#his papa bear senses be tingling

[apomaro-mellow]

Family Planning 2

Part 1

When he got home that evening, he called both Tommy and Carol to let them know he wouldn’t be able to pick them up the next morning. All in service to the big reveal tomorrow. The fake stomach had been smuggled out of the theatre department and only now did Steve take it out, alone in his room.

He put it on with surprising ease and looked himself over in the mirror, snickering to himself. Then he put a shirt over it and widened his eyes at how realistic it looked. His arms slowly wound around to cradle his stomach. He let himself imagine that it was actually his, that it was actually his and Eddie’s. 

“Yeah right”, Steve scoffed, like he was trying to convince himself as he took it off. 

The next day, Steve was having breakfast with his parents when he heard someone pull up to the driveway. Not just someone. It could only be-

“Who is that?”, Steve’s father Richard frowned at the van out front.

“That’s my Home Ec partner. Gotta run!” He gobbled the rest of his cereal, put his bowl in the sink, kissed his mother’s cheek and then ran out the door. Once he got in the passenger side, Eddie took off, not even waiting for him to have his seatbelt on.

“Jesus, why are you in such a rush? Is that anyway to treat someone who’s expecting?”

“Sorry, just excited”, Eddie said, putting the pedal to the metal.

Steve could understand. He was kind of feeling a buzz too, but he wasn’t about to admit it. On the way to school, he worked on slipping the fake belly over his real one. 

Eddie wasn’t exactly a virgin. He’d messed around a couple of times before. But even so, seeing Steve’s bare torso, his belly button and happy trail, he kept from swerving only just because he was turning anyway. He kept his eyes on the road, resolute, after that. What a stupid way to die, ogling a guy who’d never given you the time of day. Because of his focus, he didn’t get to see Steve’s new look until he parked.

It looked so…natural. He swallowed, eyes moving slowly up his body to meet the omega’s. 

“Are you ready?”, Steve asked.

Eddie grinned. “It’s showtime.” He got out first and then went over to Steve’s side, clearing his throat before he spoke. “Watch your step, baby.”

Steve’s ears burned at the pet name. They had made this grand plan, pretending to be expecting parents. But he hadn’t really visualized what that would look like in practice besides the dropped jaws of their peers. Eddie held his hand out to help Steve out of the van, all part of the show. And when he finally stepped out all the way it was like he could hear the hush come over the parking lot.

Everyone who caught sight of them was trying to do the mental gymnastics to make sense of what they were seeing. Eddie snickered as he put an arm around Steve’s shoulders, enjoying the spectacle. They walked passed a few cars before getting to Tommy’s truck, where he and Carol were leaning against the bumper.

“What the hell am I looking at?”, Carol said, eyes bugging out of her head.

“This has gotta be some kind of joke”, Tommy glared in confusion.

And even though Steve was their friend, their befuddlement kept them from approaching. As it did to others. Everyone just stared on. Only a few knew that they’d been paired for the Home Ec project. Plenty knew about the lunchroom incident but didn’t exactly know how Steve was involved. Eddie walked Steve to his locker and only then did he take his arm off his shoulders.

“Time for Papa Bear to bring home the bacon. Don’t miss me too much.” He bent over to kiss Steve’s false belly and then skipped off. For all his bravado, there was a part of him that was nervous that Steve might think he went too far. Best to get out of whopping distance in that case.

No one had ever kissed his stomach before. But then again, Steve supposed no one had a reason to. Even though he hadn’t really felt it, the place Eddie kissed tingled all the same. He quickly checked himself before going off to class. It wasn’t like he liked the man. They’d barely spoken to one another. Maybe he was a little easy on the eyes, nice hair anyway. But the man’s fashion sense left a lot to be desired.

Steve’s thoughts were cut off when his homeroom teacher choked at the sight of him. Everyone else in the room stopped talking. Steve entered with his head held high but for a moment he wondered if this was how it would be if he actually got knocked up. How long would it have taken him to show? Would people stare this much? He vaguely recalled a girl last year who got pregnant. Of course, she dropped out and Steve had no idea what became of her until he happened to see her at the grocery store, carting a pup along.

She seemed content. Although he now realized he had no idea what happened to the person who sired her pup or who they even were. The double standards had always been apparent to Steve but even more so now that he was stepping into that role.

At some point during class, he started resting his hand on his stomach. It just felt natural. And then he began to rub it. It wasn’t hard to imagine it was all for real. It was just hard to wrap his head around having a baby himself. Steve had never gone steady with anyone. What kind of alpha would he eventually be with?

The thoughts ran through his mind for the remainder of homeroom, when Eddie showed up to come and ‘pick him up’. 

“Did my two darlings miss me?”

“It wasn’t even half an hour”, Steve rolled his eyes. He was aware that Eddie didn’t attend his own homeroom because that was usually when he went out to the abandoned picnic area to sell his party favors. Bring home the bacon, indeed.

Eddie escorted him to his next period, which he shared with Carol and Tommy. Of course, they were already there and before the period officially started, they grabbed Steve and made an exit. Loitering in the halls when they should be in class wasn’t out of the ordinary, especially for a teacher that droned like Mr. Parsons, but he could tell this wouldn’t be their usual hang out session.

“What’s the deal with that?”, Carol cut right to the chase, pointing at his torso.

The hallway was empty, everyone either in class or loitering elsewhere. Steve just shrugged while smiling. He knew jokes like this weren’t their thing, which is why he didn’t bring it up before the reveal. They were more into the kind that were at other’s expense.

“It’s just a gag. And a way to not fail Home Ec this year.”

“Did Munson put you up to this?”, Tommy crossed his arms.

“He came up with the idea but clearly I had nothing against it.”

Carol’s face was green. “You look ridiculous. What if people actually think you’re pregnant?”

“Then they’d be stupid”, Steve said. No one went from flat stomach to showing in a day. It was such a change that his shirt almost didn’t fit him.

Tommy shook his head. “You had like, one detention with him and he’s got you all flipped around, doing his bidding.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “It’s not like that. And it won’t even be that long. We’ve got a plan.”

The rest of the day went by with the same gawking and staring that had begun in the morning, especially when Eddie sat at Steve’s table during lunch. If looks could kill, he would have been double dead by the way Carol and Tommy were glaring. Steve paid their attitudes no mind and treated it as if Eddie always sat there.

At the end of the day, Eddie took Steve home and he took the belly off on the drive back. They looked at each other, rather pleased with themselves.

“I can’t believe the looks on all their faces”, Eddie beamed.

“I think some of those jaws are still on the floor”, Steve said.

“Ready for the big climax tomorrow?”

Steve took a breath. “As I’ll ever be. Think this’ll actually get us back on track for the assignment?”

“That or we get suspended. But! Engels won’t wanna deal with me for a whole other year and you’ve got the untouchable quality of being on a sports team, so they’ll probably let us off with an essay.”

“God, I hate essays”, Steve rubbed his face. “Why makes us write five hundred words when I can say it in like 12?”

“You think five hundred words is a lot? That’s adorable.”

Steve scowled at him and Eddie gave a very dramatic wince. To the point where he fell back against the driver side door with his hand to his heart.

“There it is! The Royal Evil Eye!”

“Shut the hell up”, Steve scoffed.

“If it makes you feel any better about our situation, I don’t mind helping you with that essay. We’ll probably be spending many afternoons in detention after tomorrow.”

Steve didn’t know when the prospect of such a punishment didn’t seem like such a drag anymore. With Eddie around at least it wouldn’t be boring.

“It’s the least you can do”, Steve said as he opened the door. “If you’re gonna be my alpha, take responsibility.”

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

The next day started the same but this time, both Eddie and Steve were a little nervous. Yesterday was like a pre-show compared to what would go down today. They had Home Ec today and if their teacher hadn’t heard about Steve’s new predicament, she’d find out the moment they walked in.

Steve skipped homeroom that morning, going with Eddie into the theatre department where one of Eddie’s friends, Gareth, was helping them with this final stunt.

“Okay, are you guys really sure you wanna do this?”

“Just tell me you got it rigged to max pressure”, Eddie said.

“Dude, the whole classroom is going to be a splash zone”, Gareth assured him.

“How do you know how to do all this?”, Steve asked.

“You know those guys who do effects in horror movies? That’s gonna be me one day.”

The period for Home Ec came and Ms. Engels’ eyes got wide watching Eddie walk in with his arm around Steve’s waist. There were snickers coming from the other students as it was clear she had NOT heard that they had a bundle on the way. 

“Just what do you two think you’re doing?”

“By my watch, I’d say arriving to class a full minute early”, Eddie said just as the bell rang. “Oh, mine must be a little fast.”

“You were told to show that you can handle the responsibility of parenthood”, she began to scold as they took their seats, this time right next to each other.

“What’s more responsible than this”, Steve said. “I’m all ready to become a mother.”

She glowered. “Teen pregnancy is a serious issue.”

“Then why don’t we learn anything useful?”, Eddie challenged. “All this school has taught us is ‘don’t have sex, oh but in case you do, here’s a bag of flour’. How does a bag of flour teach us anything about babies?”

“I’m calling the principal”, Ms. Engels said, going to the phone on the wall. “Detention will be the least of your worries.”

Eddie stood up. “Careful, you don’t want to put stress on my Stevie. He’s due any minute now.”

“Principal Woolsley, the Munson boy is at it again. I need you in my room this instant.”

“I’m warning you”, Eddie said.

“Are you threatening a teacher!?”

“Eddie!”, Steve gasped. “That baby’s coming!”

“Oh you’ve done it now Engels!”, Eddie shook a finger at her and then helped Steve to stand up like he was actually going through labor.

The rest of the class watched on, engaged in the spectacle. Eddie went right over to Ms. Engels’ desk and in one sweep, brushed everything off her desk and onto the floor. There were gasps and shrieks and guffaws and Eddie lived for it as he brought Steve over to lay on top of it.

“Okay, honey here we go. Just breathe and push with me.”

“This is completely unacceptable!”

“And push!”

Steve’s face only showed glee as he pretended to push the baby out, waiting for Eddie’s cue. He really was some kind of showman, hamming it up for his audience. He waited for the tension in the room to rise before he went around to Steve’s front, peering between his clothed legs.

“I think I see a head! It’s time to really push!”

A few heads craned like they’d actually be able to see a pup crowning when Steve was still wearing his jeans. It was the suspense of whether or not something, anything would come out. Eddie went back to Steve’s side and held his hand, grounding him. Steve took a breath and they let Gareth’s work explode.

Right into Mr. Woolsley’s face.

The tomato sauce was pretty thick, filled with chunks that would’ve been a pretty good stand in for viscera. But even through it all, they could see the man’s red face. His voice was scarily even as he spoke.

“I’m calling your parents.”

Part 3

Tag Team

@marklee-blackmore @aol19

[thelampisaflashlight]

Lamb

[I decided to write something about my first proper ghoul OC, Lamb, because I missed them. Aether has to deal with them, because somebody needs to be responsible for this little dweeb.] Below the cut.

Too many hours are spent inverting the corners of their room.

Manipulating the shadows with their fever addled mind, the headache too strong to bear the faintest thread of light.

They breathe, but it is shallow.

Their chest does not seem to move.

They can hear people talking.

They call their coming death a tragedy.

Others call it a waste.

And the voice whispering to them from down below calls it...

A chance.

An oppurtunity.

A lady in black, with long gray hair tied in a bun so tight they can almost feel the bull of it on their own scalp, appears beside their bed one night.

She does not come alone.

She is shadowed by towering figures, their faces obscured by masks that shimmer in the lowlight cast by the single bulb left on in the hallway.

It hurts to look at them.

At the light.

The woman speaks, but the words mean little to them, still they listen.

They listen until their ears ring.

Unpleasant and grating.

Louder and louder as the figures raise them from their bed.

There is a gentleness in the way they cradle their frail body.

Like they're naught but a little bird.

All fragile bones, easily broken.

Already broken.

They take them downstairs, past more people in black.

Someone cries.

Voice raw with grief.

And it's strange.

So strange.

