds out he was adopted, and how Tim, much later when misunderstandings are cleared, meets the identical twin brother he never knew he had.)

[hedgehog-moss]

Welcome to the great donkey contest of 2024

I must confess that I, once again, forgot the date of the yearly donkey contest, so I had to leave early (I had a restaurant reservation in another town) and have no idea what was the jury's verdict on each of these donkeys. Therefore, you are the jury. It will be heartbreaking, but I will ask you to vote at the end of the post, setting aside the known fact that all donkeys are the best donkey.

There were Poitou donkeys, Berry donkeys, Bourbonnais donkeys, Provence donkeys, Andalusian donkeys, and common donkeys who seemed to have no distinguishing features other than being acceptably donkey-shaped. I can't possibly post all my photos, so I have chosen 4 noteworthy contestants (or 3 and half, one is very small) for you to vote on. I'll add that I only stayed long enough to watch 2 donkeys demonstrate their skills, so in a spirit of fairness I will not mention anyone's job. You won't be voting based on how good they are doing their specific donkey job but on how good they are at being a donkey.

Donkey #1 — CHEWBACCA.

Chewbacca is big, and he has ears. These are his most salient characteristics. Each one of his ears looks like a separate fluffy ferret-sized mammal attached to his head, gently twitching or napping. Chewbacca's hooves are the diameter of a medium pizza and he looks very formidable but he is extremely kind. I know the most pressing question is "Can I scritch Chewbacca's ears?" and the answer is yes, but then he will immediately appoint you ear-scritcher in chief and will look very sad when you walk away to meet other donkeys.

Chewbacca's ears on their own could be enough to let him win Hairiest Donkey in any contest—but he is mixed breed, and there were purebred baudets du Poitou in attendance. Their entire identity is "the hairy one", and giving the Hairiest trophy to another donkey would result in massive spread of existentialism among Poitou donkeys.

(He is not a contestant, as I didn't have time to get a good aperçu of his personality.)

(Same for this shiny black donkey, pictured here canoodling with a Poitou lady—unfortunately I don't have photos of him in motion, but believe me when I say he was the glossiest donkey I've ever seen. When walking or trotting he shone in the sun like a freshly-polished dress shoe.)

Back to our contest.

Donkey #2 — UGOLIN.

Ugolin (who seems to go by "Glin") is a shaggy, gangly teenage boy whose main characteristic is being utterly love-starved. Left unattended, Ugolin would wander about the donkey contest, stopping in front of every child or adult he encountered, hoping someone would love him.

I was initially the only human Ugolin did not want cuddles from, because he was scared of Pandolf and seemed to think of me as his minion. Then I tied Pandolf to a tree and crouched down a few metres away from Glin, unsure if I had a chance now—and after hesitating for about 2 seconds he came over to kiss my forehead. My friend was so touched by this moment that she (somehow) got her phone to turn her photo into an impressionist painting.

"Can I scritch Glin's ears?" Yes. He is desperate for someone to pet his ears.

Donkey #3

—no, sorry, it's Ugolin again. It's very hard to get rid of him.

Donkey #3 — THE BABY.

The baby has no name. The baby has no skills. The baby is not good at anything other than being tiny enough to walk under her mum's belly. In the absence of any other qualifications she was happy to show off what is possibly the most low-effort limbo dance in the world.

"Can I scritch the baby's ears?" No. Big point against her, here. She will, however, come over if you say "awww le petit ânon <3" and let you pet her tiny nose. (More nose photos in this post if you missed it)

Donkey #ah no wait here's Ugolin again

He actually overcame his intense fear of Pandolf to come trap us in his forcefield of infinite neediness! I'm proud of him.

Donkey #4 — MYRTILLE.

Myrtille is in her mid-thirties, and did not come to the donkey fair to demonstrate any particular skills or be admired by us, but because she likes to meet new donkeys. She was not tethered to the rope and yet did not wander around to mingle with humans like other untied donkeys did; she shuffled from one end of the rope to the other like a friendly pensioner at a continental breakfast buffet, making small talk with everyone. It was hard to approach Myrtille (as a human) without feeling like a third wheel.

I don't mean to gossip, but she spent quite a while flirting with the glossy black donkey.

I love her. She's my favourite. I was not able to pet her or take a good close-up photo of her but that's okay. Myrtille is like a tempting rollercoaster at an amusement park that you are barred from by the sign that says "You must have ears THIS long to go any farther." I wish her only good things.

[valsverse]

𐑺 ˖ ࣪ ࿐ྂ I WANNA BE YOURS | percy jackson x gn!reader

percy jackson looks at you like you were the one who put the stars in the sky.

the son of poseidon gazes at you with so much awe and admiration in his eyes that most people would think you had just defeated a minotaur with your bare hands, or cured cancer or saved the world from total destruction, something that would be remembered for centuries to come. but in reality, all you did was toss a few nuts to the squirrels that scurried around camp. percy jackson looks at you in such a way that even aphrodite herself would point and squeal.

though, he'd never admit to that. the only telltale sign of his infatuation is the rosy tint that creeps up the tips of his ears every time you you pass by, and his lips that struggle to stay in a straight line whenever you flash him that smile—the one that makes his heart leap up and into his throat. even after four years of friendship, percy still hasn't figured out how to sit next to you and not be totally in love with everything you do.

it's as though you have some sort of magic power over him—a power that he's powerless to resist. and as much as he'd like to deny it, he secretly revels in the feeling.

but percy jackson would never confess his desires for you—not when kronos is still actively seeking to wipe out the demigod population. he can't afford to display any signs of weakness.

but it's worth it, he thinks, to risk everything just to wrap his arms around you and plant a kiss on your lips that would set the world on fire. yet he knows he can't—not without endangering you. not without putting you in harm's way. so why is it so unbearable to imagine life without you, when you were never really his to begin with?

and in those moments, when his mind is consumed with thoughts of you, memories of your touch and your gaze playing on repeat in his mind, he's left thinking, 'did i imagine it?' did he dream up the way your touch lingered on his arm as you adjusted his armor? the way you looked at him across the dining pavilion before turning away, as if you'd been caught in the act of something secret and sweet? he must have, right? because you would never look at someone like him with such tenderness. not at someone hot-headed and impulsive, someone with so many rough edges. no, you couldn't have looked at him like that. it must all be in his head.

you couldn't have looked at him the same way he looks at you.

despite his best efforts to conceal it, percy's convinced that everyone can see right through him. he knows that everyone can see right through him. the teasing from his fellow campers has been relentless—nicknames hurled his way, each one more unflattering than the last. romeo, hopeless romantic, loverboy..

loverboy.

he's no loverboy. not some kind of lovesick puppy at the mercy of some unattainable crush. no, that nickname is only reserved for the truly whipped, those who are wrapped around someone's finger, glued to their side at all times. he's no..

and then his head snaps up at the sound of your voice, suddenly alert. and there you are, all dazzling and gorgeous, a beacon in a sea of identical orange t-shirts and jeans. you stand out as though a spotlight has been trained on you alone. which is weird because to most people you're just another camper. albeit, an incredibly beautiful camper, but still, just a camper. so why is he so infatuated with you, specifically?

maybe he is a loverboy.

the realization hits him like a ton of bricks, and he almost groans out loud. can't he just carve his heart out and be done with it at this point? isn't that what the poets do?

but since he never really cared for those dead old men taught in school, like edward allan poe or whatever his name was, he'll settle for just daydreaming now. he'll settle for stolen glances across the room and the brush of your hands as you reach for a book. he'll settle for relishing in your little touches and how your lips shine in blueberry chapstick until he's ready. he'll admire the curve of your nose and the triumphant hugs you give him after your team wins capture the flag. he'll settle for it until it's not enough anymore. he'll settle for it until he needs more.

[raeofgayshine]

I love my silly Midtown Avengers/Young Avengers

[jiminrings]

four seven eight, phase 3 (1)

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 9k

glimpse: jungkook's secure when it comes to being a husband and a dad, knowing that he grew to love being both after everything you've been through. what he isn't so secure about is the possibility that it's everything he'll ever be.

alternatively, jungkook pursues his dream of making a film, even if it means making your rival his main lead behind your back.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale — complete series masterlist, from phase 1 to 3 ]

[ the return of 478jk (derogatory), major angst, fluff, the weight of devotion except jk's mean this time, flashbacks to phase 1 (im so sorry), the both of them r in an identity crisis, The Return of yoongi, yearning and the ache of unfulfillment all over, eventual redemption ]

notes: FINALLYYYYYY after a long wait, phase three is finally here :-) the og era of 478 is a time i'll truly never forget so now that i'm putting them in Several Inconveniences again, i look forward to creating another era with u citizens!!! mwah thank u love yew

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

Jungkook likes to be needed.

He likes to be needed fully, sometimes even all at once to the point that every mention of his name makes him think that his assistance is needed. He wants to be needed like the way you rummage through your old film canisters that you dumped in a large drawer just to retrieve a specific picture of him; needed like the way you sigh in relief when you find said roll.

Jungkook wants you to seek him in a crowd, past all the banners of your name from your fans and lanyards of your staff, and ask specifically him for a cold water bottle he keeps in his bag for you. As a matter of fact, he wouldn’t even mind if you ask it from him indiscreetly — he wants to be needed, even if neither of you are alone with each other.

He’s used to the feeling of being needed because it’s practically routine for him. The way Jungkook loves you has changed and evolved (needlessly to say for the better) through the years, and although he tries to look for the balance in it all, there’s a tiny, tiny part of him that wonders what would’ve happened if neither of you changed.

It’s perhaps the change in seasons, or maybe it’s the build-up of the stupid little things Jungkook’s seen recently; one of those things happen to be a ridiculously long thread by your fan, who happens to also be a fan of Yoongi, assuming that your marriage with J*ngkook (that’s exactly how they typed his name out) is ending, hence your recent collaboration on a brand deal. Jungkook, of course, has half the mind to go on his secret stan account and snark at said poster before reporting, but even then, there’s an itch in his mind that he can’t scratch.

Whatever weather it is outside nowadays or whichever stupid little thing pisses him off online, Jungkook can’t shake off the nagging question of what if in his mind.

When Jungkook cleans your water bottle every night for you to take to set the next day, he wonders if the two of you would still be together if only he didn’t rush to your place by the exact second your month-long break ended, right when he takes off the rubber from the cap to clean the ridges thoroughly.

When he blowdries your hair (even if you tell him not to bother) after you begrudgingly take a shower because you can’t sleep in bed after going outside and not washing up the second you come home, he wonders if you would’ve kept loving him even if the very incident with Sora didn’t push him to change, right when he sees you close your eyes while his hands scratch your scalp.

When Jungkook sounds out syllables to Hwayoung and tries his very best not to baby-talk her (he can’t help it sometimes) as he recounts his day to the toddler, he wonders if you would’ve even had a daughter with him if he stayed the same silent lover that he used to be, right when she parrots your name back to him with a smile.

“Young-ie’s probably starting to need me less and less,” he sighs to you with a pout, eyebrows knitted in concern as he gives you his rookie version of a blowout he’s still trying to perfect. Jungkook can’t flick his wrist the way professional hairstylists do, just in the same way you can’t pick up why he’s brought up the thought out of nowhere.

“How could you say that? She’s the biggest daddy’s girl ever,” you chuckle, placating him with the truth despite your initial confusion. If you weren’t fully awake awhile ago, you certainly are now — mostly because Jungkook springs up an unbelievable idea, and partly because whenever he tugs the brush at your hair, your whole head comes along with it.

“Not really. More like biggest mommy’s girl, you mean,” he defensively scoffs, apologizing quickly when he hears you wince at a particular experimental tug he does on your ends.

“Should we wake her up right now and let her decide?” you murmur, your eyes locking with his on the mirror.

Jungkook, at his most comfortable state, wearing ratty oversized pajamas and glasses on his face that he’s yet to update the prescription on, has never felt more competitive in his life.

“Well we could-…”

“I was joking,” you deadpan, the silence between the two of you getting long enough to the point that you suddenly find yourself laughing, effectively getting Jungkook out of his daze.

“… I knew that.”

You may have had an inkling about Jungkook feeling slightly off before in the past weeks, but all it took was his random, unprompted question tonight for you to solidify that seed of concern in your chest.

Jungkook likes to be needed, even if he can’t say the same that you need him as much as he thinks you do. He thinks it’s a perfectly rational feeling to want to be needed by both your wife and your daughter, and although he’s not as receptive to being needed as much by anyone other than his family, the feeling still stays the same.

He has all the time in the world. You’ve enabled him to do so even if he’s the one mainly looking after Hwayoung while you worked, but despite that, Jungkook doesn’t feel needed enough.

There’s an itch in his mind that he can’t scratch with neither your constant affection nor Hwayoung’s grabby hands. There’s an unplaceable, agitating urge in Jungkook’s chest to put a pause on everything and be back to who and what he used to be, despite your affirmation that he is needed.

There’s that tick going on in Jungkook’s brain that amplifies everything he does to seem wrong; that makes him grumpy when he wakes up to prepare you breakfast whenever you had early shoots, that makes him purse his lips when his daughter asks him to watch the same movie with her for the third time in the week.

All of the uneasiness in him, however, disappears when Namjoon, the acclaimed screenwriter that he has for a friend (whom he actually met through you), calls him up with an offer that Jungkook can’t refuse.

It’s an offer that releases the ache from his bones, makes him want to blowdry your hair better, and watch the same movie over and over again with his daughter — but Jungkook postpones saying it to you when you come home and want nothing more than to be in his arms, and for Hwayoung to be in yours.

( ♡ )

Jungkook could wait more.

He convinces himself that he can because although there’s a date set for the short film that Namjoon’s pitched for him to produce, it hasn’t grown yet to become the unstoppable force against Jungkook’s immovable object: family.

He knows he needs to tell you eventually and that he’s not really asking for permission in the first place, but there’s a sense of guilt in him whenever the thought of breaking the news to you comes into mind. He’s not nervous per se because he knows you’re as supportive of him, if not more, like he is with you.

It just happens that it’s within the fine details that Jungkook truly feels hesitant to tell you that he has to leave for awhile.

Jungkook could wait more, and although that means he has to deal with the occasional voice in his head telling him that lying to you (even under the guise of protecting you) has the capacity to bite back at him, he manages. He swallows down the words whenever you unintentionally give him an opening to tell you about the news of him going abroad, and just settles for holding your hand.

He could wait more because telling you now wouldn’t be the right time, now when you’re on your day-off as you’re close to wrapping up your current project before moving to the bigger, more exhausting one; not now when you have a time of reprieve to spend with your family before taking on the biggest project of your career to date.