How little guilt they feel.

How something akin to anger makes their heart beat stronger for just a moment hearing that sound.

But they're too far gone to feel bitter.

From there, things get hazier still.

They're carried out and away, into the night.

They get the sense that they are dying.

Perhaps that they are already dead.

But their body finds no grave, no cold earth to soothe the ache in their skull, or the fire consuming their insides.

Instead they taken on foot to a place where the moon shines, blinding overhead.

The woman speaks again, something low, almost inaudible.

Promises their body will be made anew.

That the pain, the burn, will be gone soon.

And they laugh.

They laugh.

And laugh.

And laugh.

Like it's the funniest thing they've ever heard.

Until all that comes out is the harsh rattle of death.

.

.

.

Lamb has lived in the abbey for nine years now and still has no idea what they're supposed to be doing.

Every day, they just go with the flow, and somehow.

Somehow.

They manage to work diligently.

They do their best, whether it's ironing uniforms with a bunch of siblings, cleaning the floors, or listening to Papa complain that no one takes him seriously.

The latter is less a job and more...

"Are you listening, Agnello?"

Speak of the devil.

"Certo, Papa, I am listening." Lamb lies, picking at their nails.

Papa sighs and leans back in his chair, "Since it's important, I'll repeat myself just this once; I need you to retrieve some paperwork from the den for me."

Lamb tilts their head, "Ehh? Papa, your den is only a room away. Can you not get it yourself?"

"No, no, not my den, the den." He clarifies, sitting up and pointing down at the ground, "I need you to-"

Lamb gives a croak of distrust, narrowing their eyes at the older man.

"Agnello." Papa speaks sternly, "You cannot avoid that place forever."

"I do not like it." Lamb grimaces, "Stinks of ghouls."

"Agnello, you are a ghoul."

"Does a dog need to like other dogs to be a dog?" Lamb counters, "They're scary!"

"They're very docile I assure you." Papa soothes, leaning across hid desk to pat them on the head, "Regardless, I need that paperwork by the end of the day."

"Fiddle-faddle..."

"Off you go now." he shoos them, "Go, go."

Lamb croaks at him irritably, but heads for the door anyway, lingering in the frame long enough to pout.

"Agnello."

"Going."

"Good."

Lamb isn't fond of the other ghouls, it's nothing personal, they just...

It's hard to explain.

There's this... itch.

A tingling sensation that runs the length of their spine when other ghouls are near, their presence never fails to set them on high alert, and to be honest Lamb isn't really sure why.

Perhaps it's because they're more used to being around the siblings, living among the human clergy like a dog among sheep.

That was... that is, they think, perhaps part of why they were made to begin with.

Even if they don't understand, even if they don't remember, they know enough to know that the people here, within these walls, are meant to be looked after.

Cared for.

Protected.

From what, Lamb isn't sure.

But they do many things without knowing the reason why.

It's kind of silly though, them thinking they could protect anyone from the monsters in the basement.

Small and meek as they are.

Lamb isn't exactly large and intimidating, everything about them is soft, there are no edges or hard lines to their form, even their horns are blunted and tiny.

As they reach the stairwell to the basement, Lamb pokes their head 'round the corner, peeking into the darkness to see if there's anything stirring down below.

Squeaking when a figure passes by the landing.

"...Fiddle-faddle."

.

.

.

Aether isn't sure what to make of the impish creature peering down at him from the top of the stairs, whether he should be concerned by its presence or not.

"...Fiddle-faddle."

Fiddle-faddle?

"What?"

A hiss.

The creature retreats slightly.

"...Hi?" Aether raises his hand, giving a small wave, "Hi, what are you doing?"

No response, just black eyes staring down at him from around the corner.

Aether might be a demon from Hell, but whatever is skulking on the landing is...

It's something for sure.

"What are you doing?" he asks again, chuckling nervously, "...What the fuck..."

The creature lowers itself down on all fours and places its hand -a surprisingly ordinary hand, the nails don't even look sharp- on the first step.

"Uhh..."

Getting a better look at the creature, it's definitely another ghoul, but not one Aether recognizes, which... which isn't impossible, but it's strange that he hasn't seen this one before.

"Do you... do you need something?" he tries, but, again, the other ghoul remains silent, trying to descend the stairs on all fours for reasons Aether cannot fathom.

The motion is... strange, awkward even, and kind of reminds him of how Rain will occasionally run up the stairs like that, but coming down this way makes little sense and seems dangerous.

Aether watches the ghoul creep down the stairs, dumbstruck.

When the ghoul reaches the bottom of the stairs, it skirts around him, sticking towards the wall, ignoring him as it searches for... something.

"Whatcha lookin' for? Can I help you??" he questions, following the ghoul as it sniffs about, pausing at the door to the common room, standing now to its full height, which is...

Fucking tiny.

This ghoul is barely taller than Aurora, and looks like they'd snap in half if Aether sneezed in their direction.

As they reach for the door knob, Aether grabs the handle first, stopping their encroachment.

"I can't let you in there." he says, "Until you tell me why you're down here."

The ghoul looks up at him, eyes wide.

Aether can't help but shiver, seeing his own reflection staring back at him from the inky blackness.

"...Papers." the ghoul replies finally, "...Papa left them down here."

"Papers? What kind of papers?"

"Work ones. I don't know, he just said they were important, okay?" they state impatiently.

"You're being kind of rude right now." Aether states, placing his freehand on his hip like a disappointed mother might, "First of all, who are you, and why are you down here?"

The ghoul balls up their little fists and bumps them together, pursing their lips, seeming to weigh their options.

It would be endearing if Aether weren't dubious of the ghoul's intentions right now.

"Lamb."

"Lamb?"

"Lamb."

"Okay, Lamb." Aether says, "Why are you down here?"

"Papa said-"

Honestly, when Aether asked, he was expecting a simple response, maybe for the ghoul to repeat what they said previously about needing to grab forgotten paperwork, but instead...

"So he said-"

Instead...

"And then-"

Aether pinches the bridge of his nose, "Okay, okay, I get the idea."

This ghoul, this ghoul can talk.

So much.

"So Copia sent you down here instead of coming down here himself, because...?"

"...Who the heck is Copia? Papa sent me. Papa."

"Copia is..." Aether furrows his brow, "...Copia is Papa's name. How... How do you not know that?"

"He has two names??"

"Oh my god..."

[pixlokita]

Nightmare Animatronics: *burst through the door*

Gregory: Run, I'll hold them off!

Glammike: * wakes up with father senses tingling* LEAVE MY SON ALONE

Evan: I'm sorry, your what?!

Michael: I’ve decided to adopt you, superstar

Gregory:-still unaware he’s actually Freddy- -holding a bat to defend himself- IS THIS PART OF THE NIGHTMARE

[ohtobealady]

Could you write cobert and number 1? Your cobert stories are so so lovely

Thank you, dear Anon! I hope there’s something about this one that you like. A wee bit of fluff for you :)

#1 - Things You Said at 1 am

He wasn’t sure that they’d ever done this before. Of course he’d been in Cora’s bed with some regularity since February, but here they were in June and Robert wasn’t sure if they’d ever just lay in the same bed, simply trying to sleep.

Robert stared up at the dark ceiling of his sister’s house and endeavored to relax. He knew that Cora, mere inches away, was also wide awake similarly peering around her. He could not make her out easily in his periphery for there was no fire. It was much too warm. Instead, the curtains were drawn open and milky rays of the moon seeped into the room through the open window. The street lamps below had been lit, and their sputtering gas flames illuminated little orbs of an amber glow that did not quite reach the bed, just merely touched the floor around them. Of course, even if the sun was shining down upon her, Robert would not be able to make out the form of his wife, for he kept his eyes trained upon anything but her.

He drew in a deep breath, and exhaled through his nose.

Naturally they had been the ones selected to stay at Rosamund’s. Why it had been Robert and Cora who had been relegated from Grantham House to Rosamund’s was hardly a mystery. Rosamund and Susan did not get along, and of course Susan and Shrimpy were not staying at Flintshire Place because Susan did not get along with her mother-in-law. Rosamund would not have James and Emma in her house, so, consequently, they too had little choice but to stay at Grantham House. Papa had also welcomed Lord and Lady Falmouth and their daughter, Lady Margaret - though why they weren’t staying in their own London residence was never mentioned. And lastly - and most predominantly - it was by design. After all, everyone in his family was determined to make his life much more difficult than need be. Mama and Rosamund, especially, had been contriving ways in which to force he and Cora together, even when they knew of the awkwardness between them.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Rosamund had lied when she had mentioned the arrangements. “But of course, I know you don’t.” She’d laughed in that way that made her eyes smile mischievously, the blues of them all twinkling as her elvish features curled upward.

No. Any other newly married couple perhaps would not mind. But he and Cora were different. There was still that strange formal politeness between them, a forced politeness, as if that was the easiest common ground for both to stand on. Oh, they both knew it was a front, a facade, but it was much easier than the alternative: the truth. And the truth was that he didn’t know how he should behave around her. And he wasn’t sure if she knew exactly how to behave around him.

Robert must have sighed, for he noticed Cora’s head fall toward him. He could sense her eyes upon him in the dim light, searching his face. So, hesitantly, he moved his face to meet hers.

They looked at one another for a moment, and then Cora softened her expression.

“I suppose neither of us can sleep?”

Her voice was quiet. Robert detected a small effort in it.

“No,” he returned her softened expression. He looked back at the ceiling and brought a hand to his head. “And no small wonder.”

He sensed her looking back at the ceiling, too, mirroring him. 

And then it was uncomfortable. 

He shouldn’t have said that. He let his hand fall down heavily to the mattress and he moved his jaw in irritation with himself. He turned over questions to ask her or things to say to her, for they couldn’t leave it like that. No small wonder. Why, that could be taken any number of ways. He didn’t want her to believe he didn’t wish to share a bed with her. Honestly, it would have perhaps been even more strange purposefully sleeping apart with the house so full. And then, finally, he landed on something.

“The bed is rather small.” He turned his head back to her, and her to him. Her expression appeared ... deflated?

Oh, wrong again. More amendments. He shuffled down into the bed, “Are you all right? Do you have enough space?” He slowly moved more to his left, away from her.

“Yes,” her hands tugged on more of their shared duvet. “Do you?”

“Good. Yes.” He nestled in his spot, and then looked back up at the ceiling. 

That was a disaster.

The moonlight wavered across the ceiling through a sheer curtain. He could hear horses’ hooves for a brief moment as they trotted past his sister’s townhome.

He also heard Cora sigh. “I’m not the least bit tired.”

He swallowed. Was she not? Why not? Was it very uncomfortable to fall asleep beside him? Or was it simply the excitement of the day? This would be her first season as a married woman. Perhaps it was nerves? After all, she was being presented at court this season by his mother. He knew that much energy had gone into the alterations of the presentation gown, the gown that had been her wedding dress. She’d called it “rather poetic,” being presented as Lady Downton in the gown in which she became Lady Downton. He hadn’t known how to respond.

He looked at her again. The moonlight had settled on all the smooth, soft lines of her features. He thought he could just make out the color of her eyes, though perhaps it was more from memory. Odd, that. He could clearly make out the color of her eyes, though the light was so very dim.

“Neither am I.” He answered.

She hummed a very small hum, and then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, rolled toward him, her chin still angled up toward his face.

He was surprised, in a way. Instead of the feeling of cold shock or total confusion as to what to do at this, he felt warmth. It was the warmth of familiarity. The warmth of a nostalgia that wasn’t nostalgia at all, for it had never happened before. And even more surprising, he felt himself smile down at her.

He hadn’t even realized he had been smiling until she smiled back, and in that smile, he got the distinct impression that she also felt the same warmth.

“Robert?” She pressed her lips and he instantaneously nodded at her. His heart was suddenly beating like a drum, but delightfully so.

“May I ask you something? Only -“ she moved her head upon the pillow, tucking her chin slightly, “- I don’t want to embarrasses you. And of course you can say no.”

Well now he had to know. “Please do.”

She laughed lowly, scoffing really, and she drew in a breath. “The thing is, I was wondering if you ...” She trailed off.

Robert blinked at her, “Go on.”

“Well,” she exhaled. Her voice dropped an octave. “Do you enjoy it? When we’re together.”

“Of course,” Robert pouted. “I suppose I have been quieter today, but that bears no reflection of your company. Really, if you must know, Rosamund put my teeth on edge the moment we arrived —“

He realized Cora was shaking her head and he looked at her.

“No, I mean ...” her voice grew very quiet. Still. He felt the moment tumbling away from them. “Never mind. It was a stupid train of thought. Ignore me.”

“No,” he furrowed his brow. “I’m just failing to follow your meaning. When we’re toge-“ His lips formed to repeat her word, but he realized what she had meant before his voice could finish speaking. He blinked, and looked back at the ceiling, and his mouth went dry.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was small down beside him, and he gathered up enough sense to make some noise and look at her. She cast her eyes away from his.

Say something to her. But he couldn’t. His mouth open and closed like a goldfish. “No, no.”

He shook his head. “That is, please don’t apologize ... it’s just it’s ... unexpected to be asked is all. I —“ He thought of how he could possibly answer this. He made a few starts, a few sounds and he had to clear his throat to begin again. “That is, if I find — If you’re asking if I enjoy ...“ He felt irrationally tongue tied. His brain couldn’t conjure the word and he realized, at looking at her, that he was only making the situation much worse. “Yes.” He finally managed. And then he forced out even more: “And you?”

There was silence between them then. The politeness they’d managed had crumbled, and Robert found that Cora was just as inept as he was at speaking those uncomfortable things aloud. And at that, his heart constricted.

He turned his body slightly, resting upon his shoulder blade, and lifted his head to garner her attention. To soften whatever it was that had become so hard. “Cora, when we are together, I feel so —“

Her eyes fluttered up to his. And the air left his lungs.

He watched dumbly as she nodded, as her eyes drifted to his lips, and as she drew in closer to him. He felt as she kissed him.

Soft. And warm. There was a sort of tingle of nerves at the contact, and he closed his eyes and pressed his lips more to her own.

She was still very close to him when the kiss ended, when he finally opened his eyes again and looked at her. He felt ... he felt strange, but in a wonderful way. Alive and yet he couldn’t breathe. Confused and yet in complete wonderment.

“Yes,” she whispered, and Robert’s hearted swelled.

[babysizedfics]

Hey uhh not to be a bother or anything but I’ve been having a tough time recently and your writing makes me smile so I wanna say thank you. And if you wouldn’t mind, do you think you could do a HC or those little mini stories you do with Patton and Virgil being cuddly together after Virgil being awake half the night? Maybe he has a routine he does with Virgil whenever he can’t sleep? If you can’t it’s okay. ❤️❤️

It's not a bother at all, I'm sorry you've had a rough time :( I hope this can bring some comfort!

EDIT: I didn't expect this to be a ficlet at all but it happened anyway! This was really sweet and fun to write, thank you for suggesting it <3

oOo

Title: Pillow

Summary: Virgil can't sleep. Papa Patton knows exactly how to get him to relax.

Word count: 2,000

Also on AO3!

oOo

When Virgil and Roman are both awake late at night, they have sleepovers... but on this particular night, when Virgil texts his brother "Hey you awake?" there is no reply. He waits a good hour, just in case Roman was just busy with something. But he soon realises Roman must be asleep for once.

It's not that Virgil isn't tired - he's exhausted - but his anxiety has been high for a couple of days. There is no obvious reason, sometimes it just acts up like that and it's incredibly annoying. He can't get to sleep because his mind is positively racing with worries and disastrous scenarios and insecurities. They're loud.

He tries to get through it alone. He went on Tumblr for a bit but most bloggers were asleep. He listened to some upbeat music to try to lift his mood but it just hurt his ears. He actually tried to be little on his own for the first time in months, but all it did was make him upset and remember all the times he was lonely and regressed and scared and suddenly he just can't be alone anymore.

He tiptoes to Patton's room, all the while internally berating himself. He's been busy this week, he needs time to rest. And you already cause him so much trouble being little all the time. You shouldn't wake him, it's not fair on him.

But by the time he has reached the door, and before he turns back having second thoughts, the door swings open. It always surprised Virgil just how light a sleeper Patton was.

'Vee? Are you okay, sweetheart?' Patton asks, immediately holding his arms out for Virgil.

He hurries into Patton's embrace and grips onto his pyjama shirt tightly, not daring to look up from the ground. Because Patton thinks he's little, doesn't he? Baby Vee is always allowed to wake up his Papa and Mama if he has a nightmare or an accident, but is adult Virgil allowed to?

But it's impossible to pretend he's regressed. Virgil hardly knows what he actually behaves like when he's little, and he can't bring himself to pretend. 'I'm... I dunno, I just can't sleep.'

A soft, warm thing presses to his forehead - a fingertip. 'Yucky thoughts?' Patton whispers, gently stroking over Virgil's brow.

With a small sigh, Virgil simply nods. His eyes are heavy and fall shut, letting the soothing touch calm him instantly.

'Let's get you a bottle, baby.'

Virgil's eyes snap open and he meets Patton's gaze at last. There is only compassion and fondness in the deep brown irises.

'But I'm not little,' Virgil says, frowning slightly. The only times Patton gave him a bottle was when he was either regressed or Patton needed him to be regressed. And even then it was only after Virgil had a panic attack or a nightmare, neither of which was true tonight.

Patton smiles and tucks Virgil's curtain of bangs behind his ear with thick fingertips. 'That doesn't mean we can't relax together. I'm not planning to sleep soon anyway.' He pulls Virgil into his arms again and the anxious side goes willingly, resting his cheek against the barrel chest and breathing deeply with each thumping beat of his Papa's heart. 'Doesn't warm milk and In The Night Garden sound relaxing, honey?'

Virgil merely nods. He's not little, but that does sound calming.

oOo

Within minutes - and after a quick detour to Virgil's room where they acquired Minty - they're in the kitchen. Usually, Virgil would not like to be in the room when the stove is on since it is an open flame. Watching the bright blue flames dance precariously around the saucepan of oat milk makes Virgil's heart leap with every flicker. But he couldn't bear the idea of being away from Patton's side at that moment.

'See, nothing happened,' Patton says, extinguishing the flame and stirring the milk. 'We're all safe, stormcloud.'

Virgil swallows around a lump of nerves and starts picking at his lower lip with his fingernails. He grips Minty tighter to his chest with his other hand. 'All safe,' he repeats under his breath.

There is a metallic clatter and Virgil lifts his gaze from his feet which swing back and forth as he sits on a tall barstool. Papa is smiling at him, the wooden mixing spoon abandoned in the saucepan. 'You're such a brave boy.'

Warmth blooms on Virgil's cheeks. He shakes his head and pulls Minty up to his chin. 'No 'm not.'

'Yes you are,' Patton insists. He makes quick work of transferring the milk into one of Virgil's baby bottles. The sight of it - with a vintage-style image of Eeyore and some butterflies printed onto the side of it - puts a warm, swirly feeling in Virgil's chest. Papa walks over to him and strokes his cheek. It's kind of cold. 'You're my brave little baby.'

All of a sudden tears are burning Virgil's eyes. He takes the tip of his thumb out from between his lips. (When did that get there?) Talking is harder than he remembers it being a few minutes ago. 'No brave... th-scared.'

'Y'know you're allowed to be brave and scared,' Papa says and makes a surprised face. He puts his hands on Virgil's sides and then there's a whoosh of air and the seat is gone under him but now Papa's arm is under him. Virgil is being carried on Papa's hip.

He holds Papa's shoulder tight with one hand, Minty balanced in the crook of his arm. His thumb is back in his mouth. 'Bof?' he whispers.

'Mhm, both. Brave means you do things even when they're scary. Because you know it's important.' Papa kisses Virgil's forehead and it makes him smile. 'Were you scared to come get Papa?'

Virgil looks up at his papa and doesn't know what Papa feels. Does he look sad? Angry? He's not smiling. He doesn't look very happy. Tears start falling down Virgil's cheeks and he whimpers.

'Shh, baby, it's okay if you were scared. Papa's not angry or upset with you.' Then the world is a bit bouncy and Virgil doesn't know why but it makes him stop crying.

He sniffles and it's wet and kind of yucky. He wriggles and tries to hug Papa tighter but it's hard 'cause he's cuddling Minty too. Papa's arm under him is going up and down but then it stops and pulls him closer, tighter, stronger. The world isn't bouncy anymore but it's warm because Papa is warm. And it's nice.

'It was a bit scary to come and get Papa, wasn't it, sweetie?'

Virgil sucks his thumb more. He nods then a little sound comes out from his throat. Another tear trickles down his cheek.

Papa kisses it away. 'And even though it was scary, my clever little stormcloud came to get me anyway because he knew it was the right thing to do.' Another kiss on his other cheek made Virgil hum. 'I think that's very brave.'

For a bit, Virgil tries to remember why he thought he wasn't brave. But it's really tricky. Memories are fuzzy. Plus Papa always knew way more than he did. So Virgil must have been brave.

That makes another smile stretch his lips, bigger this time. His thumb slips out of his mouth.

'There's my happy little baby!' Papa says and smiles big and squiggles a finger on Virgil's side.

It tickles and Virgil giggles. 'Papa, tibble!' Then his head feels foggy and heavy. Then he yawns and the feeling goes away.

'Aww, precious boy. Let's go get you a diaper, then we're gonna have milk and watch Iggle Piggle!'

That's one of Virgil's favorite things to do in the whole world! He nods and kicks his feet a little bit, trying to show that he wants to get moving.

'All right, all right, I get it,' Papa laughs. Then they start moving. 'Giddyup Papa, huh?'

More giggles come from Virgil's lips and he rests his head on Papa's shoulder as they go back upstairs.

Getting changed into a diaper used to be really scary, but now it's okay. Papa smiles at him and sings a pretty song really quiet and Virgil is allowed to hug Minty really tight when he doesn't like a feeling. Then he is changed and it's soft and comfy and it makes him feel really safe and happy. It makes funny crinkly noises and they make tingles go all over his head and he thinks he is floating.

Virgil doesn't remember how, but then there is a paci in his mouth. Pacis are smooth on his tongue! And then they are on the couch in the living room and there is the In The Night Garden music coming from the TV.

He looks around, confused. Where did his room go? He wriggles in Papa's lap and whines, 'Baba.'

'What's wrong, baby?' Papa asks.

Virgil pouts. He wants to know where his room went and where Minty went, but he can't move his mouth. He squeezes the soft stuff in his hands tighter. Then he gasps and looks down. Minty! He cuddles the dino to his chest and smiles.

'You love Minty, don't you, Vee?'

Virgil nods his head. 'Wub.'

There are fingers in his hair, stroking. It makes more of those tingles go over him, like when it's bathtime and Papa pours warm water on his back. It's really nice. 'Can Papa give you your bottle now?'

That question is kind of hard. Papa wants to give Virgil something. But now. Does Papa want to know when Vee wants something? Virgil is confused and it's not a nice feeling. He looks at Papa and tries to tell him that with his eyes.

'Oh, you're super tiny tonight. That was a bit advanced for you then,' Papa says really quiet. Virgil definitely doesn't know what that means. 'Do you want your milky?'

That question was a bit louder and it makes lots more sense. Virgil whines and scrunches his toes in the couch cushion. It means yes and Papa usually knows that.

'Come here, angel,' Papa whispers. He wraps his arms around Virgil and turns him. Virgil isn't facing Papa and sitting up anymore, now he's sideways in Papa's lap. He's kind of lying down, but instead of a pillow under his head, it's Papa's arm. It's warmer and stronger and safer than a pillow.

Then Virgil's mouth is empty. He doesn't like it. There's no more smooth on his tongue, the pretty paci is gone. He whines and feels tears building in his eyes again. He wants his paci back.

Iggle Piggle is jingling and squeaking on the TV.