Jungkook hums to himself as he looks down on Hwayoung who has a tiny shopping cart to herself, her strikingly round eyes that she got from him (Hwayoung looks more like him the older she gets) looking up to his own.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he lulls, mumbling loudly enough for only her to hear. “You’d understand if appa left for awhile, right?”

“Left?” she questions, holding up her left hand at the mention yet she reels at his query, brows furrowing as she seems to digest the question. “Why?”

“Yup. That’s your left. Good job, baby,” Jungkook praises, the knot in his throat growing when he looks to his daughter who looks confused at the sudden query, again, that came out of nowhere. “You would, won’t you?”

Hwayoung hums because she doesn’t quite understand, but that’s the thing that Jungkook fears most — she’s young and smart and although he wants to use those facts to his advantage, he realizes that Hwayoung being the age that she is in now could also prove him to be dispensable.

Jungkook likes being needed, but he’s much too afraid of the possibility that Hwayoung won’t even recall him as soon as he leaves.

Your husband’s snapped out of his reverie when you go downstairs with a skip in your step, the tell-tale mischievous tone to your voice already predicting that Hwayoung would make the two of you chase after her in the backyard all day. “What are the two of you plotting again?” you ask playfully, hands on your hips as Jungkook chuckles at the sight of his two girls.

“Nothing!” Hwayoung giggles, the word slipping out of her seamlessly as she even shakes her hands fervently, accustomed to what you mean exactly with your tone of voice. She’s young and bright and you see so much of Jungkook in her, even if Jungkook would argue otherwise.

Jungkook’s dazed this morning with the way his gaze locks in from far away, his bottom lip bit between his teeth more often than not as if he’s always at war with himself.

“You okay, Kook?”

“Mhmm. Couldn’t be better,” he hums half-heartedly, his lips grazing your temple as he guides you to sit down on the carpet with him. “You finally slept for more than eight hours. That’s good,” he says as an afterthought, the pauses in between his words growing in distance as his gaze is fixated on everything but you.

Jungkook looks at your daughter who’s now pushing Miso around the house in her shopping cart, and while your cat (who’s always seemed to hate your husband) looks more than pleased at being played with, she meows to Jungkook and only at him with a hiss at the end of her spiel as if in warning — as if Jungkook is guilty of something that only the two of them know about.

Almost as if out of everyone in the room, it’s only your cat who knows that Jungkook’s lying.

Jungkook can wait, but he’s certain that he can’t wait any longer because if his brain is unoccupied for long enough, he’ll start to hear Miso cursing at him through her yowls.

“Hwayoung doesn’t look like she needs you any less,” you say gently, your line of sight following Jungkook’s as he tenses at your words.

“Oh,” he sighs, jaw grinding down to a halt. “Right."

Your words seemingly came out of nowhere, even if the both of you know deep down that they’re influenced by his impulsive thoughts from last week.

“You can say the same for me,” you add, not as an afterthought, but as a lesser-known fact that Jungkook seems to forget every now and then.

There’s a weight in his chest because all of a sudden, Jungkook can’t wait anymore. The itch in his mind has already been scratched too much that it had already bled and scabbed.

There’s a weight in his chest that reminds him he can’t wait anymore, because in hindsight, the weight of him and everything that comes with him settles on his shoulders.

Maybe, Jungkook doesn’t want to be needed as much.

( ♡ )

Jungkook drops the news on you while you’re folding laundry.

He was meant to go for sincere but the way the words leave him, right when you’re in the middle of folding Hwayoung’s pajamas that she’s about to overgrow in the soonest, it sounds as if he’s been dying to tell you; now that he has, he sounds beyond relieved.

“Namjoon offered me a script,” he announces, taking the pajamas from you to put in his pile as he sees your eyes widen, the remnants of the heavy mascara they used on you on set awhile ago highlighting your surprise. “He wants me to produce.”

“What?” you punctuate, tilting your head as you try to make sense of what Jungkook’s saying. You know he’s speaking and you’re familiar with said words; you just never expected for them to be compacted in the same sentence, meaning the way that he makes it out to be. “Kim Namjoon, as in the producer for In Terms of Eternity?”

He chirps at that, posture straightening as he tries to jog your memory. “Yeah. You’ve worked with him before and introduced us, then turns out Jin’s also a friend of his and-…"

“I mean I know Namjoon and that you’re friends with him, Jungkook,” you interrupt, trying to reel yourself in as you’ve lost your focus trying to fold Hwayoung’s clothes and talk to your husband at the same time. “But I didn’t know you were that close for him to ask you to produce something for him.”

Jungkook doesn’t completely crash from the high he’s in over finally telling you the news, but there’s that spike that flashes briefly over his face, the frown on his lips letting on more than he shows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?"

You sigh at the impossible position the both of you are in, the words that try to line themselves up in your temple being no match to the way they translate out-loud. “It means nothing. I’m just… surprised that he’d ask you to be a producer for his script, that’s all. It came out of nowhere.”

Jungkook recoils at that, a stubborn brow raised as he tries to keep his composure. “Because you don’t think I’m capable of being a producer?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you inhale sharply, gripping a random article of Hwayoung’s clothing beside you to pace yourself. “Namjoon’s.. big. He’s established, and well, you’ve never become a producer before.”

“And you have?” Jungkook digs, even if it’s unnecessary to do so, and the way his face falls at the forthcoming regret that creeps up to him lets you know that he thinks so too.

“Jungkook,” you try again, quirking your lips to the side as you try to manage with the pace he’s set you up on. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. This is all new to me. All new to you, even. If anything, it’s nice that Namjoon trusts you a lot.

“He does. We’re close,” he nods, clearing his throat as he feels that the both of you could move on to the other phase of the news you had interrupted him at. “As a matter of fact, we’re taking it on a global scale.”

Jungkook doesn’t get why your face falls.

He doesn’t get why your shoulders rise and fall, not in relief, but out of controlled tension that threatens to pour over.

“What?”

“The script. The film,” he smiles, trying to get you to finish his sentence and connect the dots together but to no avail. “It’s… it’s — we have to film in the US for a few months.”

“What?” you repeat, the knot in your throat tangling up more and more hesitance in you the longer it stays there.

“I said, we have to-…”

“No, I heard what you said,” you interrupt, jaw clenching tightly as you try to grasp everything Jungkook has said.

You don’t get why Jungkook’s smiling.

You don’t get why he’s completely at ease and only in confusion as he sees you piece everything out.

“Then what’s the matter?”

“Kook, all of this is new. Everything you’ve just said is and will be new,” you chuckle humorlessly, running your hand through your hair in frustration as you try to relax. “I’m happy for you, believe me, but Jungkook, what you’re saying is serious. It’s a lot to take in,” you pause, eyes wide as you repeat the words to yourself. “You. Producing. In the US, of all places, a-and for months.”

There’s not one exact emotion that runs through you because the longer that Jungkook looks at you, ecstatic, while you’re weighing what he’s just said like a bag of bricks — you feel even more conflicted.

Your husband wrings his hands together, nervously smiling at you as if he’s asking for permission, but the both of you know that his mind’s already set. He thinks the opportunity of producing a short film that’s been drafted by his friend is a once-in-a-lifetime thing, eager to take off even if he’s had no experience at all in the industry.

“I don’t know, baby. It’s just been so long since I got this excited and alive, y’know? It’s a nice change of pace and I get to do something nice-…”

“Isn’t being with your daughter nice?” you ask abruptly, unable to mask the conflict that’s been brewing in your mind ever since Jungkook pulled you aside to talk. You feel hesitant; disconnected even from wrapping your head around his wording.

Even convincing yourself that you’re just spent from working sunrise to sundown doesn’t work. No matter how hard you try, Jungkook’s tone remains as is.

“Y/N,” he sighs, lips in a tight line as he screws his eyes shut. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything, Jungkook,” you grit, crossing your arms in defense. You feel guarded more than ever, not because you’re the one whom he’s pertaining to, but because your Hwayoung is involved and you won’t sit around for it. “It’s just that when you put it like that, it sounds like taking care of Hwayoung is a chore.”

You used to be sure awhile ago that you were seeing double because in between memorizing scripts and going from schedule to schedule without any time to rest in between, you’ve been worried sick because Jungkook hadn’t texted you the whole day. You were shocked enough to come home to your daughter playing by herself downstairs (with Miso watching her the whole time), even more-so when you saw Jungkook engrossed in a highly-enthusiastic phone call.

Jungkook sighs as if talking to you completely exhausts him, pinching his nosebridge before muttering under his breath. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“Excuse me?” you blink in surprise, tilting your head in sheer confusion. You’re about to shrug it off but he does that thing again, the one where he almost rolls his eyes at you but realizes it at the last minute.

“Nothing.”

“Say that again, Jungkook.”

“My god,” Jungkook groans, throwing his head back. He runs his hands through his hair frustratedly, sucking in a rushed breath. He looks straight at you when he gives his grievance. “I’m just saying! Why do you get to live out your dream but I don’t?”

“This is my job,” you bite back instantly, the second it took for you to digest his words being enough time for him to groan again. “If it were up to me, do you think I’d work six days a week? Do you not know how much it kills me to stay away from my family?”

You’re at a loss for words, the tiny bit of insecurity you have being dug up once again. You feel guilty because you actually don’t — you know to yourself that you still dedicate so much of yourself to Jungkook and Hwayoung even if you work full-time.

Jungkook chokes up a laugh in front of your face.

“Then quit your dream if you’re so miserable.”

Your jaw clenches quickly in annoyance, unable to retain the disbelief that builds up in your chest. “My dream is my job! It’s why we’re living this life in the first place, Jungkook! Your dream is this project that was pitched to you like what, two weeks ago?”

“Can I not live my life the way that I want to?” he asks exaggeratedly, eyes wide in defense. “Why am I only your husband and why am I only Hwayoung’s dad? Why can’t I go to the US a-and try things out? Why can’t I be free from all this even for just a while?”

Your mouth falls apart at that, your moment of shock simultaneously being Jungkook’s instance for guilty. He wants to reel it in right then and there, but the small part of his pride grows to hold him back.

“Do we hold you back that much?” you whisper, the headache that has been building in your head since this morning shrinking to the size of Jungkook’s words. “What are you getting so angry for? I’m not saying no. I’m asking you why you’re so hellbent on suddenly leaving to do this.”

A large part of you, if not all, feels more disappointed than angry. Hwayoung has not and should never be an afterthought for the both of you yet Jungkook brings her up with you like mere variables.

You can grasp the fact that being a parent is a full-time job like yours yet what you can’t get a hold of is your husband’s apprehension; his sudden need of pursuing something beyond your family.

“Because I’m scared, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers, exhaling heavily. “I’m scared that this is all what life could ever be for me.”

It’s only when you’re completely silent that he comes back to the severity of his words, the tension that’s been building up in him breaking the moment that you break eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry for being your wife.”

“Baby, that’s not-…” Jungkook tries to correct himself, hot on your heels as you get up from your seat on the couch. You’re not even speeding up yet he catches you just as urgently, the hold he has on your arm doing little to put you at ease.

“And I’m sorry for making you a dad.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, I’m-…”

“You should do this project if you really want to,” you quip, back still turned to him as you enter the bedroom. Jungkook noticeably stops in his tracks, the furrow in his brows fading because you’ve put him on whiplash.

“What?”

“You’ve held down the fort while I was out being the breadwinner. It’ll be nice for you to do your own thing,” you smile tightly, eager to sleep on the whole thing just so you don’t stay hung-up for too long.

“What about Hwayoung? What about your film? They want it to be an entry for the Academy, right?” he asks in concern, different from the worry he had awhile ago when he thought you were against him leaving.

You nod, easily shrugging despite the weight on your shoulders. “I’m her mom, of course. She’s gonna come first. And for the film, I think I can still do it. I’ll juggle them both if I have to.”

Jungkook nods, eyes set on the floor. He didn’t think this far at all.

“Do you want to hire a nanny? I know a friend.”

“I’ll pass. I don’t trust nannies.”

There’s an overwhelming silence that engulfs the both of you, the white noise machine in your nightstand unable to fill it completely. Jungkook looks at the ceiling while you look at Hwayoung who’s sprawled in the middle of your bed, clutching Miso like a teddy bear — she already fell asleep waiting for the both of you.

“I didn’t mean what I said awhile ago, I’m sorry. It came out the wrong way,” Jungkook apologizes after some time, hand darting out to hold yours while you only hover above your vanity, taking off all of your jewelry except for your wedding ring.

“When do you leave?” you ask, still unable to meet his gaze.

“Next week,” he clears his throat. “When do you start filming?”

You nod, coming into terms that Jungkook would leave no matter what you say. “Next week.”

You’re arranging the covers when your husband tries to hold you again, voice strained and rushed. “Y/N, I really am sorry. I love being your-…”

“Shh,” you interrupt, pursing your lips. “Hwayoung’s sleeping.”

( ♡ )

You asked for a day off.

You’ve rarely ever asked for them throughout your entire career because you were built on the mindset that at the end of the day, you’re also an employee no matter what gig you land. Be it the cameos you used to book with Yoongi or the titular characters you take from studio after studio, you’re still the employee who had worked her way up fairly.

You didn’t ask for it during that instance when you fell sick after back-to-back shoots because you didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. You didn’t ask for it when you woke up with the type of fatigue that settled in your body no matter how hard you closed your eyes or laid your head against the cushions.

You’ve never asked for it for your sake, but you’ve asked for a day off now because Jungkook’s leaving for a place you can’t come and go to as you wish.

Unlike your house or the hotels you book for him and Hwayoung to be at whenever you have to film out of town, Jungkook’s out of reach. He’s one call away, granted that your timezones match up and there’s a connection strong enough for it to continue without a hitch. He’s far from your grasp and he will be for months on end, and you don’t think you can ever stomach working on the same day he’s leaving.

“Are you seeing me off at the airport?” he asks during the car ride, voice audible enough for only you to hear and not Hwayoung who’s sprawled across both of your laps, sleeping soundly with her plushie that resembled Miso.

“I will, but I don’t think I can see you off near the gate. I can only manage up to here,” you answer honestly, willing yourself not to break down even if the both of you are still in the car, away from any prying eyes of the media that lurks outside. “So can Hwayoung,” you add, a large part of you being grateful that she’s asleep when Jungkook has to leave so neither of you would hear her cries.

Jungkook sees that hesitance in you, the same kind that softens him into fragments.

“It’ll only be for awhile, okay? Just for a few months,” he smiles tightly, rearranging his backpack next to him, the keyring that held Hwayoung’s second-favorite toy (not the ultimate favorite because she won’t ever let him take it) clattering loudly. “I love you,” Jungkook murmurs. “Do you know that?”

“Mhmm.”

“Say it back.”

You refuse to do so because saying it back feels finite, perhaps even forced, because although you love Jungkook, saying so at the moment only weighs you down as reality sinks in. “This is gonna be easy for us, right?"

“It’s not like we’ve never been in a similar set-up before,” he shrugs, the pout on his face casual as he tries to level with you.

“But this is different, Jungkook. This is beyond different. We have Hwayoung and now, we’re both working,” you stammer, chest rising and falling as you wrap your head around everything. “This— this isn’t Seoul to Jeonju. This isn’t a leave by day, come back by night type of trip. This is-…”

“You’re freaking out,” Jungkook interjects, his soft yet stern voice cutting through your thoughts as he lays a hand on your thigh, the platinum of his wedding band looking right up at you.

You surrender in defeat, not because you’re fighting with your husband, but because there’s simply no other answer he could ever conjure for you as to why this is happening.

“Why aren’t you? Why am I the only one scared?” you whisper.

“You’re not supposed to be.”

“Of course. It’s not like you— we put everything on the line,” you clear your throat, looking down on your shoes as you convince yourself. You ignore how you’re still not entirely aware of what’s with Jungkook’s project, other than the fact that Namjoon’s the screenwriter, all in favor of giving you a semblance of sanity before Jungkook leaves you and Hwayoung. “Right?”

( ♡ )

You wonder if Jungkook already ate breakfast.

You wonder if he ate the supposedly excellent in-flight meal that comes with first-class tickets, or if he ate the ramen he’s always had a penchant for eating especially during your trips, whether by land, sea, or air. You wonder if he’s grumpy with the altitude and the way he has to pop his ears ever so often, along with the way he always seems to be too long for airplane seats turned into beds.

You call but Jungkook doesn’t answer, even if you know he’ll never not purchase in-flight wifi because he’d rather knock himself out than have to read a book or something of the sort. You message, but then again, your husband doesn’t answer, even if you know he’ll much rather reply via text than to record a voice note because he’s shy with people hearing him in public spaces, albeit closed.

Hwayoung waits patiently beside you, swinging her legs back and forth on the couch as Miso stays up with her. She should’ve been in bed half an hour ago but you let her stay up with you, all in the pursuit of getting Jungkook to respond.

“Appa?” she asks again after a minute of you trying for her dad but through another app, her pout reminding you of Jungkook’s who’s unreachable.

You try not to frown in front of her, leveling yourself as you settle for kissing her forehead to cover up the sigh that originates deep from your chest.

“Not yet, Young-ie.”

.

.

.

There’s no text from Jungkook when you wake, but there is a picture of him in the buffet of the private lounge he’s staying at during his layover.

Atleast Jungkook did eat breakfast and Hwayoung was able to sleep without him (the first of what you dread is many), nevermind the dull thrum in your chest in Jungkook’s absence.

( ♡ )

Hwayoung's been behaved the whole time you were on set.

With Jimin prioritizing his voluntary role of being a babysitter to your daughter over his position of being a manager to you, you became instantly comforted at the reassurance that you're not in this situation alone.

It's only been a week since you started working right after Jungkook left, his absence rearranging every system you've previously had in place. You do your very best to have Hwayoung still thriving, and even just the reminder that you are succeeding at being the only present parent for the meantime melts all of your fatigue away.

Your trailer's more equipped for her than it is for you, the space apparently reminding Hwayoung of home so much that it's enough to make her remind you that Miso should go join the both of you sometime. Your dressing room's always been hers, and so has been the affection of everyone close to you.

“I take my role of godfather very seriously.”

Yoongi explains even if you haven't asked him anything. In fact, you weren't talking to begin with. It's not in his nature to talk for the sake of talking (that's Jungkook's), but even with Hwayoung in his arms and you still being lost in your thoughts, he can't help but to feel concerned.

“I can tell," you snicker, finally taking notice of the sight in front of you. The earpiece that was previously on Yoongi is now slung over Hwayoung's shoulder, obviously too big on her. She wanted it as an accessory (it reminds her of the toy stethoscope she'd put on Miso as a collar) and with Yoongi being himself, he can't bring himself to say no.

Your shooting day's nearly over and although today wasn't as long as your previous record of hours on end, you already seem exhausted. Yoongi, of all people, knows what scenes wear you out. You hated doing monologues as a rookie and still despise monologues (but with random, out-of-place advertisements in between) as a veteran — you’ve done neither today.

"What's with the frown?" he asks gently, not only because Hwayoung’s been quiet for the past two minutes and she’s getting groggy, but also because if he were to ask you any louder, he feels as if you’d break.

"It's nothing," you answer automatically, looking at Hwayoung to ground yourself. "Just usual family things, I guess."

"Trouble in paradise?" Yoongi asks with a chuckle, abruptly stopping his fit of amusement when he gets goosebumps starting from the tail of his spine. He instantly recognizes it as deja vu. "I've asked you this before, haven't I?"

The realization doesn’t hit you until he points it out.

"Mhmm," you hum absent-mindedly, playing with the hem of your dress. “I don't think the problem now is anything like how it was before, though."

One night several years ago, you and Yoongi were sat side-by-side in the booth of a club, the heartbreak you had over what Jungkook’s done (and haven’t, at the time) being the wedge between you.

Now, Yoongi’s standing in front of you while you’re sat down, your daughter with Jungkook in his arms.

“Me neither. I don't know how you and Jungkook can encounter any problem worse than last time, to be honest," he chuckles, shaking his head at the recollection of the hell you’ve been through. "Also, I think I can say that because I literally don't know what's going on with you. But if you do tell me-!"

"You're so nosy,” you snort, the brief moment of playfulness welcome because your head aches the longer that you dwell over your worries.

"I can be the judge to see if what you're going through now is worse than before," Yoongi shrugs to fake nonchalance, unaware that you’re gasping in awe until you kick him lightly in the shin.

Hwayoung’s asleep in his arms.

"She's never did that with anyone before," you murmur, fishing for your phone to take a picture, but not before quickly skimming to see if Jungkook’s sent you any messages; he hasn’t. “She only either sleeps in mine or Jungkook's arms. Not for my parents, not for my in-laws. Just me and him."

Yoongi smiles proudly, stroking Hwayoung’s hair proudly. "What can I say? I'm godfather of the year."

He only sways her gently back and forth, rocking her with the patience and attention that remind you of Jungkook’s when Hwayoung was a newborn.

You’re calm and quiet to see her adjusting so well already, but you can’t help but to feel lost because you feel the exact opposite. No one’s gonna stroke your hair for you and tell you to take your time — those are Jungkook’s tasks alone, yet your grievances are also because of him.

"Jungkook's producing this short film in the US. It's by his friend," you mutter under your breath after some time in silence. Yoongi flicks his eyes up at you as if you’re talking about the weather, careful not to make you feel more conflicted than you already are. “You know… by Namjoon.”

"Since when was he into that?" he asks out of curiosity, eyebrows furrowed because he didn’t know that your opening line would ever transition to this point in the conversation. Yoongi catches a second wind the longer he processes your words, the scoff that leaves his lips making his bangs loose despite the hairspray on them. “Since when did Jungkook and Namjoon belong in the same sentence?”

"I don't know either.”

"So we're both producers now?" he snickers, the teasing already coming natural. "Nepo husband alert."

You roll your eyes in recognition, clearing your throat as soon as the laughter died between the two of you. “We got into this argument and I don't know, I-I realized I was being selfish for a moment because I didn't want him to go at first, you know?" you admit in full sincerity, exhaling the lump that forms in your throat. “He said he was afraid that this is everything he'll be. My husband, Hwayoung's dad. So on and so forth."

Yoongi only listens this time, giving the occasional hum there to remind you that he’s still there.

"And last night, he, uh, he forgot to call," you gulp, already feeling the weight of your worries settle in your stomach. "The call wasn't even for me. It's for Hwayoung because he promised he'll still read her whatever she wants."

The three of you cherish that time together because normally, it happens as soon as you get home from work. Hwayoung’s long graduated from storybooks and has now branched out to the most ridiculous texts that Jungkook indulges her with nonetheless — from the ingredient list at the back of milk cartons, and all the way to Reddit threads of how cats find their way back home to owners.

"He's been secretive about the whole thing and I-I… I do that too with my projects, I get it. But only at first because I'm literally bound to an NDA," you stammer, pinching your nosebridge to get past the frustration. “I’m just-…!" you give up, admitting the truth. "I did some snooping."

"And?" Yoongi prompts, tilting his head in anticipation.

"I think he's been secretive because the main lead's Eunsu."

Yoongi recoils at that, so much so that it almost wakes up Hwayoung.

"Eunsu? As in Park Eunsu?" he repeats, the scowl on his face getting deeper the more that you stay indifferent. “Eunsu as in your nemesis?"

You relent, the mention of her finally hitting close.

"Nemesis sounds a little childish."

Yoongi scoffs immediately, rolling his eyes at your correction. “I mean yeah, because people keep pitting her against you when she doesn't even come close," he shrugs easily, make you tut in warning. "What? I'm just saying what everybody's been thinking."

To know that you can still confide in Yoongi no matter what comforts you — what doesn’t is that this time around, your gut feeling’s stronger than it had been the last time.

"I hope I'm wrong."

"I hope so too," he exhales, shaking his head in disbelief. "What kind of asshole sleeps with his wife's enemy?"

"Don't put that out there,” you grumble, the unintentional yet weird arrangement of words making you dizzy.

"Sorry. It's a metaphor, dummy," Yoongi surrenders, clearing his throat. "Okay. Retake. What kind of husband produces a film featuring his wife's rival?

"Hopefully not mine."

( ♡ )

It takes little effort to love you.

Loving you specifically doesn’t have to be hard.

Jungkook thinks that loving you isn’t hard when you serve as the peace to his otherwise hectic and turbulent mind. You manifest into the comfort he looks for in all seasons, be it the heat pack you wordlessly put in his coat pocket or the scrunchie you put around his wrist no matter the weather whenever his hair got too long.

You don’t text him at every hour of the day whether you were working or not, but you’ve made it a point to always check up on him multiple times even if the both of you are at home, going as far to randomly waking up in the night to pause your breathing and check up on his with a hand on his chest.

It’s easy love — one that could be grasped by everyone because as the world has proved to him time and time again, you’re easy to fall with and for.

You may not coo and awe at every single thing he utters, but the adoration behind your eyes always makes him warm from the inside because you held onto him, no matter how anticlimactic his stories could be.

Neither you and Jungkook are easy, that much he knows.

He knows it because although it’s never been his intention to come home late during his allotted short break between filming (it’s disguised as a break even if he only came back to take care of work-related matters personally), you make it known that you’re irked with him for every other reason.

He knows that you aren’t easy because for the past three weeks he’s been gone, you’ve reiterated twice in the last hour alone how you’ve asked him again and again who will star in his short film. You’ve asked Jungkook repeatedly to give you details outside of Namjoon and the vaguest bits he could ever give you, establishing the fact that he isn’t even bound to an NDA.

It’s the persisting barrage of questions in your head that bothers you without a single break. It’s the hovering feeling of doom above your head because having no answers to any of them, on top of Jungkook closing himself off with or without the physical distance between the two of you and being Hwayoung’s sole caregiver, that your patience ultimately thins.

Your annoyance towards your husband is clearly obvious and it bothers him to the point of frustration. Jungkook’s been convinced since last week that if he just dodged your questions for long enough and blamed it on the connection of your call, he wouldn’t have to answer to you; he wouldn’t have to explain the fine details of the project he’s kept from you.

If he had only avoided you for long enough, you would’ve forgotten about the rumors surrounding Namjoon’s upcoming screenplay that had been leaked to the press, and the roster of actresses thought out to be the main lead of his short film.

If he had only ignored your pleas for long enough, he would have never succumbed to the preliminary guilt that comes with lying to you under the impression that he’s only being protective, pushing him to drink until his vision spins — enough for him that when he admits the truth to you, your face of heartbreak directed at him isn’t as anguishing.

“Fine, fuck it! Since you’re so nosy, yes. Eunsu is my main lead, there! She’s my muse!” Jungkook just about yells, breathless from the burn of alcohol in his throat that spreads all the way to his chest, and from the back and forth he’s been going at with you for the last hour.

“Why didn’t you tell me in the first place?!” you retort, fists clenching at your sides as the thought of Jungkook with Eunsu, with her of all actresses, in a foreign place at almost every minute of the workday irking you.

“Would it have made a difference? You’d still be angry at me,” he rolls his eyes, placing a hand on his hip as he tries to stabilize his gaze on you.

“And even then, you wouldn’t do anything about it, right? Because that’s just your nature, Jungkook,” you scoff, your dig at him being incredibly low yet you steel your pride, unwilling to back down at the thought that Jungkook’s been lying to you for three weeks– perhaps even longer.

He presses a tongue to his cheek as you pertain to the past loud and clear, the sarcastic nod he gives you making your breathing tremble.

“Why? Why does it have to be her?” you try again, this time with your jaw clenched so your anger won’t flare up because you’ve been dying to have a decent explanation from Jungkook for weeks.

“Why can’t it be her?” he counters. “B-because she’s what, she’s your rival or something? You’re jealous? Bitter?”

The knot in your chest tightens, the recall you have of the woman who had sabotaged you repeatedly when you were still a rookie putting a metallic taste on your tongue. She’s hindered you in ways that not even Yoongi could explain fully despite being the closest friend to you in the industry, the vitriol you’ve had for Eunsu in the past reviving back to life.

You have no words except for the fact that begs to be acknowledged without a single syllable.

“I’m your wife, Jungkook,” you exhale shakily, the gravity of it seemingly not enough for him because he refuses to use it as a reason to get on your side.

“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think everybody knows that by now?” Jungkook spits. “When I’m producing my film with Eunsu, I don’t want to be your husband, Y/N! I’m sick of it,” he seethes. “Eunsu has nothing to do with me. Why should I fight your battles for you? Why do I have to carry your grudges for something that doesn’t even concern me?”

Jungkook’s the drunkest he’s ever been in his life, yet he utters the clearest words you’ve ever heard him say.

“This is showbiz, Y/N. It’s inevitable for you to get caught up with shit.”

“You’re talking as if being my husband and being Hwayoung’s dad is a chore.”

“Because maybe it is!” Jungkook bursts with a cry, the tears that spring out of his eyes momentarily blinding him. “Because maybe, I’m fed up trying to be sickeningly devoted to you all the time.”

There’s something akin to white, hot, searing pain that spreads across your chest all the way to your temple, the tremble of your lips not enough for Jungkook to realize that you’re on the verge of sobbing.