There's a different smooth on his tongue now. It's warm and it tastes different, but it's still smooth. Virgil sighs and sucks on it like a paci, then there's sweet, creamy, warm stuff on the back of his tongue and he swallows it. It makes his tummy happy. Milk!

A quiet, happy sound comes from him and he keeps drinking the milk. The strong, warm pillow lifts his head up a little bit more then puts his head on something else. It's a bigger, warmer, softer, stronger pillow. It goes Boom boom, Boom boom, Boom boom. Virgil likes this one the best.

Things are different then. The room is a little bit darker and it makes Virgil's eyes happy. Virgil isn't drinking milk anymore and that makes him a bit sad, but his tummy feels full and warm and he doesn't want more milk anyway.

He isn't sideways on Papa's lap anymore, he's sitting backwards in it. He can't see Papa but there's still the Boom boom pillow under his head and that feels just as nice as seeing Papa. Virgil can see the TV. There are trees and grass and Upsy Daisy in a pretty dress. The sound is different - Iggle Piggle isn't jingling and squeaking anymore. Instead, there's plinky-plonky music and a man is speaking with a voice that's kind of like Mama's. It's deep and strong and it makes Virgil's heart feel like a balloon.

His eyes are falling shut. It feels safe.

'Night night, my sweet little one,' Papa's voice says. The pillow rumbles at the same time.

Virgil squeaks and turns his head and smushes his cheek on it. Boom boom. Boom boom.

'Wuboo.'

His eyes are really heavy. Everything goes black.

Boom boom.

oOo

Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated!

[copias-thrall]

Well here we are, nonny. I have completed this 3-part compendium of ritualistic altar sex at your bequest (see reblogs for Papas II & IV). I hope you love this tome as much as my other work! 😘💕

⬇️ 

Papa III

*ritual blood letting; voyeurism*

It’s a big night for you: Papa III had submitted your name to be ceremonial sacrifice for this High Unholy day, and the Senior Clergy had found you acceptable. It was a great honor.

You don the white shift—satin with foamy edging—before covering yourself in the black ritual cape. Your hair is bound, secured by one pin that bears the structural integrity of the knot admirably. Though your face is bare of makeup, you curled your eyelashes, wanting the doe-eyed innocent effect.

As you make your way to the Chapel down the silent halls, your slippered feet—white flats to match your shift—tap tap tap softly against the stone floors of The Abbey. When you reach the hall, you find that the doors are closed, but two Abbey Ghouls pull the heavy blackwood doors open for you, the wood creaking and the iron hinged moaning.

The light and smell of hundreds of altar candles hit you in the face as you step into the doorway. Even as the faces of the congregation turn at your solitary procession, you keep your eyes trained on the only important thing in the room: Papa Emeritus III. He stands straight-backed and regal-looking in his formal vestments, a true son of the line.

He winks at you.

As you walk down the carpeted aisle toward your lover and spiritual leader, you realize the choir is singing a soft hymn.

As the parish sighs in smoke

Enters lady revealed of cloak

To the haunting sound of the monstrance clock

When you reach the steps, you take a knee and bow your head. You sense movement around you, and then there are two altar Ghouls beside you. One unknots the clasp at your neck while the other hands you a goblet of ritual wine. You take a sip, and the full-bodied flavor excites your tongue as you roll the tart, black cherry taste around your mouth before swallowing.

The Ghoul takes the goblet back just as Papa bids you rise. As you straighten back up, your black cape falls open, exposing the shift and how it clings to your naked body. When you catch Papa’s gaze, you detect a subtle uptick of his painted lips before he gestures you up the stairs to join him where he’s standing in front of the stone ritual altar.

Once you reach him, he turns you around sharply as his one hand yanks off your cape so you are revealed fully in your diaphanous shift to the full pews.

“Before us stands Dear Sister. A willing ritual sacrifice. She is a pert offering, no?”

As he says this, his gloved hand runs lightly down your breasts and belly, briefly pressing into the space between your legs before it and the heat of his body disappears from your space. Desire pools in your belly, and you tremble with anticipation as the congregation murmurs in agreement.

“Sister. Come.”

You turn and see Papa—his one hand held out in an offering—standing beside the ritual altar on which lies a silk sheet and a fluffy pillow. Taking a deep breath, you step forward and take Papa’s outstretched hand, the lambskin soft against your palm. Using his grip as an aide, you hop up onto the altar and instantly can feel the cool of the hard stone discernible even through the sheet. You shuffle backwards and adjust yourself until you are lying as comfortably as you can.

Papa holds out his arms, and four Ghouls appear at his sides—2 to undress him and 2 to take possession of the layers. The mitre is removed from his head first, with the cope following after. The first 2 Ghouls are quick and efficient (one could say practiced), and the other two Ghouls have to scurry to keep up. They divest Papa of his chasuble next and then slip off his gloves. Last, they yank off his alb from the bottom up over his head, ruffling locks of his ebony hair; underneath he’s bare, and his chest and pubic hair stand out starkly against his pale skin; his cock is already half hard.

When your nipples pebble, you’re not sure if it’s from the draft or from seeing your lover’s naked form in front of you. His posture remains erect, controlled, but you’re close enough to see the wanton hunger that burns in the pits of his mismatched eyes. He stalks over to the altar and crawls over you. Instantly, you feel the heat radiating off his body.

As he stares down at your face, you think he’s about to kiss you, but instead he straightens up to rest on his haunches while straddling your body. He holds out his hand, and one of the Ghouls brings forward a purple velvet pillow, on which rests the ritual knife. Papa’s eyes flick briefly to the Ghoul, making a grabby motion, and the Ghoul carefully places the knife—handle first—into his grip before slinking away.

As expected, Papa murmurs, “Your hand, cara.” Smiling, you raise your left hand to him, and he grasps onto it before placing a gentle kiss to your palm; then he holds your hand out and readies the ritual knife—the candlelight glinting off the sharp edge.

“You are a willing sacrifice, yes, Sister?”

“Yes, Dark Excellency.”

Without further warning, he slashes down your palm, quick but deep. Despite being prepared for this step, you hiss and flinch, but Papa’s grip holds true. The blood from your slitted wound trickles down your arm and drips off your elbow to run in rivulets down your white shift and the sheet, staining both in the process. You can’t tell if there’s a low hum from the crowd, or if it’s the blood rushing through your ears, but you do know your Papa is smiling down softly at you.

When the trickle slows and your blood starts to clot, Papa snaps his fingers, and two Ghouls hurry forward to wrap your hand; as they bind the wound, they also bind together your wrists and secure them to a hook at the top of the altar.

Dick twitching and white eye flashing, Papa leans down and riiiiiiiiiips your shift down the middle from neckline to hem, your breasts falling heavily to each side. Your heart rate picks up as he hastily manhandles your legs so they splay out to each side, revealing just where his cock needs to land true. Unaccustomed to cold air on your sensitive lips, you tremble, which he mistakes as nerves.

“Shh, it is O.K., mia dolce.”

He runs his hands down your sides, then your flanks. He sucks two fingers into his mouth, then brings them down to your clit. When the slick pads make contact, you jolt and moan at the pleasurable feeling. As he continues to gently circle you and lightly trace your folds, you start to thrash against your restraints, your legs kicking out in silted jerks. His digits dip down occasionally to press at your hole, and you practically drool at the feeling.

“Ai! The ruddy flush of your cunt is bellissimo, amore!”

You moan and press down into his fingers, rapidly approaching your little death.

“Sí, little one,” he coos. “Cum for your Papa.” Then, louder, “In this Church we celebrate the female orgasm, do we not?”

You barely hear the cheer of agreement as your brain whites out and you climax loudly, the waves of your orgasm fizzing up your body. As you bask in the warm glow of your aftershocks, you’re dimly aware of Papa adjusting your legs to his shoulders, but your focus swiftly rushes back and sobers you the instant he impales you with his throbbing cock.

“Oh, Papa!”

Pussy still slick from your release, the wet squelch of him bottoming out with each thrust seems to be the loudest sound in the Chapel, even over your moans and his grunts. You rock your hips into him as much as your positioning allows, luxuriating in the silky glide of his cock as it thrusts slowly in and out of you. It’s not long before Papa speeds up, each pump now punching into your G-spot, and your eyes roll back.

When your head lolls toward the congregation, you’re suddenly aware of how every single gaze is focused intently on the two of you; more than one hand is pressed between legs. If you could flush further you would, but instead, you turn your head to the other side.

The press of warm lips to your ankle bone has your attention back on your lover. Sweat trickles down from his temples, and perspiration has made the rest of his flesh dewy. He winks at you before letting your legs slide back down so he can lean down over you. He captures your mouth in a kiss, moaning into your mouth as you wrap your legs around his thick waist and pull him into you. Letting out a pleased moan, Papa begins to speed up, hurrying toward completion (you know he has excellent stamina, but that’s not what this ritual is about), and his face smears down your cheek and into the crook of your neck. He’s no longer hitting your G-stop, but your pussy still tingles in pleasure as he grinds into you. The loud slap of his skin on yours echoes off the high ceilings as Papa mewls Italian into your neck.

You know he’s close when he raises himself up enough to wiggle a hand in between your bodies to flick at your clit.

“Oh, yes!” you cry out, and Papa begs PleasePleasePlease that you’ll cum again and he can let go.

It’s not a great position, but you were already primed before he started fucking you, and now even more blood has pooled between your legs. Your clit pulsates, and the rest of your cunt spasms in answer. You feel your pussy tighten hard around his cock, and you let out a little OhOhOh right before you crest and the crashing waves of your climax milks him.

Papa suddenly drops down and hooks his arms around your shoulders right before he really begins to rail into you. His breath is hot and moist on your shoulder as he closes his eyes and fucks you with a single-mindedness to his own completion. He cums with a growl and a hard, deep thrust into you, and then he shifts himself up to his knees to ride out the aftershocks, pulling you onto his cock by your hips.

“The wine,” he snaps, and a Ghoul—pants tented—hurries over to hand Papa the goblet. Papa immediately upturns the chalice and pours the wine over your body so that it stains your flesh and pools in your clavicle and belly button. After he shakes the last drop free, he leans down to lap the wine off your stomach, tongue trailing up to your tits, before finishing at your neck.

The two of you stay like that for a moment—you blissed out and Papa panting into your skin as the congregation softly chants—until you feel your wrists unbind. Your arms tingle when you bring them back down, but Papa rubs your wrists and brings your hand up for another kiss. He helps you off the altar before raising up your joined hands. A chorus of cheers starts up as the altar Ghouls hurry over to cover Papa and you with robes, with which you gladly wrap around to cover yourself.

Papa III claps his hands together to get the attention of his flock.

“Ai! Proceed to the quad for the orgiastic revelry, per favore. Sister and I shall follow shortly.” When the crowd hesitates, he makes a shooing motion. “Show is over! Andare!”

After the last congregate leaves (Nihil shuffling along with his oxygen tank), you start to leave the platform, but Papa pulls you back by the excess of your robe.

“Papa?” you ask with the arch of an eyebrow.

“What say you to round 2, hmm? Shall we honor our Dark Lord a few times more?”

“If it’s at the soft altar of your pillow-top mattress, we can honor him all night, Papa.”

[rhub4rb]

Home is Where the Heart is

AO3

[First chapter] [Previous chapter] [Next chapter]

-_-_-_-

It was awkward in the living room. Marinette and Bruce were alone, for some apparent "bonding time" that was very much needed according to Alfred. Marinette scowled inwardly at the butler.

Bruce had gone along with adopting Marinette for Alfred, which she didn't quite understand. If anyone had any reason to be distrustful of her, it should be Bruce. She was in his city, fought his kids, had no history. Apparently adopting black-haired, blue-eyed kids was a habit of Bruce's.

She didn't really understand, but she appreciated it, if only somewhat.

"So..." Marinette said. "You adopt kids a lot?" Smooth Marinette, real smooth.

It worked, at least slightly, as Bruce raised an eyebrow at her. It was a reaction! But nothing more came of the topic. They went into silence again, and for a moment, Marinette wondered if he was considering taking back the adoption.