“Sometimes I hate this. I… I-I hate this life I’m living because of you, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers. “I hate how you’re so, so perfect in juggling everything. I hate how I could spend an hour just convincing Hwayoung to eat a single carrot and you come in the room, and she finishes the bowl with a smile on her face. I-I hate how you never complain whenever you need to do late night feedings after a long day because I’m already snoring. I hate how with or without work, you’re still just—…” he stills, looking at you with a distraught gaze. “You’re still so content. You’re still able to be yourself like you’ve always been.”

There’s no words left in you; no thought at all that could ever pick you up from the ground and gather yourself the way you’ve always had whenever you and Jungkook had felt the furthest from each other.

“Jungkook,” you sniffle, even if he waves you off half-heartedly. “I’m sorry if-…”

“There it is. There it fucking is again!” Jungkook whines, foot agitatedly stomping against the floor as he pulls at his hair. “You’re apologizing for being so perfect in life that it’s making me feel bad!”

“But I’m not! I’m far from it, what the hell are you talking about?” you rasp, the sarcastic laugh that goes past your lips making his ears ring. “I’m sorry if it seems that way but I’m telling you myself that everything is not perfect the way you make it out to be. I’m sorry because it makes you feel bad, but if anything-…”

Jungkook raises a finger at you, his jaw tightening the longer he stews in displacement.

“Don’t. Don’t. Don’t tell me how content you are with everything despite being exhausted, or how you juggling everything is worth it. Don’t tell me how good of a dad I am."

“Then what can I say to make it lighter for you, Jungkook? What can I say that won’t make you resent me?” you grit in surrender, chest falling so lowly, you’ve forgotten to breathe for a long second. “Do you hate the life that we’re living now so much that you can’t even look at me?”

Love isn’t always a matter of ease and although it’s always stuck to you, you prove now that Jungkook coming home to you at this instance, in this light, that he makes love the most difficult thing.

“Do you hate the life that I gave you so badly?”

“I don’t,” he answers, mouth dry as his vision spins. “Sometimes. Tonight, though — maybe I do. It comes and goes.”

“Then what can we do about it?” you whisper, your vision hazy as you look at him. “Where do we go from here?”

“It’s getting late,” Jungkook only whispers, unwilling to look at the bed you share. “I have an early flight tomorrow.”

[peachysunrize]

Empty Promises ⥃ Dark!Aemond Targaryen

Summary: the closeness between you and your twin brother doesn’t go unnoticed by your uncle, but your bond will shatter when he is betrothed to your cousin, lightening a new path for Aemond to get his revenge.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI!!!! Dark!Aemond, manipulation, DUB CON KIND OF? main pairing: Aemond x Strong!reader (Rhaenyra’s daughter/Jace’s twin), side pairing: Jace x twin!reader (They’ll end pretty quickly lol), JACE AND READER ARE 18!! targcest, incest, mentions of pregnancy, p in v sex, breeding, rough sex, degradation, English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 4.6k+

A/n: so heheh I received this ask and rambled about it to beloved @anjelicawrites and she helped me with this one shot!!! Tell me what you think about this one shot, lovies, and don’t forget to reblog and comment!!!

“Mm, maybe we should keep our distance during our stay here,” Jace mumbles against your lips, his arms wrapped around your waist as he corners you to a wall, “We might get caught,”

“But why? Mother said it herself that we are to be betrothed soon! It would not raise any suspicions.” You try to lean down for another kiss, but he pulls back a little, his warm hand resting on your cheek, “Besides, we have already done more than just kissing, yet I am still a maiden!”

“That you are, beloved sister,” he presses a quick kiss to your cheek, backing away from you as soon as he hears a rush of footsteps in your direction, “Do not pout.”

“I’m not pouting!” you scoff, looking away from him as you cross your arms over your chest. “But I am displeased with you! You promised we would be wed soon and that we ought to wait until we are husband and wife to explore… different sides of our companionship.”

“Because tainting your purity is the last thing I want, my love,” he reaches to loop your arm through his, kissing the side of your head before he looks at Luke who jogs toward you, “What is it you want, Luke? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Busy doing what? Annoying our sister?” Luke looks between the two of you, raising his eyebrows as he sees your flushed face and Jace’s swollen lips, “Or perhaps being inappropriate with our sister—“

“Mind your tongue, Luke,” you say, tightening your arm around Jace’s, looking at him pleadingly, knowing your younger brother’s big mouth that always gets you and your twin in trouble, “Do not make me mad, it will not end well for you.”

“I wish mother would betroth you two already, it is awfully obvious how… involved you are with each other,” Luke shrugs, walking ahead of you, forcing you and your brother to join him, “You must be careful, this place has eyes and ears and they are already looking at us with disgust.”

“Lucerys,” you sigh, resting your head on Jace’s shoulder, smiling softly when he kisses your forehead, his lips lingering on your forehead too long for the court’s liking, “Don’t let them win, little brother. Do not give them a chance to belittle us, we are Princess Rhaenyra’s children. Silver-haired or not, we have royal blood surging in our hearts.”

“She is correct,” Jace cups your cheek in his hand, his warm eyes looking into yours — identical to his — before he leans down to whisper against your lips, “We might not have the hair, but we own the name, and the costumes.”

“That is right,” you press a quick kiss to his lips grinning when he does not look away from you, groaning when Luke makes a gagging sound. You look at your younger brother, raising your eyebrows at his visibly disgusted expression, “One day, you will hold such affection for a lady, and we shall get to tease you for it endlessly!”

“I doubt we would need to wait for long, dear sister,” Jace smiles, his hand coming to rest on your waist, gently squeezing you before he resumes talking, “Have you noticed how flushed he gets when Rhaena talks to him—“

“Nephews.”

There they are.

The infamous Dragon princes, walk with their heads held high and chin tilted up as they both stare down at the three of you over their noses.

Aegon is just as you remember from years ago; he has unruly hair and a lazy smirk as he stares at the three of you.

Your younger uncle though, is much more put together; his hair is tied out of his face, neatly brushed and shining while he scans the entire hallway from one corner to the other, his gaze lingering on you and Jace’s linked arms.

“Niece,” Aemond says, his good eye solely focusing on you, ignoring the terrified faces of your brothers who try to play it cool without staring daggers at Aegon who tries to intimidate them by only smirking. The younger Targaryen brother, though, does not show how he feels up front, just cocking his head to the side as he starts talking, “How you have grown to a lady, dark hair and all.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” you reply, face as stoic as possible but soon the mask slips and you look at your twin brother and smile radiantly, enjoying how safe his arm feels around yours, “But it seems with all the years passing, your eye hasn’t grown back.”

“My, she’s got a mouth on her,” Aegon chuckles, running a hand through his tangled hair as he snickers at Aemond.

“Indeed she has,” Aemond says, stepping forward, closing the distance between you, and glancing at Jace who pulls you closer to him, his brown eyes meeting Aemond’s bright blue orb, “No wonder she has her dog running around her, sniffing and barking when threatened.”

“Easy, easy,” Aegon laughs, putting a hand on Jace’s chest when the dark-haired prince strides closer. Aegon holds him back, glancing at Luke who tries to appear brave while he trembles and looks between his siblings and uncles, “My brother is… too honest for his own good, nephew.”

“He is rude,” you whisper, chest heaving as Aemond leans even closer, towering over you as he raises a hand to your exposed neck, caressing the skin with the back of his fingers, until he reaches the neckline of your dress, slowly tracing the outline of the blue mark that is lightly visible.

“Hmmm,” Aemond’s eye drops to the mark before he drags his gaze up to your face, taking in your flustered expression, before he looks at Jacaerys, “It appears you are trying hard to get accustomed to Targaryen costumes, my Lord and Lady Strong. Such… proximity is seen as inappropriate in this castle. Mayhaps you have forgotten the rules of the king’s court.”

“Jace, don’t listen to him,” you sigh shakily, looking away from Aemond before tugging on Jace’s hand, stepping away from your uncles before you pull your twin brother away from them as well, cocking your head for Luke to follow your lead and back away from the blonde men, “Let us join our sisters for lunchen.”

“Yes, best to leave and make yourselves ready for tomorrow,” Aegon waves at the three of you as you walk to the opposite of the hallway, ignoring the older prince’s snickers, but Aemond’s gaze is too strong to turn a blind eye to it, especially with how hot the place he touched feels like.

“I am nervous,” you mumble against Jacaerys’ neck, tightening your arms around his middle as he hugs you back just as tightly, “Luke is distressed, he is frantic and I doubt he would be able to appear strong in front of the court and the Hand.”

“Mother has it under control, beautiful,” he whispers, sighing against the crown of your head as you both rest on the chaise in his chambers, empty plates on the desk in front of you, “Daemon will help her in the court today, do not worry.”

“Jacaerys,” you mumble, sitting straight to look into his eyes. “You promised we would wed after we strengthened Mother’s claim, and she agreed, but we are yet to be betrothed. Why? Why are we delaying such a happy union, brother?”

“We are not, my sweet,” he cups your face, closing his eyes to try and hide the annoyance that you can clearly hear in his tone, “We need to think of our family first, our lives and Mother’s inheritance are already a threat to our happiness. Do not forget about your duty to our family and the realm, you are a Princess.”

“That is irrelevant, Jacaerys,” you put some distance between the two of you before standing up to put on your gown, making sure the bruises and marks on your chest are fully covered beneath the fabric, “I know what I must do as a Velaryon Princess, but will it not make you happy to have me as your future queen?”

“I promised you since we were ten and one that, you are to be my wife when we grow older,” he replies, covering his face with his hands, “I intend to keep that promise one way or another. Now, put on your clothes and join us in the Throne room.”

You watch him leave after he fixes his coat, giving you space to finish lacing your gown as best as you can, brushing your hair so your Mother does not notice your disheveled appearance, and using a hair clip to pull the front of your hair back as the final touch.

With a sigh, you leave your twin’s room, walking gracefully downstairs to reach the throne room, passing ladies and lords who bow their heads and greet you, making your nervousness only grow worse by their stares.

The doors are open and you take your time while walking toward your family, greeting your now stepsister Baela with a radiant smile, conversing with her easily before you notice your grandmother and greet her as well.

The feeling of someone watching you makes the hair on the back of your head itch, and the heat of their gaze burns your skin and as soon as you turn around, the feeling is long gone, because your eyes lock with his good one almost immediately.

Just as the day before, you feel breathless beneath his eye, desperately hoping for him to look away and let you have a moment of peace before the Hand comes and once again questions your legitimacy.

Aemond does not look away, his stare is locked on yours or more specifically, looking at your gown where it is covering the bruise he touched before, a ghost of a smirk finding its way on his thin lips when he can not see the blue mark.

You turn around and join your brothers and family on the opposite side of the room, watching the Hand making his way to the Iron Throne, sitting on it, and observing the crowd.

You know how everything is going to happen; Vaemond Velaryon will question your brother’s legitimacy and by extension you and your twin brother as well. You are more than glad to feel Jace’s closeness throughout the exhausting trial, his hand on your waist as he tries to keep his anger at bay.

The room grows oddly silent when the doors are pushed open and your grandsire, The King, limps toward his throne slowly, the rotten side of his face covered by a golden mask. He sits in his rightful place, panting before he starts talking, demanding to know what is all the mess his family created.

Your grandmother is asked to give her own petition on behalf of your grandsire, and what she says makes your eyes grow wide, lips falling apart as you let out a shocked gasp before pulling your hand away from your brother’s grasp.

“As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons, Jace and Luke, to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena, a proposal which I heartedly agreed…”

Your lips tremble, and the world around you fades away as your teary eyes find Jace’s trembling lips, shushing you gently as you put more distance between, hiding behind Luke and Daemon.

You see your Mother’s bright smile as she turns to look at Jacaerys, but she catches a glimpse of you and sighs, lowering her gaze to the floor before she looks back at Rhaenys and nods at her.

You catch Aemond’s eye, realizing your interaction did not go unnoticed, but the ache and betrayal outweigh the utter humiliation you feel at the moment.

You do not pay attention for a second, lost between your own thoughts and the news of your brother’s betrothal to someone other than you until you see Daemon pulling his sword out and the next thing you knew is Lord Vaemond’s head on the floor.

You gasp eyes wide in terror as the tears finally fall down, but across the room, you see Aemond’s flushed cheeks as he drags his eye from the headless man on the floor to you, his bright iris shining with what could only assume lust and intrigue.

His gaze awakens something in you, something only Jacaerys used to do, but seeing your uncle flushed and breathless while his eye is solely focusing on your face has your heart pulsating more than before.

Without so much of a glance at your family, you bolt outside of the throne room, pushing people out of your way forcefully to move past the guards and leave the hall.

With your gown in your fists, you rush upstairs, tears running down your face as you hear your name being called by your twin brother, following you upstairs with haste, skipping a step or two to reach you before you run away once more.

“Please, sister, listen—“

“Listen to what?” You yell, turning around abruptly, digging your nails into your palms, “Listen to what, Jace? You were fooling me all this time, keeping at an arm’s length! Did you know about this?”

And the defeated face he makes is enough to answer your question.

“You did, did you not?” You chuckle in disbelief, resting your hand on your chest as you blink the tears away. Even the sight of him makes your heart clench in pain, “Waiting for marriage…what utter nonsense! Did you even love me or were you lying to my face this whole time just to secure a match for yourself?”

“Of course I love you! You are my sister!” He screams back, his hands falling limply next to his body, “I could not live with myself if I tainted your purity! Our lives are hanging on a thread because of our—“

“Because we are fucking bastards, I know that Jacaerys! But Mother promised us to each other, she told me, in fact—“ you laugh halfheartedly to cover up the sob that nearly made its way up your throat, “You said it yourself! We would marry one way or another, now you are telling me you did this for Mother. You told me you loved me.”

“I do! Just not enough to fight with our future queen over it!”

Your lips quiver, watching as the man you used to love turns into a stranger; you nearly gave yourself to him in one of the many nights that the desire got too strong, and he pushed you away just as he has done a hundred times. 

“If I am to be king one day, I need a strong queen who will bring me power, not to make me appear weak,” Jace whispers, and that is your undoing. With a violent shake of your head, you grab your skirt in your hands and run upstairs, trying to hide your tears from the passing servants until you are safe in the confines of your own chambers.

You should not be ignoring everyone, not when with Daemon’s help, your mother managed to keep Luke’s inheritance in her grasp, but even the thought of your sweet sister Baela being betrothed to Jacaerys makes you nauseous.

Instead, you are crying on an abandoned balcony with no guards or people in sight, tightening the shawl around your shoulders as the cold breeze hits your heated cheeks.

There are many emotions running through your head now, and the more you spend time thinking about them the more you feel like throwing up. Did your brother really put on a mask to hide your mother’s intentions by whispering reassurances to you?

“You were dearly missed at the supper.”

You hear his voice, the deep soothing voice of his that cuts through the silence. You clean your nose with your napkin, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from snapping at him.

“What do you want, Aemond?” You manage to say without your voice breaking, gazing off to the distance while your tears dry and new ones burn your eyes.

“Jurnegon rȳ nyke,” look at me, he says, patiently waiting for you to turn around, and when you do not, he sighs, one hand reaching to move your hair to your left shoulder, caressing your neck with his knuckles, “Don’t make me repeat myself, niece.”

“Leave me alone, Uncle!” you cry out, hair whipping into his face as soon as you turn around, pushing on his chest as you scream at him, “I am sick of you taunting me! I know how humiliating it was and how much you must have enjoyed watching me and my brother fall apart! Surely you have already jabbed him with your words, calling us bastards and our mother a whore!”

“Mind your tone—“ he grabs your wrists in his large palms, pulling you closer until your chest is pressed against his, and he takes his time observing your face — tears coating your cheeks, lips trembling with anger, the agony of betrayal evident on your face.

You try to wiggle out of his hold, digging your nails into the side of his wrists but he tightens his grip to keep you close while he lets go of one of your wrists to cup your chin with his palm, his thumb caressing your jaw.

The heat of his gaze is enough to blossom a new warmth in your chest; it is not unkind, not what you are used to. It is… welcoming, careful, as if he is afraid you would break in his hold.

“Shh,” he shushes you, cupping your cheek completely before he wipes a tear that threatens to fall from your lashes, “Nothing is worth your tears, certainly not your idiot brother.”

“Do not call him an idiot, I love him!”

“Does he love you just as much?” He shakes his head, catching another tear with the back of his fingers, wiping your cheek gently, “He hurt you, sweet girl.”

“He-he promised me—“ a sob breaks out, your throat burning as you try to explain. You know you should not, especially not to someone who openly despises you, but you can not stop yourself, not when his hands moves to round your waist, his face leaning closer as he looks deeply into your eyes, “We were to be betrothed, but he betrayed me, so did Mother!”

“What did they do?” He asks, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, “You can trust me, Tala,” Niece, he says and keeps you close, merging you into his arms, and you melt right there, looking up at him with watercolor eyes.

“She betrothed him to Baela,” you whisper, fisting the front of his doublet, holding on to the fabric tightly as you sob, but he does not let you hide your face from him, no, he stares deeply into your eyes, watching each tear fall on your wet cheeks. There is a dangerous glint in his only blue orb, as if he is stripping you naked of the mask you always put around him and his family — and to your surprise, you realize he has done that successfully and you have allowed him, “He lied to me that…”

“Go on, sweet girl, tell me what that bastard did to you.”

“We were involved with each other more than it’s deemed appropriate… but he never tainted my purity, always pushed me away and made me… he made me feel as if I did not rouse something in him anymore when he would tell me we ought to wait for marriage.”

“Idiot,” you frown at him, but gasp when he gently pushes your head to the side by cupping your jaw, making room for his face as he ghosts the tip of his nose over your neck and down to your shoulders, “How could he hold himself back while he could have you like this all day?”

“I-I don’t…” you trail off as soon as he presses his pink thin lips to the junction of your shoulder, nipping at the sensitive skin, “Aemond.”

“Oh, sweet girl, he did not love you,” he groans against your neck before he detaches himself from you, “He is a fucking fool, I would have never let you leave my bed if I had you.”

“What-what do you mean he didn’t love me?” You stutter, mind hazy and limbs shaking; only Jace used to have you like this, but the intense desire was not this strong even then.

“He loves the idea of controlling you, taking his pleasure then tossing you aside as soon as duty comes forward,” he straightens his back, looking down at you over the bridge of his nose, “He does not deserve you. The Seven knows I would have worshipped you in every corner of this Keep, nothing would have stopped me from showing you how loveable you are.”

He nods and leaves with his hands clasped on his back, leaving you alone once again with your thoughts and a furiously beating heart.

You do not know what possesses you as you take a path you have never thought you would: walking downstairs to one of the ground floors, taking the hallway on your left until you see the flicker of several candles. With the final step you take, you see him sitting on one of the chairs, his legs crossed as he reads a book.

Aemond’s hair is down, and he is only in his breeches and a white undershirt, but the smirk on his lips when his eye falls on you breaks his character.

“Niece,” he says, uncrossing his legs as he spreads them, his arms dangling from the sides of the chair, his eye running over your night attire being finally visible to his gaze, “To what do I owe the pleasure?” “I don’t… I don’t know why I am here…” you whisper, crossing the room until you are standing next to his chair, “I thought about what you said… did you mean it?”

“Every word,” he closes his book and drops it on the table in front of him before he reaches to grab your wrist and guide you between his legs, “I meant every word I said. Would you like me to prove them?”

“Yes,” you nod, reaching to pull your nightgown off but he stops you, pulling you down on his lap after turning you around, and spreading your legs over his. His hand goes under your shift, slowly yet firmly pressing his fingers against the dampened spot on your underwear, “Aemond.” “Shhh, sweet girl, voices echo in this chamber,” he whispers in your ear, pushing your underwear to the side before he runs the pad of his fingers against your pearl, enjoying how suddenly your legs clamp around his wrist, “You would not like if someone hears us, now, would you?”

You shake your head side to side, resting your head on his broad shoulder, tucking your face in his neck as he plays with your heat, rubbing the right places before he pushes a finger inside. You gasp, hiding your face more but he turns his head to look at you, his stare too intense to look away from which seems to please him beyond words.

“Did your idiot brother ever touch you like this?” he asks and shoves another finger inside, scissoring you open by curling and thrusting his digits deep inside your core, a deep frown forming on his face when you nod and arch your back.

Aemond fastens his pace, fucking you with a new rush of anger, his fingers curled and hitting the sweet spots inside you that have your legs shaking in a matter of a second.

“No one can give you the pleasure I give you,” he spits the words out, brushing his nose against yours aggressively, his pace matching his fury, “Kiss me, now.” You do not need any more convincing before you pull him down and crash your lips to his, moaning into his mouth as he brings you closer and closer to the edge of your pleasure. For a second you break the kiss, gasping for air but he doesn’t let you do so completely.

“I didn’t say you could stop, niece,” he kisses you after this, his lips devouring yours as you fall over the edge, your legs shaking and quivering as you gush over his fingers, coating them in your juices,

He finally breaks the kiss and rests his forehead on yours before he whispers, “Get on the bed, all fours.” You stand up with shaky legs, but he does not let you go too far before he reaches and pulls your nightgown over your head, stunning you with how quickly his attitude changes.

You, in all of your naity, have learned a thing or two from your twin brother, and you comply with your uncle’s commands and try to climb the bed, but Aemond’s mind has changed already.

He stands behind you, pushing you down on the edge of the bed with your legs dangling and him pressing his hips into your backside as he pulls your underwear down, revealing your glistening cunt to his hungry eye.

With one hand on your shoulder blades, he presses you down on the mattress, cock already out of his breeches and standing proudly against his covered abdomen.

“Fucking gods,” he groans deeply, the sound coming from the depth of his chest as he presses his cock into you, breaching your maidenhead inch by inch, “See, sweetling? Your brother is a moron because no man can keep away from a tight cunt like this.”

You whine, the wetness is enough to let him glide inside you with ease, filling you up and stretching your poor untouched walls out. He is much bigger than you could ever imagine, he is certainly bigger than your brother even though you have never felt him inside you.

Aemond’s starting pace is bruising, brutal even. He is fucking his frustration away, making you cry out with each delicious stroke, pulling his cock out until the red weeping tip is engulfed by your walls before he snaps his hips into the globes of your ass.

“Jace did not want you, niece,” he bends down over your back, his chest pressed into yours as he drives his cock in and out of you quickly, hammering himself in your sweet cunt, “I want you, you are mine. Your brother took my eye, now I take his sister. An eye for an eye.”

You can not argue back, not when his cock is nudging every pleasure points deep inside your core, making your head turn into a puddle. You should be embarrassed, your Mother would be furious if she found out, but he is giving you something Jace had denied you for so long, and the sheer euphoric feeling you are getting is enough to make you empty your head of any thoughts — all you can think about is him, your uncle, your devious handsome uncle you have been warned to keep away.

“Do you know what that means?” he asks, biting your earlobe as he somehow picks up his pace, thrusting himself inside you before he keeps himself pressed against you, circling his hips to drive himself deeper, “I will give you my seed from this day on until I am sure you are with child; a precious Targaryen heir. Then I will make him the king after me, and you, my beloved niece, will kill your family and rule the realm with me and our child.”

You moan loudly, walls clenching tightly around his girth as you reach your peak and that is enough to send him to his high as well; he comes inside you, dumping his warm dragonseed deep inside your womb.

“We shall rule together, niece, and that is a promise I intend to keep.”

[j-jared]

Danny judges the Family Business

Danny: How many kids do you have? How many vigilantes are in Gotham right now?

Batman: ... you know how many.

Danny: Seriously, your grandson too? Couldn't stick to just yourself?

Flash: Can we not?

Danny: ... I mean I sorta understand the clone thing makes it murky water, but COME ON!

Superman: *sweating*

And finally, finally, they have enough of the lectures. They know Danny's identity, they know of his parents, his sister. So they ask.

Batman: Would you not tell your parents if you needed help.

Danny: I chose not to tell my parents! My dad has his own section on the news if he's out driving, I don't want them on my team!

JL: .. What?

Danny: I mean, yeah, they'd be helpful on the government research side of things, but... You guys obviously looked into this, they can't aim for shit most of the time! They cause more property damage than any of the ghosts do in the longterm. My dad would probably shout out my name each time he saw me on patrol. Besides, they've calmed down the whoke vivisection thing, they're more like... safari people now. If the ghosts aren't actively attacking, they watch and make notes to study behavior.

Wonderwoman: And your sister? She helped you did she not?

Danny: Yeah, when I was 14 and freshly dead? Believe me, the moment she had an out we both took it. She's studying out in California now, and she's only stepping in for emergencies. Like, end of the dimension emergencies, not 'Oh I've been stabbed again' emergencies.

-----

I find the idea that Danny lectures the JL about the younger heroes and like, making sure they aren't prioritizing hero work out of duty really funny. This undead boy took up his own duty when the only other option was his parents and their inventions (one of which actually killed him by opening a door to another dimension) and felt obliged to deal with the ghosts for both the living and the dead's sakes. He opened the portal, he'll clean up the mess while keeping everyone safe. Sam and Tucker got to help, but once he got control of his powers (maybe once he gets the crown and authority in a Ghost King setting), he's offered them outs as well. They take them slightly. They step in for the heavy hitters, but generally Phantom flies solo; besides JL business. Maybe Dani joins in, but she's her own free spirit so it's not like she sticks around long.

Danny wants to know that all these younger heroes are there because they wanna be, not sacrificing a normal life because of feeling pressured or needing to live up to the expectations of their guardians/mentors.

And I know the JL care about these kids, Danny just ain't sure (He can glance at the BatClan and just smell the death and drama) - and he wants to be. These kids better have a healthy work-life balance, so help him Ancients.

[emo-batboy]

Battinson and the JL ft. His Eventual Identity Reveal

(If you’re just here for the cutesy bits, skip to Attempt #2. Otherwise, STRAP IN CUZ IT’S A LOT)

Bruce Wayne of Matt Reeves’ The Batman is not the founder type.

He wouldn’t voluntarily join a book club, much less join a league of super powered vigilantes whom he does not know personally.

So in this universe, you probably wouldn’t call him one of the three Founding members.

But he’s still integral to the formation of the Justice League

It starts out with a friendly visit :)

Bruce is patrolling on a random night in Gotham when he notices a weird thing in the sky. It’s floating just far enough behind him that a less vigilant person wouldn’t have noticed, but Bruce is always watching his own back, and he takes it as a threat.

He strays from his usual path and then heads to a warehouse roof before turning to face the threat.

It’s Superman. All smiley and dressed in primary colors. The strongest, most powerful being on Earth just floating over like he wasn’t stalking Batman a second ago. Bruce does not like that.

“What do you want with Gotham?” He asks. “I don’t,” Superman says. “I wanted to talk to The Batman.” So this is some kind of fight? An intervention? A warning? Then Superman frowns. “You…are The Batman, right?”

Bruce only nods as he considers his options, but he can’t really do that when Superman has super speed, super sight, super strength, super breath, super lots-of-things-that-Batman-probably-doesn’t-know-of.

Then Superman surprises him by landing on the roof and giving him this pitch about a superhero group.

Superman and a few other vigilantes have been bouncing around the idea of teaming up together so they can help one another protect their cities. And The Batman was a “perfect candidate.”

“I’m not joining your club.” “It’s not a club. It’s a league.” “What’s your mission statement, then?” “A what?” Bruce fights the urge to roll his eyes. He still doesn’t trust this guy. “Take your league idea back to the drawing board then we can talk.” He does not intend on talking.

But two months later, Superman is back. This time, he brings another super powered vigilante named Wonder Woman.

She smiles, politely approaches him, and says “Superman tells me you want to learn more about our league.” That is not what he said, but he doesn’t bite.

Bruce can’t decide which they remind him of more: college recruiters or cult leaders. But because Wonder Woman genuinely seems to care about seeing this project through, and the roster she has of current like-minded vigilantes is impressive, he lets her talk.

And to give her credit, she definitely thought out the logistics more. It almost makes up for the time they’re wasting.

Okay, fine. They’re still way behind on concept, and it’s pitiful. He actually feels bad.

They obviously care! They just have no idea how to run a business like he does. Is it a bit cynical to think of this league of Justice as a business? Yes, but that’s the only way he can even conceive this happening and working.

Bruce asks about their organization’s leadership structure, and that’s when Wonder Woman falters a bit. “We want to work with each other, not for.” Bruce bites his tongue on that subject.

He asks about their scope of work. “We want to help as many people as we can, but that can be ironed out later.” Bruce bites his tongue on that subject.

He asks “Who’s funding this?” She answers, “We have a few members willing to pitch in, but the majority will have to come from generous citizens.” And that’s when he just stops asking questions. Because what?

If he could cry the grease paint off, he would.

They can’t just think every super-powered vigilante is going to sing Kumbaya and braid each other’s hair. There needs to be checks and balances within the organization to avoid tyranny and corruption. They need a reliable source of donations (that doesn’t immediately out Bruce.) They need a proper chain of command. They need to map out their area of responsibility. They need to design a VERY strict vetting process. It’s not sunshine and rainbows. It’s hard work!