"I lost my parents too," Bruce suddenly said, and Marinette blinked, not even sure if he said anything at all. "I was 8 years old. Alfred took care of me growing up."

Marinette stayed quiet for a moment, unsure of what to say. Comfort, even if well-meant, didn't seem appropriate. So instead, she shared.

"I lost my parents a week before I came to Gotham," Marinette said, looking at her hands folded in her lap. "I stayed with my grandfather, and then he... he passed away too."

"Were you close?"

Her hands tightened.

"Very."

A moment passed before Bruce said, "No one can ever replace them." Marinette shook her head, feeling her nose starting to tingle as tears built up. She just wanted to go home. To France, to the bakery. To the ever-present scent of baked bread and bear hugs, to flour fights and game nights.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know you only did this because Alfred aske-"

"I didn't do this because Alfred asked me to," Bruce said, cutting her off. "He was going to have you under his custody, I was the one to request adopting you." 

Marinette blinked, finally looking up at the man who had let her stay in his home, despite knowing that something shady was going on.

"But... why?"

"Do I need a reason why?" He asked, and Marinette was hit with how similar it sounded to what she told Tikki, once her plan against Hawkmoth had been solidified.

A tear slid down, followed by another one, and before Marinette could even think, her weeping echoed through the halls of the manor, leaving behind a ghost of what she was feeling. She didn't even notice him hugging her until he started shushing in her ear, rocking her back on forth, and it felt so similar to what her papa would do that she just started to cry harder.

It seemed like Bruce understood though. He said nothing, just tried to calm her down, yet still let her cry, let her grieve.

-

Breakfast the morning after was a quiet affair. Marinette was certain that the other members of the family had heard her weeping, but none of them made a comment. It seemed that grief was a common feeling in this household, and Marinette didn't know whether to be relieved or worried.

It eased the awkward tension that was usually in the dining room, but the fact that Jason was gone somewhere probably helped too, though Marinette had the distinct feeling that he was avoiding her as much as possible.

She couldn't say, it wasn't like they had spent time together as she and Tim had, but maybe it was the looks he would sometimes send her way when he thought she wouldn't notice, questioning and doubtful.

Maybe she wasn't the most forthcoming with him either. Whatever magic that was used on him, used to bring him back, was reeking off of him, pulsating and angry, as if trying to scare her away. It could perhaps be the magic that was causing him to avoid her, and he simply didn't realize it. Or maybe he did, but refrained from saying anything.

Doing a cursory glance around the room, it seemed like almost everyone present had at one point passed away, save for herself and Tim.

Marinette wondered what caused these people to be so willing to give up everything to save lives when they got nothing in return. But then she looked at herself and realized that it was quite simple really.

The feeling of it just being the right thing to do could be strong at times, and maybe this family of vigilantes felt that too.

From what Tikki had told her, Marinette had been destined to be given the miraculous, that she was a true Ladybug. Marinette wasn't sure how to feel about that, that the fates had made such a decision about her before she was even born.

"What are you spacing out about?" Damian suddenly asked, cutting her thoughts off with a harsh tone.

"Nothing," she stated simply, to which he scoffed and turned up her nose.

"Figures you're empty in the head. Are you sure that you actually went to school before coming to Gotham?"

Marinette knew there was more to that question. They had looked her up by now, tried to find her, and they got nothing. All Damian was looking for was some type of confirmation, for her to deny any schooling so he could bust her on something he already knew the answer to.

"Yeah," Marinette said. "I've gone to the same school all my life. I skipped a grade back in elementaire."

This seemed to catch the attention of the other table occupants, Bruce looking up with raised brows.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I did pretty well in college too, though I don't really know what I should do now," she admitted a little reluctantly.

Her dream had always been to design, but now... that dream felt far away, like it was part of the life that she erased, along with everything else. Marinette shrugged.

"It's not like I'm an idiot or something, I did well in school and I worked hard for my grades, it's just... school hasn't exactly been on the forefront of my mind."

"We can discuss what you want to do later," Bruce said, and Marinette nodded, just glad that the topic was dropped for now.

Damian just continued to scowl.

-

"Why did you let her stay?"

Bruce let out a tired sigh as Damian asked him the question again, not the first time in the week that Damian had cornered him.

"You know, she asked me that question too," Bruce said. Damian just scoffed.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Why do you have such a problem with her staying here?" Bruce asked instead of actually telling Damian what he wanted to know.

"I feel like it's obvious! She shouldn't even be here in the first place!" Damian exclaimed. "You trust Alfred too much sometimes."

Bruce felt a spike of anger grow at this, protectiveness of the father figure of his life rising.

"I have a reason to trust Alfred as much as I do," Bruce said with an air of finality that Damian ignored in favor of continuing the argument.

"He's human, he makes mistakes," Damian said. "How do you know he hasn't misplaced his trust in that girl? How do you know she isn't just playing him to get to us?"

"There are certainly more effective ways to do that than to go through the butler, don't you think?" Bruce asked rhetorically. "If she wanted to do something to us, she would have done so by now."

"I still think you're being a fool for trusting her so easily."

There was silence between the two, Bruce refusing to answer his son at this point, and Damian refusing to step down on the idea that Marinette could maybe be trustworthy.

Of course, Bruce didn't trust Marinette. He hadn't told her about the Batcave and their nightly activities for a reason, but he wasn't about to throw her out either, not after what happened the night before, not after Alfred had already told him that the girl had nowhere to go.

Maybe he really did have a bad habit of adopting kids, but he gave them lives that were better, didn't he? An outlet for all their frustrations against the world. Heck, according to Alfred, Marinette slept in an abandoned building somewhere until she found the butler.

Leaving her now felt wrong, and besides, this way they could keep an even closer eye on her, even if she did hardly leave her room. She and Tim frequently talked apparently, not that Bruce would know. Tim was awake at the most absurd of hours, but his third son seemed to trust her well enough.

It made sense to keep her around.

She was a mystery waiting to be solved, and they were supposed to be the world's greatest detectives. If that was the truth, then they should be able to figure out what was really going on.

"I still think it's a mistake to let her stay."

"Then it's a good thing that this isn't your decision to make."

-

Marinette and Tim were once again in the kitchen in the middle of the night, neither of them able to sleep yet. It had become an almost nightly ritual at this point, not that Marinette minded much.

"Damian really doesn't like me much, does he?" Marinette noted absentmindedly while she was sketching. She hadn't talked about her shaky relation with Damian to anyone, but it was really starting to get on her nerves.

After their last confrontation, Marinette largely left him alone. She didn't feel like getting yelled at by someone who was only a year older than herself, but she still felt the stink-eye he would send her way, the way he would complain about her to Bruce.

"Don't mind him, he's a brat most of the time, even when he's in a good mood," Tim said, typing away on his computer.

Marinette just hummed, though her sketching slowed. It was weird. She hadn't had this much trouble with a person since Lila, and that was years ago. It didn't help that Marinette already felt like a burden to the family, she didn't tell Bruce to adopt her, she didn't tell Alfred to look out for her this way.

She didn't even realize that she had stopped sketching completely until Tim called out to her.

"This is really getting to you, isn't it?" Tim asked.

Marinette bit her lip before reluctantly nodding.

Tim sighed. "Damian didn't have an easy childhood," he told her. "He might feel threatened by you here."

"But why would he feel threatened? I'm not trying to take his family from him or anything."

"Of course!" Tim admitted. "But Damian is used to things being taken from him, all of us are. He doesn't want to lose it all."

Marinette could understand that. After Paris, after losing everything, even herself, she could only understand it too well.

"I just don't know what to do," Marinette whispered, her voice cracking.

"Give him time, it took a while before he started trusting us too," Tim said, putting a comforting hand over hers. "He'll come around at some point."

Marinette wasn't so sure about that, but she didn't say that to Tim. Instead, she nodded and went back to sketching. Peace once again entered the kitchen, though Marinette's mind was still swirling with the Damian issue.

Suddenly, a box is placed on her sketchbook, and Marinette looks up at Tim questioning. 

"Don't take what Damian says too seriously, he really is just a brat most of the time. As for that," Tim said, nodding towards the small black box he placed on her sketchbook. "That's a gift from me to you."

Slowly, Marinette lifted the lid of the box, revealing a sleek black phone.

"I figured you might need one," he explained.

Marinette looked wide-eyed at the phone, then back at Tim, before looking at the phone again and slowly shaking her head.

"I can't accept this-"

"You've had a rough couple of days. Take it."

A second passed, two, before Marinette lunged herself towards Tim, engulfing him in a tight hug.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She squealed quietly, mindful of the others still sleeping.

-_-_-_-

@constancetruggle @mojos-biggest-fan @lysslovesanime @heredmaquam @luciferge @scribblinggraveyard @thatfandomsgirl @eliza-bich @ki77h3dr4g0n @crazylittlemunchkin @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @skyel0ve @serenacross200 @valeks-princess @thebananathatwrites @aurordraws @nothernbluetongue @bluerosette23 @xxmadamjinxx @graduatedmelon @tritaledkitsune @tinybrie @shamefullove @screechingflapbiscuitpeach @danielslilangel @vivilakitty @kurogaya913 @elspethshadow @theatreandcomicfreak

[oh-theatre]

Objection!: Chapter 28

Chapter title: Two Unlikely Loves

A/n: Im sorry chapters have been shorter and they've been so bad im so so sorry im trying and im messing up and im just trying and im sorry for the awfulness that is this chapter. anyway here you go

First | Previous | Next

words: 2031

summary: Tensions run high as the courthouse is under siege

pairings: Eventual logicality, prinxiety, platonic demus, romantic remile

warnings: Murder mention, child murder, Law and Courtroom, swearing, blood, hospital, crime scene,  murder, gun mention, guns, swearing, abuse, graphic descriptions, alcohol, shooting, crying

Ao3 Link  

They all rushed in, practically tripping over one another.

“Patton!” They cry, all in different tones of utter concern. Not Logan however, he bides his time, avoiding eye contact as everyone gives their hearty hellos and tearful reliefs. “Why don't we give them some time?” He hears Barbara whisper, the group nods and somehow he's left alone in the awkward silence of an unusually quiet Patton. Realizing he hadn't said a word to anyone who had come in. 

“Lo” he begins, Logan hears his voice finally and he understands what he feels. Anger, he wishes not to speak to Patton. Not now, not ever. “Logan” Patton tries again, the man can hear the softest break in his sweet tone. What was he thinking? How dare he ignore Patton. 

He coughs, breaking his own silence but that's it. He will not make the first move, he should have been trusted. Why didn't he..”trust me?” He hadnt meant to let the words fall, he hadn't given them such permission. 

“Oh starlight”

Damn Patton was good, he almost took to look at him. He continues to stare around the room, it felt bland, unlike his gorgeous eyes who he could find himself lost in. He listens, the shifting and sudden grunts of struggle catches him off guard. He turns, finding Patton's feet trembling as he clutches desperately to his IV line as he barely steps forward. Logan can see the pain and he finds himself completely in motion.

“Patton” He chides, rushing over he takes the shaking arms, situating the stubborn lawyer back on the edge of the bed. Kneeling in front of him with a deep breath of relief. “Do you enjoy bringing pain” Logan jokes, but finds no ease in Patton's face. The tears swell and he shakes his sorry head. “Oh sunshine” He sighs

“I'm so sorry” Patton laments, Logan, though slight, shakes his apology away. He leans up, taking the man's cheek, kissing him softly as they melt into one. God how he missed him. Patton deepend said kiss, not that either mind one bit. 

“If you ever..” Logan begins, gasping for short breaths, his blush quite noticeable “Do that again..” Patton nods, understanding instantly. 

“Not planning too...at least not this year” He shrugs, Logan nudges him, squeezing his leg sweetly. “C’mere” He gestures, they connect once more, it's soft and feels light in this heavy world. Once away, they allow their fingers to fiddle together, the puzzle just fits. It was their puzzle, years to find all the corner pieces but now it was their turn to fill in the middle. A quick gasp escapes Patton, he pushes gently on Logan. “The twins!” He exclaims, was it some kind of sense?