So he says he’ll think about it again and complains to Alfred about the weird super stalkers.

But for SOME reason, Alfred doesn’t see the problem

Alfred encourages him to join so he can “make some friends.” But how can he trust these people if they can’t even make a half-decent pitch? It’s like a bad episode of Shark Tank.

And “make friends?” They’re all masked

But after a week of gentle nudging (read: very firm lectures), Bruce agrees. ONLY to keep tabs on the rest of the vigilante world and possible threats to Gotham

(And without his help, they’ll probably butt-dial Lex Luthor the nuclear codes or something)

And he is damn well going to figure out who these people really are before he helps them make a Super Organization.

Alfred figures out about half of their secret identities purely as a brain exercise while Bruce is out fighting crime and collecting head injuries like Pokémon cards. They figure out the rest together.

They also develop contingency plans for every single member. Just in case.

And after months of Batman being visited by random vigilantes, whom he has several choice words for about personal space—“This is my city. Go away.”—he accepts. On several conditions.

Not all of them are appreciated.

Attempt #1: “Making Friends”

After several scheduling conflicts, a lot of prep work, and a really good hype session in front of the mirror, Bruce heads on over to the first official meeting.

Batman arrives with a long list of things they need to do before going public. The first thing on the list?

Write A Mission Statement

What the fuck are they actually trying to do? Bruce thinks this is a great starting point.

And you’d think (you’d think) this Justice League thing would be easier to tolerate than the drawn-out exec meetings he has to sit through with boring, old businessmen who keep delaying things so they can hash out every little detail.

To Bruce’s absolute horror, he BECOMES the boring businessman who’s delaying things so they can hash out every little detail. He misses the boring, old businessmen. At least they knew what they were doing.

Every turn, he is argued with.

“Why do we need a mission statement?” “‘Power Structure’ feels authoritarian. Can’t we just share leadership duties?” “Do we really need this much paperwork?”

Bruce has the audacity to say, “We need to develop some sort of protocol that helps us analyze any possible threat.” But no. “Why can’t I just jump in? I have eyes.” “Jumping in without studying an opponent’s behavior could cause more harm than good,” he insists. “So what? I’m going to watch an alien monster go on a rampage through my city instead of fighting it?” “Yes. You don’t know what it’s capable of.”

Bruce already regrets joining.

All he hears is the others gossiping. “Is this guy really telling us how to be heroes?” “He’s got a major stick up his ass.” “I knew we shouldn’t have let him join.” And if that doesn’t dissuade him, he doesn’t know what will.

“How was the first meeting?” Alfred asks. Bruce scowls. “I’m not making friends.”

Nonetheless, Bruce sticks it out for weeks until they have some semblance of an organization. And, to his shock and amazement, it…kind of works.

The Justice League makes its debut, and Wayne Enterprises generously donates some money “out of spite” after Lex Luthor publicly denounces the league. (Honestly, Bruce would too if he hadn’t personally duct-taped it together himself.)

But the league starts small, just like he told them, they respond to natural disasters and public safety threats first (as per the outreach initiative) and focus on protecting communities in need (as per the mission statement.)

Yes, they still think Batman has a stick up his ass because he’s a stickler for writing incident reports, but no one else reads them so he has the right to be pissed.

He’s almost kind of sort of content with how it’s going. Even his reputation as a vigilante is improving.

That’s when another glaring difference between him and the other members appears.

Despite looking the same age as the rest of the team, Bruce is actually much younger?? Even excluding the aliens, gods, etc.

Most of his teammates are in their late 30’s, early 40’s. Meanwhile, Bruce is at the ripe age of 29 and a half.

He is the youngest by ten years.

Everyone kind of just assumes he’s the same age, though, so they make references to 80’s kids stuff that he only vaguely understands through Alfred and his business partners. He just sits there in silence like a child who snuck over to the adult table and is waiting to get caught.

So on top of the rift he (accidentally) created when they started the organization, it’s even harder to connect through similar interests. Other than punching people together.

And Bruce Wayne has a bad case of imposter syndrome when it comes to their superpowers.

He’s always in the corner brooding, and everyone’s like ummm antisocial much?

But 50% of the time, it’s because he’s thinking “I’ll never amount to the incredible heroic feats everyone else has accomplished. How can I possibly make a difference to the world if I’m already struggling to save Gotham?” Like a little emo freak 🖤

(Meanwhile, you couldn’t pay those mf’s to step foot in Gotham. This Bat guy’s crazy and he’s human apparently?! No way. Nuh uh.)

The OTHER 50% of his “brooding” is Bruce standing to the side with a mixture of concern and judgment because his teammates’ competency in certain areas is…alarmingly low sometimes.

One week, he finds himself thinking, “How do these grown-ass adults not know their way around a digital map? They’re 40, not geriatric.”

Then like a week later, it’s “These fucking war fossils don’t even know Morse code. I gotta do everything around here.”

One of the final straws is when he says, “Did they just break another fucking Keurig? Who does that, Alfred? It’s the fifth one.”

Suffice it to say, he’s not very personable. But is it his fault? Well yeah, a little bit. Like……..65% his fault.

(The remaining 35% is their moaning and groaning whenever Batman calls a meeting.)

Bruce’s irritation is totally justified.

God, he just wants to go home.

Why is he doing this again?

Attempt #2: Actually Making Friends

The first JL member to break through his cold, black exterior is Wonder Woman. She needs help with search and rescue after a sinkhole opens up near an elementary school, but no one’s available until Batman responds to her call.

He’s on the scene in less than an hour and makes quick work in securing the area. Thankfully, she catches him once it’s over. (He always runs off without saying goodbye.)

“Thanks for helping. Everyone else was just so busy. I’m glad you could fly over.” Batman mumbles something that she can’t quite hear. “What was that?” she asks. “I was busy too,” he repeats. She gives him a weird look, and he freezes up for a second as he realizes that probably wasn’t appropriate to say. “I mean…this was more important. There were kids in danger so it didn’t…matter if I was busy.”

Wonder Woman considers how awkward The Batman looks for a moment then smiles. So he really is human. “Well, thank you. The help was very much appreciated.”

Since then, several small acts of kindness and solidarity earn Batman some respect from the rest of the team.

One day, Flash complains about how boring their meetings are so Batman brings a massive bin of fidget toys. After placing them in front of the Flash, he mumbles, “These are for ADHD. They’re useful.” Flash almost cries with relief. He is very touched.

Another day, Green Arrow is severely injured in battle. Without a word, Batman leaves the fight, takes him to a safe location, stops the bleeding, and does it all while repeatedly making sure he’s awake and asking permission to remove certain pieces of clothing.

In another fight, Plastic Man’s mask is thrown off, and Batman sees his face. In a second, Batman tosses a smoke bomb, picks up the mask, and hands it back before anyone else can look. It costs them time and the element of surprise, and Plastic Man knows it, but Batman did it anyway.

A JL member’s stomach grumbles during one too many meetings. Suddenly, their little break room becomes a fully stocked kitchen with shelf-stable meal items and all the basic necessities. There’s a nut-free section, a gluten-free section, everything. The only reason they know it’s him is because anyone else would have admitted to it.

(He renovated the whole fucking thing. In one night. By himself.)

And they all see how gentle he is with children. Countless times, The Batman is spotted prioritizing young civilians at any given moment.

He has lollipops in his belt. And Bluey bandaids too.

It’s the little things that make them feel closer to him :)

And okay maybe his goddamn Mission Statement lecture wasn’t so bad

So they stop moaning and groaning

Okay, now it’s bonding time WOOHOO!!

Attempt #3: Kinda? Friends??

One day, Superman says he isn’t too fond of billionaires (because of Lex, obviously) and goes on a rant about capitalism. Bruce doesn’t dare contribute because 1) he’s the richest man in the world and 2) every other billionaire he’s met is insufferable.

(Including Oliver Queen who Bruce refuses to look at while Green Arrow “defends his city’s billionaire.”)

(And while we’re on the topic of Green Arrow, Bruce cannot forget the disappointing almost-fling two summers ago. He still holds a grudge.)

Green Arrow: “You’re all fashion nightmares. Who wears a cape in the 21st century?” Batman: “At least my facial hair isn’t longer than my dick.” GA: “What was that, Batman?” B: “What?”

Also Bruce is very attracted to Superman.

(He likes older men.)

(Yes, I am referring to Henry Cavill’s Superman.)

(Sue me.)

(But don’t get your hopes up. He does literally nothing about it.)

(Coward.)

One of the JL members complains about how sore they are after a few missions so Bruce cashes in his Monthly Attempt to Socialize and says, “Try yoga. It helps me.” “…Batman, you do yoga?” “Yes. My son got me into it….It’s good for you.” “You have a son?!” He is never socializing again.

They also learn that Batman has the smallest frame on the team. (Like yeah, he’s tall, but he’s also lanky, and everyone else is either an alien or a human dorito.)

One night, they need to sneak through the vents of some building so Bruce offers to do it. Someone says, “It’s a tight squeeze. Are you sure you can fit?” Then he just takes his cape and pauldrons and shoulder pads off and is suddenly like a foot skinnier

“Wait…is this why you’re so good at hiding in the shadows?” Bruce just glares at the Flash for a second before climbing into the vents.

(The answer is yes.)

A betting pool is started over whether or not Batman is part Bat.

In fact, several betting pools begin because no one knows anything about the guy??

Aquaman and Plastic Man go to great lengths to figure out what his hair color is.

They lose their shit once Bruce tells them he’s vegetarian.

Green Lantern: “Every time he opens his mouth, we learn something new. Next, he’s going to tell me he speaks Swahili!” Batman: “I do.” GL: “Oh, come on!”

Superman: “We need someone on the inside for this international operation to work, but that’ll take at least three months undercover.” Batman: “Don’t worry. I have connections.” S: “…In Shanghai?” B: “Yes.”

The Flash adds SHANGHAI?? to his conspiracy board

Bruce needs to stop trying to socialize. It’s better for everyone’s cardiovascular health.

A year or two in, they’re all introduced to Captain Marvel. Bruce is the first and only person to learn his true identity (kid Billy Batson) because Bruce is the only one with a kid. That way, he understands the weird Gen-Alpha humor and references.

Millennia-old deities don’t use the term Flop Era.

And, of course, they play FMK at some point.

(I mean, come on. There are like TWO mature adults on this team, but Martian Manhunter doesn’t know what’s going on until it’s too late, and Wonder Woman is busy at her day job.)

During that particular round, the celebrities are Bruce Wayne, Lex Luthor, and Kylie Jenner. Bruce does, in fact, want to kill himself, but he chooses Fuck instead because of this exact conversation:

Green Lantern: Come on, Bats. It’s just a game! Choose already. Batman: No. I’m against killing. GL: Oh, go fuck yourself. This situation is completely hypothetical, and you know it. B: Fine! Fuck Bruce, Marry Kylie, Kill Lex. GL: See? That wasn’t so hard :) Bruce:

He tried

Attempt #4: Ah shit, FRIEND?

The identity reveal comes about three years after he joins. He’s 32, has three kids, he’s been on hundreds of missions with them, the team’s over twice its original size, and there are domestic terrorists overtaking Manhattan.

Superman, Wonder Woman, The Flash, Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, and The Batman try to extract as many civilians as possible, but now they’re being hunted. After hiding in a warehouse and considering their options, MM finally suggests that they pose as civilians, which immediately creates uproar.

Bruce, however, realizes this is the only way out.

But it’s not dramatic or badass like that one JL episode. No, instead, he thinks about it, swallows the regret, and just—

Takes off his cowl.

And the whole room falls dead fucking quiet.

Then, “Oh fuck.”

(That was Green Lantern.)

Bruce just shrugs and mumbles, “Martian is right. It’s the only way.” And really fucking hopes the grease paint hides his red face because he is not having a good time right now.

He would rather die, actually, but they need to get somewhere safe and Fast.

The others look him up and down then nod slowly. “Uh yeah.” “Okay, sure.” “This is fine.” “We’ll do that.”

The others begin slowly taking off their suits and changing into something more casual. Bruce takes his off, revealing the skin-tight compression suit underneath, and stuffs his armor in the roll-up duffel bag that’s kept in his belt.

He changes into his drifter outfit, wipes his face clean, and suddenly, The Batman’s just a normal guy. (A very pretty normal guy, mind you. His teammates have eyes.)

“We can head to my place,” Bruce says. “It’s closer, and I know the train system pretty well.” And yes, he’s pretty soft-spoken outside of the suit, but now it feels even more obvious.

Meanwhile, the others are like—

Oh. My. God.

Oh my god, he’s fucking shy. Batman is acting shy in front of us. Dear fucking god. Batman is Bruce Wayne. And Bruce is shy so Batman is fucking shy?? Bruce is pretty too. Holy fuck. He is very pretty.

And he’s so young?? Oh my god, he’s a BABY wtf?! He’s like four inches shorter. Four inches tall! They’re all towering over him without his massive boots and armor, and he just hunches over with the big duffel bag like he wants to sink into the floor, and he’s so small.

Wonder Woman wants to put him in her pocket.

Sue her.

They end up taking the train back. Bruce has on the mask and cap that hides his face (poor Superman, he really likes his jawline) and they all follow Bruce as he gets off and on several trains at seemingly random stops. THEN when they’re finally in Gotham, they head into an abandoned-looking subway station that leads them into a…cave?? WTF

And in the middle of the cave is an elderly man with a cane and a three-piece suit just lounging on a recliner. (WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK—)

He looks up from his crossword puzzle and says, “Ah! You’ve finally made friends, I see?” Bruce rolls his eyes. “This is not a sleepover,” he gripes. “Shame. I was about to grab your footie pajamas for you.”

The man smiles at them. “A pleasure to meet Master Wayne’s work friends in person. Would you like some coffee? Tea? If you’re like him, this is going to be a long night.”

No one dares to question why this man recognizes them in their civvies

They also can’t tell if the footie pajamas line was a joke or not. After tonight, nothing is off the table.

(This is a minefield of information. Barry is having flashbacks to his conspiracy board. No one is going to fucking believe him.)

They all settle into one corner of the cave. Bruce leaves to change and comes back looking like this:

(Goddamnit, Clark is having a meltdown. His hair looks so good wet.)

At one point while they’re plotting, Wonder Woman glances over his shoulder to see Bruce checking some sort of security camera. A boy, maybe nine or ten, is sleeping in bed. “Is that your son?” Bruce clearly doesn’t want to answer, but Alfred gives him a look, and Bruce sighs. “One of them. Yes.”

Later, they have to analyze some explosive samples in the cave, and Barry, forensic scientist extraordinaire, has some choice words about the non-sterile environment.

Barry: This doesn’t look safe. Bruce: My lab is perfectly clean and functional. *bat screeches* Don’t worry about that.

For the rest of the night, they use the evidence they have to track down the organization while the rest of the JL suits up and saves NYC.

After a few hours, they’re safe to return to NYC for damage control. But Alfred refuses to let Bruce go with them. “Your sons are worried. Drive them to school, then you’re coming home and sleeping.”

Bruce clearly wants to argue, but the mention of his kids stops him. He sighs and turns to the others who are already changed. “Let me know if you need anything. I can be there in ten minutes.”

They all nod, knowing full well they will not be doing that. The guy clearly needs rest.

(Also, he is a single father of three and still goes out every night to punch robbers and crime bosses? Is he doing okay?)

Then they head back to NYC with so many questions.

But a lot of it makes sense too, actually. Maybe they just weren’t thinking about the man behind the mask enough to see it.

They learned a lot about their friend that night.

And they have a lot of bets to cash in.

FIN

Okay :D that was a lot! If you enjoyed it, please let me know. This has been simmering in the back of my head for months <3 Have a great day and drink some water :)

Hey bestie @bruciemilf

[anonymous-existences]

DCxDP Prompt 10 :

Death Defying Ship. Danny and Dick are childhood friends where the Fenton's would often bring Danny and Jazz to the circus to hang out with their old friends the Graysons, where Danny and Dick are very close and do dumb kid stuff but jazz is there to watch them so they won't get into too much trouble when the parents aren't looking.

In there Danny learns from the Graysons some basic Gymnastics and Dances that require two people and all that brings them all closer.

Dick and Danny lost touch after the tragic incident with the Graysons, Many years later the story progresses as usual. Danny moves to Gotham to pursue his pursuit in getting a Professional Engineering Recommendation to W.E. with a Bonus Dani that appears every so Often and Dan a normal Mechanic that's acting as his older brother.

Sam Manson happens to be once again forced to attend a gala but this Wayne Gala was Unique because of it's setting as a Masquerade Ball. Sam is thrilled as she can add spice to her gothic aesthetic clothing with a more gothic mask, Danny is being dragged along as because of BFF code, (if I get to suffer, you suffer too.) thus Danny is also wearing an almost as gothic clothing that matches Sam.

Dick and Danny meet there but ofcourse they don't recognize each other, a specific song plays and Dick ever so playful tries to dance a specific routine that only He and Danny knows as they both made it as kids with the help of Jazz. Dick is surprised that Danny is keeping up, Danny is ecstatic and pacing faster as both are in full rhythm and sync in movements.

They don't even realize it but they've become the center of attention as they danced right in the middle of the ballroom. The song comes to a halt and Danny and Dick are breathing heavily, both smiling in excitement until Sam grabs Danny in a headlock and drags him away, scolding him for ditching her for another man.

Dick tries to stop them but was immediately blocked by many who wanted to converse or get his attention as he loses sight of Danny in the crowd of people.

Danny and Dick only ever meet in a gala but something keeps pulling them away from each other, both unable to get each other's names, Dick is totally mesmerized by Danny just as much as Danny is too. Sam finally tells him at some point that he's Dick Grayson. Danny's memories of their past flooding in but Danny didn't want to tell Dick about that because what if dick doesn't remember? What if he asked Dick and he didn't remember him? So Danny kept quiet until he can finally give Dick his name but that moment never came.

Danny is forced to go back to Amity because of the GIW and their Plan to once again destroy the Ghost Zone and Declare War, Danny is captured by the GIW and Sam in desperation with Tucker finally found a way to bypass the GIW firewalls and Break through to connect to the JL.

In the process of saving the captures ghosts with the help of the Justice League in infiltrating and dismantling the Anti Ecto Laws for going against the Meta Protection Rights. Dick doesn't recognize Danny as Phantom, they save him and all that process through Frostbite's help.

Jazz immediately recognizes Dick even as Nightwing and calls him 'Robin' and Dick immediately recognizes her because she is the big sister he always had and wished he kept. Jazz doesn't blow his Identity as expected but she does tell him about Danny as Phantom and Dick as A Wayne once again is processing all of those information in the Manor, Jazz had reassured them that Danny would visit at some point once he is fully healed and Dick waits everyday, waiting for Danny to call or text him that he'll visit.

Dick realizes he's fallen deep in love with Danny with his desperation and also everytime they've met and interacted with each other even for brief moments in the galas they've attended. Danny become the sole reason he'll force himself to attend a gala as he wanted to see the man, his best friend and his first love.

Danny eventually visits Dick and from then you can tell the story goes that way, it's sweet fluff with angst and Dick and Danny gets their happy ending.

[wordsinhaled]

just musing about how niko was one of edwin's biggest unconditional supporters and gentle guides in his self-discovery of his sexuality, and i think it's so interesting that we still never saw edwin confide in her overtly about his feelings for/attraction to charles, though he easily could have at any time.

before the cat king ever shapeshifts into monty or charles to tempt edwin to realization, niko's there to tell edwin that it's okay for two boys to like each other, to let him know it's okay if he noticed monty when they first met, or if he enjoyed the idea of monty liking him; and she plainly tells him that he's completely allowed to want explicit things with another boy.

they talk about edwin's feelings and desires multiple times - he admits to her he's never kissed anyone, and even that the idea of kissing has become appealing to him. she asks him, does he want to kiss monty? does he want to kiss the cat king? but she never asks him directly, does he want to kiss charles? charles is the elephant in the room of that conversation, so to speak; the only other boy they know, the one she knows edwin is actually closer with than anyone else.

but she doesn't ask edwin about charles.

i think it's actually one way niko shows her love and care for edwin, her perceptive understanding of his boundaries, and her respect for his comfort, that she never pushes him to open up to her about this most vulnerable and newly-developing aspect of his truth—that his feelings are for charles—who is already the most important person in his life, and thus so much more life-alteringly consequential to him. even though she hasn't known edwin a long time she seems to grasp that he needs both the push and the personal space to come to his deepest realizations, even as she opens the door for him to come to them.

(i did consider for a split-second that maybe she never realizes it's charles that edwin's in love with, but i vetoed that thought immediately because... edwin just seems too deeply unsubtle for that to ring true. monty can see he's been passed over for charles. the cat king knows it immediately and asks about their 'special friendship,' and not just because he can literally read edwin's desires. crystal is going through amnesia and an identity crisis, and she still clocks that edwin and charles are like a married couple. so it only makes sense that niko can see it as well.)

plus, niko's got excellent reading comprehension, by her own admission; and she and edwin bond over both being great, astute detectives—getting to the bottom of a case is a love they share. and so i just think it's neat that between niko and edwin, the conversation about charles seems to remain deliberately unspoken even when it could easily become overt.

instead she speaks to edwin about charles in metaphors. she starts their conversation about physical intimacy and romance specifically with drawing edwin's attention to the red and blue starfish. "isn't it romantic? they're in love." they proceed to talk about monty, and about the cat king, but i doubt either she or edwin could fail to notice the color symbolism there. and when edwin tries to get scientific about it, she reminds him, "luckily, love requires no logic." and finally she gives him the red sea glass, for courage. courage to help him come to terms with what—and whom—he really wants, whoever it could be.

and in the end... edwin tells niko, "i did actually tell the boy i like that i like him." this is directly after niko tells edwin she's sorry monty turned out to be an evil spy crow and she and edwin commiserate about how things with monty didn't work out for him. and obviously, it was never the cat king edwin really liked. so, just like that, through process of elimination, edwin can only be talking about charles. and even then, they never say his name. they never have to.

i just think there's something awfully soft about how edwin's feelings for charles are first so deeply ingrained and natural to him as to be something he had to be woken to rather than something that happened to him suddenly. then once he was awake to what he felt and wanted, there's something i find lovely about the deep bond niko has with him, that she understands and honors his need to speak around his feelings for charles while holding space for him to still share them with her in his way. something about how charles is so deeply loved that it is easily understood, that he is there in the conversation without his name ever needing to be spoken.

[deathbxnny]

Helloo!! Arcane is ending soon, so I was wondering if I could request the Arcane cast reacting to a reader who suspiciously seems to know everything that’s gonna happen in the plot? They always appear where the action is, and they warn about dangers before they happen, trying to ”subtly” change the outcomes of horrible events. Tragedies are a core element of the story, so I feel that the narrative would create another disaster if one event got prevented, but the thought of these characters being safe and happy after all they’ve been through would be so healing :3 It’s up to you which way you want to take it 🐁💖 I’m fine with both platonic and romantic, but I’d love to see Vi, Jinx and Caitlyn if that’s ok :)

I love love love your writing, reading your HC’s before bed has become an important part of my day and it’s always a joy to see your work pop up in the tags <3 Thank you for letting us read your creations 💖 I can’t wait to read the second part of your Caitlyn fic!!

The Timekeeper. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx x Gn!Reader

I absolutely LOVE this idea, Anon, and I appreciate your request so much!! Also, thank you for your kind words. It really means the world to me reading something so sweet!<33

Content: Angst, can be read as either platonic or romantic tbh, time traveling, fluff, bitter sweet, cursing, spoilers for season 2?, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

You were always a mysterious figure to them. One that appeared at the right time in the right place whenever they needed you the most.

You never revealed a thing about yourself. You never even told them your name. But one thing they did know was that you had always looked out for them, like a guardian angel in a way.

And on one fateful day, after another evaded tragedy, they finally caught up to you just before you could leave again.

》VI

"Who the hell are you?" She asked completely out of breath after having practically chased you down through the dense crowd of the undercity. She had seen you so many times before. So, so many times. And every time she did, you were somehow able to save her from certain death by subtly showing her the right way to survive.

It took her a while to piece together that you must've known the outcome of every situation she had ever been in beforehand. That was the only logical answer to the many questions around your existence she could come up with, but it wasn't enough to satiate her desperate curiosity. There were times she had chosen against your signs, and the consequences ended up being almost grave. So whoever you were, you must've had otherworldly knowledge about everything and everyone.

Because whilst she didn't know a thing about you, you certainly knew everything about her.

Raising your hooded head, you idly played with the pocket watch in your hand, piercing eyes meeting her own. "Does that matter?" You ask, and truthfully, it shouldn't. Who cared about your identity when she knew she could trust you? But that wasn't enough. "Yeah, it does to me. Now tell me who you are already. I... I've been seeing you everywhere for years now. You have always been there and I..." She trailed off, suddenly losing her confidence.

She had thought of this moment for years now, imagined exactly what she would say to you. And yet, ultimately, she found herself speechless in your presence that seemed to drown out everyone else around you two. "I see... but my apologies, we were not supposed to meet yet." You said calmly, seemingly undisturbed by her appearance. "Time and fate... they both are so tightly intertwined and yet also so far apart from each other... how odd that the timeline changed so suddenly again, no?" Your words made zero sense in her mind, but that just added to your mystery.

"What-" "-Are you happy with the way your life is going?" You ask, and that made the woman pause in thought. The answer was positive, of course, but only because you had a strong hand in it once she accepted your help. She thought of Powder back home, who was probably happily tinkering away with the young girl Isha they recently took in, and that made her finally nod. "Yes. All thanks to you." "Not at all. It was you who chose your fate. I only showed you the alternative paths."

You two stood there in silence for a moment before she shoved her hands into her pockets and looked over to a nearby bar she liked to frequent in-between missions. "Let's go grab a drink and talk. It's on me." Deciding to accept this new path the timelines had given you, you accept her invitation with a smile.

》JINX

"You're terrible at your job." "Am I? I like to pride myself in my good work ethic, actually." Jinx was idly swinging her gun back and forth on her index finger whilst she rested up in the ceiling above you, clearly having followed you around secretly. But she knew that you already knew that from the start.

Scoffing at your words, she jumped down and landed in front of your indifferent figure as she pointed the gun right at you. "Pah! You're a funny one... so what are you? A time traveler?" "Ah, I like the title Timekeeper more." You were aggravating but at the same time a familiar face she had grown to appreciate deeply. You were the reason she was doing well in life now, even if she ignored you for a very, very long time. She thought she knew better despite all the odds pointing against her, especially you. Ultimately, she learned her lesson when she finally just listened to you.

"Ugh... whatever. Can't ya at least tell me your name?" "No." "Man, you're such a pain in the butt!" "Likewise." Rolling her eyes, she lowered her gun and lazily leaned against a wall, arms crossed tightly as she observed the crowds passing by from outside the abandoned building you were in. An admittedly comfortable silence fell between you two, one that relaxed her shoulders and made her sigh in defeat after a while. Your presence was always so comforting.

"So, you let me catch up to you this time. Finally tired of the cat and mouse game we've been playing?" You lowered your head at her question, a sly smile on your face that made her narrow her eyes in interest. "Perhaps. Or maybe I just wanted to ask you how you're doing?" What an odd question, considering the context of your meet-up. And yet, it was somehow fitting coming from you specifically. Wasn't your whole mysterious mission revolving around her well-being anyway?

"Shouldn't you know the answer to that, oh so esteemed 'Timekeeper'?" You found no offense in the mockery of your title. Just pure amusement. "I'm afraid that mind reading was not in the initial job listing." Jinx took a moment to think about your question carefully then, deciding to indulge you despite her better judgment. Things were good now, after all. She, Isha, and Vi were together again as a family, including Vander, even if they had yet to find a way to turn him back properly. But everything was happy otherwise... because you made sure that the end to her story wouldn't be a painfully tragic one.

"... I'm fine. Everything's fine." She muttered, and your smile widened at that answer. "So... I'm not terrible at my job, after all?" Pressing a playful hand to her chin, Jinx acted as though she was in deep thought. "Hmmm... I guess I'll need more convincing than all of this to decide." "Of course... then how about we start with running away before the Enforcers show up to raid this place in approximately... 2 minutes?"

Jinx rolled her eyes again with a grin but agreed to follow you, very much glad to have learned her lesson at your side throughout the years.

》CAITLYN

She was ignorant towards your judgment from the start, especially as she was able to analyze very quickly that you weren't all you claimed you were. You were too smart, too fast, too aware of everything. It was clear that you already knew how her life story especially would come to an end. But that didn't mean that she'd always listen to you.

Caitlyn believed to know better, even going as far as to protest against your word, which she had learned to be fate itself. And sometimes she'd nearly get away with her life, and on others, you'd be the one to show up just in time to save her. It was embarrassing and at times even near humiliating, but you never judged her, just silently left every time she attempted to confront you.

And this time she had finally succeeded.