“Papa!” They cry in unison, rushing into the room barreling through Logan. Both decide to speak the fastest they can muster, speeding through their weeks and adventures. Patton listens intently, his eyes hazing to a prideful Logan. He wasn't sure what came over him but the overwhelming feeling of simply breaking down was noticeable. Not to the twins, nor Emile….but Logan saw it instantly. 

“Hey, why don't you both venture to the shops with Emile and pick out a nice gift for your father” Logan suggests, Patton trembles as he waves them a careful goodbye not sure how much longer he can hold up. Once the door shuts Logan works quick as Patton shatters. Seeing the twins was the breaking point, his head pounds. Logan helps the quiet man and his tears back into bed, once settled he cuddles Patton, a comforting rub to his harms and Patton clutches hard. Logan can feel the wet soak him but he doesn't care, nothing but Patton concerns him.  

“I'm so sorry” He sniffles, barely audible through his almost fearful sobs. As if any louder and he could get in serious trouble...Logan's heart sunk. He pushes the image of Liam out of his mind kissing Patton's forehead. This was their room, area and moment. Nobody dare touch the ever fragile bubble. Ready to collapse, become delicate glass to fall.  It takes awhile but the exhaustion sets in and Patton falls into it, releasing Logan before he does, giving him the freedom not to bear him down. Logan sighs sitting up, he checks the clock realizing he himself may have dozed off as well. The best sleep he had gotten in a month, though guilty he was so thankful for Patton being here, awake. 

“Mm” He rubs his eyes, the bags becoming prominent under them. He doesn't flinch feeling Patton wrap his arms around Logan, laying his head on the lawyer's shoulder. A sweet kiss to his neck, a tingle he had missed sent down his back. 

“You're exhausted” Patton identifies, connecting their hands. Logan scoffs, a smile with a tinge of truth however. “I'm here, you can rest Lo” Patton promises, soothing comfort down Logan's arm and cheek. Logan bites down, clenching his jaw so tight it begins to pulse. He avoids anything that will reflect his delicate state. Logan takes Patton's hand, kissing it but he isn't there. His mind floods with schedules and routines, meals and things he must do, children cries and joy.

And he loves it. 

Yes he's drained, but all he can think of is the conversation he had with Patton eons ago. Thats how he felt, these children could take everything from him. Sleep, food, anything and hed smile with delight.  

“I'd like to move in” Logan proposes, Patton chuckles into his shoulder. A tired smile accompanied with a nod. Logan takes this as his moment to convince, quickly preparing an argument but Patton has his own idea.

“And here I thought you already had” Patton laments, Logan yawns but hes amused. Something about the way he felt with Patton allowed him to enjoy it. Allowed him to just relax, always helps that Patton had taken to massaging Logan without a prompt. But out the window there he was, he knew Patton felt it, his shoulders tightened. “Dearest?” Patton hums, kissing him gently. 