Now dressed in a formal uniform, she watched your still form stare out of a window in her estate, as though you weren't practically trespassing. But Caitlyn was used to that. "It's going to rain soon. I wonder if the construction workers will get done with the restoration on time today before the first drops fall." The navy haired woman came to stand next to you, ears finely tuned to your calming voice she had heard in her dreams and mind for so many years. It felt surreal to stand next to you at last.

"You already know the answer... but I think Mother will send out guards soon to retrieve them." Her mother, who had only narrowly escaped her death, if it wasn't for you. She had only gotten a little injured from falling debris, but that was all that happened. All of the councilors and people in the building had survived the Jinx attack. No grave injuries. All because you prevented it by throwing Jinx slightly off balance enough to make her shot not as precise.

"... Thank you." "For what?" The right answer would be absolutely everything, but she refrained, noting that you didn't seem keen on praise. You saw it as your job. As your duty to her for a reason unknown. "For saving my mother." That should do.

You nodded at her words in acknowledgment as your eyes spied Ambessa retreating with her troops in defeat. They were practicing chased away by the council since their help was unwelcome. Served them right for meddling with the business of other nations. You had exposed their ulterior motives in secret, and that's all it took for the tide to turn against them. "Just my duty." "I knew you'd say that... but I want to reward you for all you've done. If it wasn't for you... then I... I don't want to know what I would have become."

You glanced at her with an unreadable look in your eye, and that reconfirmed her suspicions regarding how deep she would have fallen otherwise. It's best not to think of it.

Humming to yourself in thought, you gave her a small smile. "Very well, if you insist... you can treat me to some fine tea and cookies." Caitlyn weakly mirrored your grin, relief filling her senses at you accepting her offer. She was worried you wouldn't. "Of course. Follow me." Linking your arms together carefully, you made your way through the dim halls.

A chuckle left your lips when it indeed began to rain.

[sectumsempraaa]

Luck & Stardust

Pairing: they’re all in love with you 🤭 x fem!reader (not house-specific)

Featuring: Draco, Theo, Mattheo, Lorenzo

Word count: 2.4k

Based on this request! Thank you :)

TW: none lol welcome to fluff city

Summary: With February 14th quickly approaching, the Slytherin boys fight for your affection in pursuit of being crowned your valentine. Some attempts are better than others, but only one can be the best… and it’s one that you never saw coming.

“Don’t even think about it, Diggory.” Theo snaps, giving the Hufflepuff a look of utter doom.

With Valentine’s Day right around the corner, your favorite group of Slytherins have taken it upon themselves to act as your own personal Queen’s Guard.

Many of the Hogwarts boys are scrambling to make you their valentine, each attempt failing as miserably as the last, not unlike this one. The boys can’t fathom sharing you, and they won’t. It’s them, or no one. Cedric silently backs away with his hands raised in surrender.

Mattheo’s got his eyes buried in a book, keeping his stare down as the next suitor approaches you from behind. His voice is threatening enough, there’s no need for him to make eye contact.

“I wouldn’t, McLaggen, if you’d like to keep your neck straight.” Mattheo says, lethally monotone. Cormac scoffs and opens his mouth to retaliate, but not before Mattheo can interrupt him.

“Neck. Straight.” He spits, absent-mindedly making a fist with his right hand. It’s safe to say McLaggen got the message. Theo and Mattheo share a look, shaking their heads in annoyance.

“Oh for fucks sake.” Draco groans, standing from his position to size up one of the Weasley brothers headed your way. “Try and see how quick I’ll make Fred an only-twin.”

“I am Fred, you filthy snake.” He replies, an uncommon bitterness in his voice. His retort admittedly makes you laugh, no one is usually brave enough to fight back. Draco notices your reaction, a muscle flinching in his jaw.

“I care less about your identity than I do about the slugs you’ll be coughing up if you even entertain the idea of asking her.” Draco says, the tension reaching a high.

They stare at each other for a long moment, performing the standoff of a lifetime. You decide it’s time to interfere.

“Sorry, Fred. Maybe next year?” You say apologetically, giving the boy a sympathetic look.

“Over my dead body.” Draco mutters.

When Fred walks away, you glare at each of the boys, rolling your eyes in irritation. “You know, this is why we don’t get invited to things.”

“The missing out is worth knowing you won’t end up with a bloody Gryffindor.” Draco grunts, his eyebrows furrowed and mouth in a scowl. Theo chimes in, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“Sorry, amore. This is what happens when you’re under our wing.” He laughs, placing a dramatic kiss on the top of your head. Lorenzo nearly spits out his tea, giving the boys a baffled expression.

“You lot are mental if you think we’re not the ones under her wing.” He exclaims, nudging your arm with his. Theo argues with him, listing off all the instances where they’ve protected you.

“I’m gonna stop you right there, mate. You’re literally wearing a bracelet, that you made because she asked you to, with her name on it.” Lorenzo gives Theo a smug smile and laughs to himself.

You shrug to Theo and stand up to leave, taking your bag with you. Mattheo grabs it from you, always being the one to carry your things. You don’t even think about it anymore, it’s just what he does.

Draco walks you to your next class, stopping you at the doorway and turning to you with a defeated look. You already know what’s bothering him.

“You’ll survive.”

“I can’t stop them when I’m in another room.” He grumbles, glaring at the handful of boys entering the classroom. You take his face in your hands, directing his gaze to yours.

“It will take a lot more than a couple of heart-eyes to be my valentine.” You assure him, pinching his cheek before pushing past him into the classroom.

“Oh, if you only knew what’s coming,” he starts, his words dragging on with satisfaction. You whip your head around in suspicion.

“What’d you say?” you ask.

“Oh nothing, love. Go on.” He sends you off with a small wave and a smirk that tells you trouble is coming.

—

The day has finally arrived and you have long since forgotten Draco’s little quip from that day before class.

You’re all dressed up, your hair styled your favorite way, a glow emitting from your face. You clasp a heart-shaped necklace around your neck, laying it gently on your chest.

Upon entering the Great Hall, you’re immediately swarmed with dozens of boys holding cards and candy, yelling and reaching out to you in desperation. Your eyes widen with panic, your feet staying frozen in place from shock, your books fall to the floor, mixing in with other lost belongings.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Mattheo shoving through the small crowd, pulling you into him when he finally gets to you. The rest of the boys go utterly silent at his intimidating presence.

“Go.” A single word, yet you’ve never heard him so threatening before, a look like hell in his stare. His arm snakes around your waist, your heart still coming down from the sudden attention.

Neville throws you a small smile and a subtle wave as he picks up his blue quill and his wand, before he disbands with the rest of the group.

Mattheo turns to you, the bitter glare melting into a nurturing gaze. “I’ll really do it.” he says, you have a feeling you know what he’s implying.

“I don’t doubt that.” You smile up at him, grabbing his hand and letting him lead you to the Slytherin table where Theo, Draco, and Lorenzo have taken place already. They give you your space, creating a seat for you between Draco and Theo.

You look down to the table to discover all your favorite breakfast foods laid out before you, a tiny gasp escaping your mouth. The surprise comes to you pleasantly after the overwhelming ambush. A blushing Theo presents you with a cup of steaming liquid.

“Your favorite meal, and your favorite drink.” He murmurs, carefully placing it in front of you.

“You’re kidding. The coffee we had in Rome?” You asked, your voice coated in disbelief, your eyes still running over every pastry and fruit before you.

“Had it delivered here just for you, bella. And maybe I bribed the house elves to make your breakfast extra special.” He brags. Before you take a bite of your danish, you plant a long, dramatic kiss on his cheek.

“Buon San Valentino, cara mia.” He whispers near your ear, taking in the grin of joy on your face. The other boys start scoffing, making disgusted faces and pretending to be sick as they dig into the treats.

“Let me get this straight- you’re asking our beloved and most precious Y/N to be your valentine by making her scrambled eggs?” Lorenzo jokes, shaking his head in disbelief. Draco’s laugh chimes in, earning a grimace from Theo in return.

“Grazie, love. You’re the best.” You hum, finishing your meal and getting up to leave, Mattheo once again carrying your belongings. You run a hand through Theo’s hair, bidding him a gracious goodbye.

—

“Who on Merlin’s sacred earth…” a student’s voice echoes behind you as you take in the spectacle.

“The only one who can afford it.” You respond, your voice full of knowing and awe. One minute you were in the hallway, sending Seamus Finnigan away with another valentine rejection.

The next, you were in your common room, every inch of which was adorned with white violets, yours and Draco’s mutual favorite flower.

You feel a presence behind you, a pair of arms wrap around your torso, pulling your back against him.

“Draco, how?” you turn your head up at him to ask, his grip on you tightening until you’re snug against his chest.

“I’d make anything happen for you. It doesn’t matter how. Happy Valentine’s, you perfect pretty thing.” He squeezes you extra hard, earning a bout of laughter from you. The satisfaction on his face is evident by a warm expression.

“I think they make me look rather ravishing,” Lorenzo appears, a handful of the white violets tucked into his hair. Draco sighs in frustration, the moment tarnished by his friend. “It’s too bad they’ll all be dead in two days.”

You release yourself from Draco’s hold, his eyes filled with anger and defeat. He takes an aggressive stride towards Lorenzo, teeth gritted.

“Good, I can bury them with you seeing as you’ll be sharing an expiration date.” Draco retorts.

“You think she’s gonna fall into your arms because of some bloody plants?” Lorenzo mocks.

You let the two boys fight it out, throwing empty threats and cheap insults at each other. In the meantime, you sit on the couch, braiding some flower crowns for you and your friends.

When you brought one to Professor Sprout after lunch, it made her entire day.

—

Later, your group is sitting in the courtyard enjoying a rare sunny winter day. The heat gives you chills, your skin basking in every second of sunlight.

The boys sit around you in a circle, facing you while sharing gossip on the day’s blossoming couples. Your ears pick up their conversation.

“Yeah, well not everyone wants a damn teddy bear, Theo. It’s not very original.” Mattheo snickers. You find it quite adorable, the sound of them arguing over what makes a sentimental gift.

“Original, hmm. You mean like this?” Lorenzo straightens up while handing you a gift-wrapped box. “Open it, baby.”

Lorenzo may be sweet, but he loves to cross the line, purely for the personal fulfillment of bothering the others. The nickname earns him an immediate smack on the back of his head from Draco, but he only laughs at the blow.

You open the gift wrap to reveal a moving picture frame, the first photo taken a couple summers ago when he was carrying you on his back into the lake by his family’s estate. The way your head is thrown back, and the way his cheeks are marked with sunburn takes you back to a happy time.

You hear an envious whisper come from behind you, no doubt belonging to Theo. “Fuck, that’s a good idea.”

Draco leans his head over your shoulder, giving him a better vantage point. Then, the photos begin to cycle through a gallery of… well, mostly just Lorenzo.

“How are you this thick, Enz? These are just pictures of your putrid face,” Draco jabs, causing Mattheo to grab hold of the frame. He literally falls over laughing, his hands covering his face.

You turn to Lorenzo, a slight embarrassment hinted in his eyes, but proud, nonetheless. “I will treasure this forever. It really screams… you.” You joke, brushing a thumb over his cheek and giving his arm a squeeze, appreciating the attempt.

He mumbles to himself, swatting at Mattheo. “Foul gits.”

The frame later finds a spot on your bookshelf. You meant what you said.

—

After dinner that evening, Mattheo leads the group out to the pitch bleachers and sits behind you, placing a leg on either side of you. He wraps his robe around you, keeping you warm in the February night, leaning your back on his chest.

A sudden gust of wind blows, knocking over your book bag. Draco scrambles for your stuff, stowing the items away.

A stray piece of crumpled parchment lands next to you, your hand grasping and smoothing it out before it can fly off.

Just as your eyes read the words, an eruption of light explodes in the sky, the colorful shards falling gracefully down. The next few are heart-shaped, reds and pinks illuminating the clouds.

“Are you a firework? Because you make my heart burst.” Mattheo says playfully, nudging his head into the crook of your neck. You scoff at the lame joke, shaking your head.

“You’re the worst and I love you for it.” You poke fun at him before planting a kiss on his temple. “This is really gorgeous, Mattheo. If only my valentine were here to see it.”

“Yeah. Wait, what?!” He exclaims, surprise etched on his every feature.

The others quickly look to you for direction as you beckon them closer. “Look,” you say.

You unfold the piece of paper you found before. “I think my books got mixed with someone else’s when I was flocked this morning.”

Lorenzo grabs the paper, then Draco. He stands up and reads it to himself, his face filled with jealousy and resentment. “It’s got her bloody initials on it.” He states before passing it around, each one reading the passage to themselves:

your heart is cosmic fire

wicked stardust

and I am but pieces of you

“It’s… poetry.” Theo remarks, earning a questioning look from the others, like they’ve never heard of it before. “Romantic poetry. From who?”

“Which one of you did this?!” Mattheo yells, giving each boy dagger eyes.

“It was me, Y/N.” Theo admits, followed by a brief and tense moment of silence.

“With no due respect Nott, you couldn’t even write your own name this nice.” Draco drags. “The handwriting is nearly better than my mum’s. Weird though, quill ink is usually black. This one is blue.”

And then it hits you. The Great Hall. The books on the floor. Everyone’s things getting mixed up from the crowd crush. Mattheo’s rescue, the blue quill, and that soft, endearing glance from…

“Longbottom.” You whisper. The name rolls off your lips, bringing you arguably the biggest smile you’ve worn today. The thing is, the boys know you’re right. Neville the sensitive, Neville the sweet.

“Well that’s just diabolical.” Lorenzo sneers, the group huffing and puffing in defeat.

You read the words again and again, every word imprinting in your memory. He probably didn’t mean for this to get in your hands. In fact, he’s probably off somewhere right now frantically worrying that you found it.

So you won’t tell him. Neville: the unwitting valentine.

You fold the paper up, storing it in your pocket. One by one, you pull each of the boy’s arms towards you, creating a huddle in the bitter cold. Their body heat keeps you warm, their heads all resting on your shoulders and lap.

“I love you guys.” You say, meaning each word as you all continue to watch the fireworks above you. Their collective bitterness was quickly replaced by the desire to be near you.

“And we are very lucky to be loved by you, Y/N.” Draco professes.

As you watch the colorful display, the best memories you have with the boys start to play like a film reel in your head.

All the brawls they’ve gotten in for you, all the times you rescued them from detention, all the pranks you’ve pulled on each other and the countless times they fought over who would marry you… and all the times they promised to keep you safe.

The glow of the fireworks reflects on their faces, unknowing of your loving gaze on each of them. You repeat the sentiment to yourself, the altered phrase hitting closer to home this time.

and I am but pieces of them.

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