“We need to talk about Virgil” 

~~~

“I want to see my little boy” Patton sings, Remy chuckles as Emile brings Thomas forth. Cradling the baby in Patton's arms.

“Here he comes” Emile teases, Patton giggles, joined by the baby soon enough. 

“Oh my here he does, look at this angel” Patton coos, tickling ever so carefully his stomach, the both allowing themselves a moment with each other. The sweetness the child radiates is almost too much for Patton's weak heart.  Soon enough everyone cycled in for their reunion. Logan stood protective by Patton the entire time, a hand on his shoulder and love infecting him. Patton was grateful. 

The twins were impatient and they had every right to be, spending almost three hours with their father and Logan simply chatting away. Patton loved it,he loved cuddling Valerie while Remus explained his journeys, he loved Remus fiddling with his hair as Valerie recounted their days with Logan. And most of all he loved Logan. He loved that he got to share this with someone, someone who cared someone who he loved and who loved him back. 

Soon enough the room darkened and Roman, after a copious check up and a thorough conversation volunteered to take them home for some rest. 

“You are truly my hero” Patton teases, knowing that title was held by only one person. One person who was currently making sure the children were bundled up before they said their goodbyes. Roman gave him one last squeeze before leading them out followed by James who waves the door closed. 

“You look exhausted” Logan notices, fluffing up Patton's pillow, making sure the lawyer remains cozy and comfortable. Patton takes his cheeks as he leans in and plants a quick kiss on him. He pulls away, getting prepared to take his sleep, Logan smiles timidly planting a kiss on his head before finally releasing his overbearing care. Not that Patton minds. Logan sets up in the chair next to him, turning the night light on and flipping quietly through a book. 

It remains peaceful and still for awhile, Logan almost dozes off with his blanket sprawled around him. But as the clock strikes eleven thirty, the door slides open. And of course panic sets in, why were the doctors here and so late at night? But when the gruff boots and purple jacket reflected on the light, Logans panic set in even more.

“Virgil” Logan identifies in a whisper, the detective meets his eyes. The bags are prominent. But his boiling hatred was fiery. “He's sleeping” Logan scolds, folding up his blanket and putting the book on the shelf. “Where were you all day?” Logan goes, quickly back tracking. “Actually no, I don't care” 

“Lo be nice” Patton mumbles through his pillow, the pair jump and Logan joins his side quickly. He wipes his eyes sitting up, allowing Logan to serve him water, taking it gratefully. Virgil wants to come forward, his head pulsed as his eyes laid on Patton. He missed him so much, but Logans glare stopped him. “Thank you starlight” Patton put his glass back, and Virgil adored the casualness of their physical connection, the nicknames and the fact that Logans and Pattons hands were connected. But he hated that he couldn't enjoy this right now. “Heya Virge” Patton swallows, something forced down. 

“Pat..” Virgil breathes, he wants to gush but something holds him back. Patton bit his lower lip, he extended his arms, motioning for Virgil to come forth. The breath that escaped Virgil lifted the pressure from his chest. 

“Patton no” Logan reminds, he doesn't mean to be controlling but he cares for Patton more than he can describe.

“Logan come on” Virgil sighs. Patton clutches his blankets knowing hes only doing this out of confrontation and his fear of such. But with what Logan told him...shouldn't he be mad?

He was

He was painfully hurt

“What did you tell him?” Virgil points as Patton refocuses. 

“The honest truth and what I found Patton should know” Logan explains. Patton takes his hand, feeling the sweat build. Logan takes the signal and finds himself breathing with relaxation. “You took the money, you and Remy took the money” He lays out flat. “When Patton came to you about Liam you should have done something” Logan spits “Instead, like everyone else in that goddamn precinct you took Liams vile money and kept your mouth shut” Logan reveals, Virgil averts  his guilty eyes. Patton twinges, clasping tighter to Logan. 

“Patton let me just..I…” Virgil feels something clamp tight in his throat. He has an explanation but nothing worth Patton's forgiveness. “You said you h-had a plan and you were gonna leave i thought, its just a little longer and Damian and I-”

“Virgil are you fucking kidding?” Logans voice remains quiet but it seethes, Patton struggles but sits up pulling Logan closer to him. 

“Dearest, language” He whispers sweetly, wiping the sweat away from Logans hot head. “Its ok, I'm okay and you're okay and the twins and Damian and virge...everyones ok” Patton rambles, Logan softens at the soft breaths he takes. Idiot, he punishes. Patton was tired, he was shaking ever so slightly. 

“Im so sorry Pat, I should go” And he does, Virgil gives him one more apologetic look before slamming the door away. Patton releases an exasperated breath before falling back into his pillow. How many times was he going to cry today?

“Love?” Logan sits with him, Patton cant conjure up words he simply shakes his head, the tears flow. Logan adjusts so he cradles Patton, a gentle lullaby his hummed to him as he remembers every time a touch had never felt so loving, and filled with pain instead. “I love you so very much” He promises, he was so glad Patton took that from him. 

I dont think Id want to give that to anyone else

Soon enough, the pair was comfortably asleep, both with dreams...or nightmares of their own. But together, and surely they wouldn't let the other be hurt, not again, not ever again.   

[lycorogue]

Marinette’s Song: Chapter 6

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

UPDATE (2/15/20): You can also now read this story over on AO3, on FFN, or on DA.

Summary: Whenever Luka creates music it affects people. He can’t handle having to hide his music anymore, and so he goes to the Tom & Sabine Charms and Potions shop for some help. Can Marinette’s witchcraft allow Luka to finally share his music with the world? Witch and Mythological Magic AU

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 10,943 Words This Chapter: 1796

Status: Completed; 7 chapters

Disclaimer: I wanted to anchor Marinette’s magic in Wiccan as opposed to “Hollywood witchcraft”, but I’m Christian. I tried to do my research, but I also know I’m taking a lot of creative liberties. If you notice any glaring misrepresentation of Wiccan, please let me know.

All Luka could sense was the warmth of Marinette's skin against his, her soft breath against the back of his neck, and the chords playing in his head. He pictured her leaning in to kiss his cheek, and felt his face burn with a blush.

Marinette hovered, frozen in place by the simple action of Luka placing his hand over hers; holding it against his collarbone. The fingers on her other hand briefly brushed against the back of his neck - sending tingles down Luka's spine – as she tightened her grip on the twine. Her breath slowed until Luka could barely feel it anymore.

The moment was lost when Tikki again chirped at her owner. Marinette slid her hand out from under Luka's, and instead rested hers on top, silently instructing him to hold the snake charm in place. She then gently tugged again at the string, making sure it was taught but not too snug before tying it in place.

“Does- does this work for you? It's not too tight, is it?”

“It's perfect, Marinette. Thank you.” He turned to her, and caught her again playing with one of her earrings.

“Don't thank me yet. We still need to figure out if it works.” She returned to the Northern candle, said a small prayer, and then blew it out. She did the same for the other three candles. She then packed them and the crystals away. Nervously fidgeting with her fingernails, Marinette held out a hand for Luka. “Ready to try out the binding charm?”

He took her hand, and let her pull him out of his chair. “As ready as I can be, I guess. What do you want me to do?”

She led him back out into the store proper, then to a small door along the back wall. Opening it, she pulled Luka into a small foyer with a large, elegant stairwell: the store entrance to the Dupain-Cheng apartment they had attached to the back of their shop.

“Okay.” Marinette still had Luka's hand in hers as she faced him, but she didn't seem to remember that. “Can you sing or hum something for me? Anything. Any emotion- oh! But, please, don't make me scared. I hate being scared.”

He knew instantly what song he wanted to hum for her, but he had to be certain the charm worked first. He didn't want his power to somehow influence Marinette, and taint her song. Luka then thought of the gray sky and how melancholy he was only an hour before, and debated humming as he did on The Liberty. He couldn't chance the charm not working, and him depressing Marinette, though. She only deserved happiness. So he tried to make her laugh.

He started humming a playful tune, some notes low, others forced him to hum in falsetto. He concentrated on not moving as he hummed, hoping to look as serious as possible in order to try to take out as many extra influencing components as possible.

Marinette laughed. She snorted back her chuckle, but still leaned against him to hold herself upright.

The charm hadn't worked.

“I'm-I'm sorry.” Marinette massaged her mouth to try to get back to a straight face. “Your voice was lovely, it really was. It's just- you looked so goofy! You were just so serious when you hit those high notes, and-” She laughed again.

“That's not it. It's my power. I don't think-”

“No!” She stomped a foot and dropped Luka's hand so she could use both to push him towards the stairs. “No, you just threw me is all. The charm works. It's got to! Here. Go up a few stairs so I can't see you, then try again, okay?”

Luka climbed up six steps, and Marinette leaned with her back against the banister. She took a few deep breaths to try to calm her giggles, then waved for him to try again. He started humming the same song, and she instantly snorted back another chuckle.

“No, not that one! I can only picture you looking silly. This doesn't count. Try again. Try again.”

He thought a moment, and then hummed a new song. It was nostalgic, with tones of 1950s jukebox crooning. He pictured Marinette in a pink poodle skirt with large white dots and her hair in a wavy high ponytail; his own blue and teal hair slicked back and off his forehead. His white t-shirt tucked into tight pants and his leather jacket draped around Marinette's shoulders.

She didn't react. She didn't move. She simply hummed satisfaction before clapping.

“Perfect! Didn't feel anything!” She spun around, bouncing in place as she reached up to rest her hands on top of Luka's along the banister. “I mean, your voice is good, but I didn't feel anything special- anything extra I mean. I think this worked, I really do! Oh! We need to test it out with an instrument. Give me a minute.” She shifted away from the stairs, and caught the charm shop out of the corner of her eye. “Oops, could you also watch the front of the store for me? If anyone comes in could you please let them know we'll be right with them?”

Luka nodded, and Marinette tucked Tikki into a pocket inside her jacket so the poor frog wouldn't have to cling onto Marinette's shoulder. She then sprinted to the foot of the stairs and bolted up to the top floor, pausing only briefly as she passed Luka so she could place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. A few minutes later she came back down, taking the steps two at a time. Lumbering behind her was her father, a gentle giant of a man.

“Okay,” she grabbed Luka's hand and tugged him towards the blue double doors that made up the household's front doors; separate from the store. “Papa said he'll cover the rest of my shift. Come on!”

“Where are we going?”

“Trying out the charm with instruments involved, silly.” The two teens jogged a few blocks down the road to a music shop. Stopping for a couple of seconds at the entrance to catch their bearings, Marinette spotted the guitars and pulled him towards them. Picking up the first acoustic she came across, she passed it over to Luka.

He stared around the store. There weren't too many patrons, but there was still a salesman with a mother-son duo looking at a drum kit. Luka's grip tightened around the neck of the guitar, but then he looked over at Marinette. She was smiling so sweetly, itching to hear him play. She mouthed 'it's okay' to him, then tapped her own throat roughly where his new choker lay.

Taking a slow inhale, he just as slowly released it, then strummed the guitar. He hoped the charm truly worked, otherwise he would really need to apologize to the mother and salesman. Playing eight quick notes to set up the melody, he rapidly plucked the strings in a very perky, Mariachi-paced beat. His fingers flew faster and faster, imagining a frantic dance, a massive fiesta, chaos in party form. He had told Marinette that he didn't purposefully project emotions onto people, but this time he wanted to push his hereditary magic as hard as he could, to make sure the charm truly did work.

The ten-year-old boy sat behind a set of drums, just banging aimlessly on them with sticks; completely off beat from Luka. So Luka stepped closer to the drums, his fingers starting to sting as he raced them up and down the neck of the guitar. The mother turned, as did the salesman. The boy tried to play faster to try to match Luka. The guitar's notes hurricaned off the instrument. Faster. Wilder. Luka pictured how his mom might have played in her youth, and let the chaos of her music bleed through him.

Eventually the boy stopped trying to play with Luka, a pout on his face when he realized he couldn't keep up. The mother gawked, and the salesmen quirked an eyebrow; intrigued. Luka finished his song, and Marinette wildly applauded with a few hoots and whistles. The salesman and the mother joined in, with more controlled claps.

“You've got quite the talent, son,” the salesman said. “Interested in that guitar?”

Luka simply looked down at the instrument in his hand. He did it. He played a guitar with as much maniac energy as he could muster, and everyone stayed calm as they listened. With tears tracing down his cheeks, Luka wrapped Marinette into a tight hug.

“It works! It really works!” He sobbed as he laughed, unsure what to do with his emotions now that he was free.

She laughed and hugged him back. “I'm so glad. You are an amazing musician, Luka. I can't wait to hear what other music you create.”

Luka scooped her up by her waist, holding her high over his head as he swung her around in a tight circle. “You are so amazing, Marinette. I don't know what I would have done without your help. I have no clue how to thank you. Oh, wait.” He put her down and rummaged through his pocket, pulling his few Euros out. “I forgot to pay.”

“Uh, speaking of paying?” the salesmen ventured.

Marinette flashed red in embarrassment as she took the guitar from Luka and put it back on the display. “Sorry. No. We're good. Sorry again for interrupting.” She then grabbed Luka's wrist and pulled him back out of the store.

“Marinette, here.” Luka held out his money once more, but Marinette only plucked a two-Euro coin out of his pile. Luka gawked at her, then down at his still mostly-full hand, and then back at her. “Two Euro? That's it? For everything? No. I have to properly pay you. How much is the session and choker really?” He flipped through the bills and counted the coins he had. A little over twenty-six Euros left; that had to be at least a good chunk.

“Consider it a friend's discount. That, and maybe the price of admission to hear you play.” She winked and gave a little giggle that made Luka's heart soar.

“I truly appreciate that, Marinette, but that's still not nearly enough.” He then perked up as a plan came to mind, “But I think I can make up the difference. Come on.” He took her hand and started running back to the Seine.

“Where are we going?”

“It's my turn to take the lead. Follow me, okay?”

“Of course.” Marinette rotated her hand so she had a better grip within his, and squeezed tight.

Read the final chapter

@discoveringmiraculouswriters​

I have to admit that when I was writing Luka’s song in the music shop that I was thinking of these guys playing “Gerudo Valley” from Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time.

[elisaphoenix13]

Whipped Cream Remedy

Cassie was beginning to regret slipping out of the tower when she was feeling under the weather that morning. To be fair, her throat was a little bit sore and her nose a little stuffed up, but she figured she could tough out the last day of the week. Her dad was out of town for his company and Quill was still asleep when she left for school so it was easy to leave without raising suspicion. It was also a good thing Stephen was dimension hopping because Cassie was pretty sure he would have known even from upstairs that she wasn't feeling well.

Now she felt worse. Sore throat, stuffy nose, coughing, and a fever that was making her woozy. Her friends were actually starting to shoot her looks of concern, and by lunch time, they were almost begging her to go home.

"Cass...you look terrible. Go home."

She blinks. "There's just a couple more hours. I'll be fine."

"I'll text you our assignments. We don't have any tests today."

"...yeah. Okay."

Cassie pulls her phone out of her sweater and scrolls through her contacts until she gets to Quill's. She presses the call button and holds the phone up to her ear, and the cafeteria spins dangerously just as the celestial picks up. His concerned voice gets lost in the haze of her mind and she feels herself falling to the side. A scream breaks through when Cassie hits the floor, and she groans quietly before trying to sit back up.

"No baby girl. Don't move."

Cassie rubs her eyes and blinks through the haze with some confusion when she finds Quill kneeling over her. How did he get to her school so fast? She literally just called him, and only Stephen had the ability to get somewhere that fast. Cassie even looked around to see if the sorcerer was around, but it was just Quill and a group of students and concerned staff. The man asks some students about Cassie's belongings, and her friend hands over Cassie's backpack and phone. Quill shoulders her bag and pockets her phone before scooping up the teenager and carrying her out. Cassie didn't even care if people saw. She felt awful, and having Quill hold her helped just the smallest bit. She didn't have to worry about falling over again, and she could fall asleep if she wanted to.

Which she must have because she suddenly found herself back home and laying on the couch. A blanket was thrown over her and her pillow was actually Quill's thigh, who was watching tv at a low volume, and he looks down at her when she sits up.

"Hey...Bruce gave me some medicine for you to take but you gotta eat. Think you can handle that?"

Cassie blinks and turns her head to look at him suspiciously. "The stove isn't on fire is it?"

"Oh haha. No. Wanda cooked." Quill snarks.

Cassie giggles as Quill stands up and walks into the kitchen, and she lays back down as she listens to him throw whatever Wanda cooked into the microwave. It was the only thing he was allowed to use since he was otherwise a disaster in the kitchen. Or at least with the stove and the oven. He could chop things up pretty decently.

"What do you want to drink sunshine? Water? Juice? Gatorade? A little of everything?" Quill asks as he grabs a glass.

"Gatorade."

"Sure you don't want a little of everything?"

Cassie wrinkles her nose in disgust but doesn't answer. It only takes the god a couple more minutes to rejoin her in the living room, and he motioned for her to sit back up, handing her a bowl of soup when she does. He sits back in his spot with a low groan and shakes a can of whip cream before popping the top off and spraying some into his mouth. Cassie rolls her eyes as she eats her soup and watches tv, not at all surprised with Quill's idea of a snack. There were moments like these that she wondered who was really the adult in this family.

She liked cooking, and she didn't have to do it all the time since Scott cooked as well, or there was the occasional team dinner upstairs. Laundry though? Both Quill and Scott were disasters, so it was exclusively up to her to do it. She didn't mind though. Her dad ran a company when he wasn't being an Avenger, and Quill protected them. Took care of them.

He was taking care of her while she was sick after all.

"Want some?" Quill points the nozzle of the can toward Cassie and she holds up her finger.

"Hang on."

She puts her empty bowl on the coffee table, grabs the medicine that Quill set on it earlier, and throws the pills into her mouth before washing it down with some gatorade. After that she grabs a pillow from the end of the couch, throws it on Quill's lap, and lays down on it. The celestial snickers and sprays some whipped cream in her mouth, then into his as Cassie resituates her blanket over herself and turns her attention to the show on tv.

"Papa?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you do that thing with your hands?"

An empty hiss follows. "Why is it that things are gone faster when you share with your kids?" Quill wills his powers into his free hand and places it on Cassie's forehead, and she sighs at the cool touch.

"First of all, that's what sharing is. Second, you ate like ninety-five percent of it."

"This wasn't full when I grabbed it. Pretty sure your dad ate like half of it."

Quill chucks the empty can in the direction of the kitchen and the two spend the rest of the day quietly watching tv. Quill watched tv, Cassie dozed in and out of consciousness, and at the end of the day the god had to carry her up to bed. He left her medicine and Gatorade on her nightstand, went back downstairs to clean their mess, and then went to bed.

He was disturbed from his sleep in the middle of the night, waking when he heard the bedroom door open, and sits up with his powers flaring in his hands.

"Easy big guy. It's just me." Scott's says in the darkness and Quill dismisses his powers as the younger man turns on a lamp.

"Hey baby. You're home early."

"We got finished early so I decided to just come home."

Scott strips down to his boxers and barely slips under the blankets before Quill grabs him and pulls him the rest of the way, slotting him perfectly against his body. Scott had only been gone for a couple of days, but he understood what Scott meant when he said the bed felt too big and empty when Quill was gone. The bed on his ship felt empty when he was in space too.

"Cass passed out at school today."

Scott jolts up into a sitting position and looks at Quill. "What?!"

"It's fine. She's fine." The celestial pulls Scott back down and wraps a strong arm around him. "I picked her up...literally actually...brought her home and took care of her."

"Well the tower is still standing so-"

"Look you brat!" Quill rolls on top of Scott who unsuccessfully tries to push him off.

"I'm kidding! Get off you overgrown lummox!"

Quill grins. "I'm trying."

Scott sighs and drops his arms, and Quill kisses him gently before dropping next to him with a thump. He accepts the smaller body that scoots back into his arms and allows Scott to use his arm as a pillow.

"Thanks for taking care of Cassie." Scott mumbles.

"You don't need to thank me for that. Especially since I fed her whipped cream."

"Quill…"

"After soup. That Wanda made." Quill promises.

They fell asleep after that, and the next morning they found Cassie down in the living room, bundled up in blankets with a box of tissues and watching tv. Stephen to their (sort of) surprise was in the kitchen making her breakfast, and Scott joins him by sitting on top of the counter and crossing his legs. To their actual surprise, the sorcerer made the couple their own breakfast when he was finished with Cassie's, who was eating waffles and fruit, and Quill snags a piece of bacon.

"So did your Mama Bear senses tingle when you got home?" Scott asks as he steals his own piece of bacon.

"You are the second person to say that."

"Cassie?"

"Tony actually." Stephen looks down at the food in the pan. "I may have asked who was sick when I got back."

Quill laughs and sits at the counter. "You are so deep in the mom hole."

"So I've heard."

Stephen heads back upstairs once he finishes making their breakfast and making sure Cassie was okay, and Scott slips down into the chair next to Quill. They eat and clean up the kitchen, including Cassie's plate that the celestial had to retrieve from the living room since the girl had fallen asleep, and Quill hugs Scott from behind after setting the plate in the sink. He leans down to kiss the younger thief's neck, and instantly mumbles an apology when Scott shys away with a wince. Today was apparently a sensitive day, so Quill instead wills his powers into one of his hands again, and places the cool touch gently against the scars on his husband's neck.

"Better?"

"Yeah."

They stand in comfortable silence while Scott finishes washing the dishes, and Quill tends to the sensitive skin on the younger's neck. Scott turns in the god's hold and rests his head against his shoulder, sighing happily when the cool touch moves to the back of his neck. Whenever Scott had sensitive days, Quill would do this, and just hold him until he was feeling better.

Quill always took care of him.

"Ugh. I'm dying." Cassie says from the living room and Quill cackles.

"You're hanging out with the boys too much peanut." Scott says.

"Can I have more Gatorade?"

Quill releases Scott and grabs the requested drink from the fridge. "On it. Oh is that--" He drops a glass that he grabs from the cupboard. "Oh shit. My bad."

"Get out of the kitchen."

Scott sniggers as he grabs a towel and the celestial steps around the counter to head to the living room, knocking over the fruit bowl. Quill lunges forward to catch it, accidentally smacks his head on the counter, and falls onto his back groaning loudly. He holds up the fruit bowl victoriously, but then it slips out of his hand and shatters on the ground.

"I had it for like five seconds."

"Alright Spaceman...time to go sit down." Scott helps Quill to his feet and over to the couch, and Cassie sits up just long enough for him to sit before laying back down and using the god's lap as a pillow. "Don't break Cassie. Need ice?"

"Nah. I'm good."

"What's two plus two?" Scott asks.

"Ten." Quill answers immediately and Scott grins.

"Close enough."

[one-trigger-lullaby]

The Breaking of Aizawa Shouta-An Erasermic traitor AU

Everything felt pixelated and mix-matched—he felt dizzy and over-stimulated as if he had just been pulled from a deafeningly loud room and dropped into an abyss of silence. His ears felt like they were clogged with water and as his head moved—he could move it, that was something—it felt heavy and weighed-down.

The dizziness seemed to linger, subsiding slowly and washing away his sense of self. His ears tuned in, the hollow sound of nothing being replaced with the loud, buzzing quiet of an empty room.

It took him a moment, maybe a moment too long, but eventually, Aizawa gained his mental bearings enough to force his glued-shut eyes open. His heart stuttered at the blackness that met him as his eyes creaked open, his years-long fear of going blind due to quirk over-usage coming in hot for a split second before he blinked, his eyelashes brushing against something pressed against his face.

He was sitting raised above the ground, his legs at a right angle and his feet flat against the floor without constraints binding them. Unfortunately, the lack of mobility and acute discomfort in his shoulders told him that the same couldn’t be said about his arms. Twisting his wrists, he recognized the feeling of his constraints to be similar to that of the anti-quirk cuffs police departments in Japan used to apprehend villains.

There was no give to the metallic cuffs—steel and copper laced with obsidian and mercury—that kept his hands close with his palms facing away from each other. He’d never had a good experience wearing these things and it didn’t seem like this situation was going to be the one that broke the cycle.

Though his heart was a rapid hummingbird in his chest, his breathing was even, if a bit long. This wasn’t the first time he’d been abducted and though it would be entirely wrong to say that he’d gotten used to it, he definitely hadn’t, it became a bit less startling after the first several times.

A door slamming echoed around him and the sound vibrated unerringly in his ears. He kept deathly still as he heard the sound of footsteps treading into the ground, coming closer and closer to him at a leisurely pace.

His body tingled and twitched as his kidnapper stopped in front of him, close enough for Aizawa to feel the warmth coming off of the person. It made his skin crawl.

His shoulders tensed as he felt something touch the back of his head.

He felt pulling at strands of his hair as his kidnapper fiddled with the blindfold that they’d gotten tangled with his hair at the back of his head. He was frozen, not even breathing until the violating hands pulled away and the blindfold fell with them.

The room he was in wasn’t too much brighter than the blackness he found behind the blindfold, so it took only a brief moment for his eyes to adjust.

“You look so cute when you’re confused.”

Aizawa froze. He felt like his heart had stopped beating, like he’d stopped living the second that voice met his ears. Usually a comforting caress, the voice was like a jackhammer to his head. His eyes were wide as they stared down and off to the side, he refused to look up.

No.

Aizawa had to force himself to calm. This had to be a fucked up joke. Some villain’s idea of fun—

(”Aizawa, I love him, too, but…” Ms. Joke shook her head, her voice was drenched in misplaced sympathy. “…you have to admit it’s kind of weird.”

Aizawa glared over the hem of his scarf where he was hunched. “No. Hizashi wouldn’t betray UA,” wouldn’t betray me, he didn’t say, “they’re coincidences.”

Ms. Joke looked at him with something akin to pity. “Aizawa—”

His eyes were hard and cutting as he narrowed them at her. “He isn’t the traitor.”

He started past her, unwilling to hear any more, but she wasn’t finished. “Are you willing to bet your life on that? Hitoshi’s life?”

He didn’t pause. “Yes.”)

“Aw, come on, Shouta, look at me,” Hizashi said in a sing-song tone, the same one he used when he tried to convince Aizawa to go out on the weekend.

He steeled himself and slowly turned his head. Some part of him wanted to close his eyes and shut out what he knew he was going to see, but he didn’t. He refused to.

At first, he felt a flood of relief because he didn’t look like Hizashi. Then, just as quickly as it came, the relief fled and horror overcame him because he didn’t look like Hizashi.

The face was Hizashi’s, that was undeniable, but his hair—quiet nights spent with his head in his lap, brushing out the long, beloved strands—was chopped short, barely sticking out beneath the black baseball cap shoved onto his head.

(”A hat? That would ruin my hair! I would never!”)

Even in the dim light, his green eyes stood out to Aizawa. If everything about this wasn’t so wrong, they would look just right. But as it was, Hizashi’s grin was just a tad too wide and his eyes just a tad too cold.

Hizashi’s face shifted into a pout. “Don’t look at me like that, Shouta, why do you look so sad?”

Aizawa grit his teeth. “Who are you?”

Hizashi paused and quirked a brow. “What?”

“Who. Are. You?”

There was a stillness as Hizashi met Aizawa’s glare with surprise. After a moment, a grin pulled up the corner of his lips. In another, the blonde was throwing his head back with a boisterous laugh that echoed.

An ugly feeling curled into Aizawa’s chest as he watched the blonde laugh. It was so familiar yet so distinctly un-Hizashi it left him deeply unsettled. Hizashi wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “Oh, wow, Shouta, gotta say, I knew you were funny, but.” He giggled again. “Do you really love me that much?”

(”I love you so much, Shouta.”)

Aizawa felt a burning build behind his eyes and he had to firmly remind himself that this wasn’t his Hizashi. His Hizashi wouldn’t do this. His Hizashi wouldn’t use their relationship to taunt him.

He wouldn’t.

Aizawa didn’t respond and Hizashi hummed. His hands rested behind his back as he started to pace back in forth in front of Aizawa with leisure. “It’s sweet, you know? How devoted you are to me. How stupid you are for me.”

Hizashi barked out a laugh. “I mean, seriously. Everyone told you it was me. Everyone. But you, you poor little orphan boy, you were so convinced that you knew me best that you ignored all of them. It was amazing!”

He stopped short and bent down to look Aizawa square in the eye. The dark-haired man recoiled, his lip pulling up into a snarl. Hizashi reached a hand up and drew his rough thumb over Aizawa’s cheek, over the gaping scare, like and yet unlike he had hundreds of times before, whispering reassurances into the night. He clicked his tongue. “You were so in love, weren’t you? So happy.”

He removed his hand and straightened again, resuming his pace.

“Why?” Aizawa grit out between his teeth.

“Why?” Hizashi hummed in reply, tapping his fingers against his chin. “Huh. I guess…I guess it’s because I hate you.”

Aizawa jerked. He couldn’t stop himself from reacting, from feeling like the words had been a physical blow to his person. His self-doubt reared it’s ugly head and his mantra of it’s not Hizashi, it’s not Hizashi, it’s not Hizashi was becoming less and less effective as time went on.

(”Hate you? What? Shouta…I could never hate you. It’s not your fault; I don’t blame and I will never, ever, ever, hate you. I couldn’t.”)

“It’s not really just you, I guess. I hate all heroes I just hate you a lot more.”

Hizashi pressed his fingertips together, exposed by fingerless gloves, as he thought. He made no move to elaborate on his answer, though, so Aizawa pushed forward in an attempt to prove that this wasn’t Hizashi—That this man wasn’t his husband.

“What will Hitoshi think?” Aizawa asked as the realization came to him. It was a crushing weight, the thought of how devastated Hitoshi would be if this was actually Hizashi—it wasn’t, it couldn’t be—how devastated both he and Hizashi would be if someone posing as Hizashi killed him.

His beloved blonde would blame himself and live the rest of his shorter-than-average life thinking that Aizawa had believed him to be the traitor, believed that he had betrayed his family.

Which was why Aizawa had to retain the knowledge that this man wasn’t his lovable husband.

Hizashi’s mouth moved into a small ‘o’ shape. “Oh,” he said softly, nearly a croon, “that’s why we’re here, Shouta.”

“What?”

The smile that came upon the blonde’s face was devoid of friendliness. It was cold and cruel, sadistic. “What? Why do you think I’m doing this now? Why would I go through all of this effort just to blow my cover at the last second? Unless someone else was going to blow it for me, of course. Hitoshi always was too smart for his own good.”

It took only a moment for his mind to unscramble and his blood to freeze in his veins. “What did you do?”

“Do?” His eyes were wide with glee. “I thought Hizashi would never do anything to his beloved son.”

“He wouldn’t,” Aizawa hissed, knowing this to be true from the bottom of his heart. Hizashi would do anything for Hitoshi, Aizawa had seen it. “And I don’t know who the fuck you are,” Aizawa said lowly, dangerously, “but if you put a hand on my son I will rip you apart.”

“Scary,” Hizashi murmured teasingly. He came to stand in front of Aizawa again, looking down on him. “And what will you do? When I tell you what I did? How he screamed.”

It’s not real, he’s lying, it’s not real, Hitoshi’s fine, he’s trying to make you upset. It’s okay.

“Well, for a while anyway. Until I cut his vocal cords out of his throat.” The blasé way in which he said it disgusted Aizawa. Even if he’d done it—because he hadn’t, Hitoshi was fine—an average person wouldn’t talk about the torture of an innocent teenager so easily. “You should’ve seen him, Shouta, when he realized what I was doing. He called for you, screamed at the top of his lungs for his papa for as long as he could. You should’ve seen his face the second he realized you wouldn’t be coming for him. The betrayal.”

The image seared itself into Aizawa’s mind without warning, the look of terror Aizawa had only ever seen on Hitoshi’s face once and had sworn he would never see again. “No.” He couldn’t mask the tremble in his voice. He swallowed and breathed slowly through his nose, reminding himself that Hitoshi was okay. He had to be.

“Oh, yes,” Hisashi hissed gleefully. “Do you remember last month? When we took that family trip to that onsen in Osaka.”

How could he forget? It was the first family trip they’d taken out of the city. They had pictures up on the walls of their apartment of various precious moments they’d had on the trip, all of them happy and having fun. His favorite was of Hizashi holding Hitoshi bridal style, Hitoshi’s face a stubborn, flaming red.

(”Smile, princess plum!”)

Aizawa swallowed, a clump forming in his throat.

“I’ve never seen you laugh that much in my life, Shouta. Truly, it was amazing. I was so glad to see your dreams of a perfect family being realized because I knew how sweet it would be to see how much this crushes you.” He pulled back, a sly look in his eyes. “I could taste how heartbroken you would be when you found out that I was the one who caused USJ. Who helped the villains take Bakugo. He was supposed to die there, you know, but I guess that was my mistake. I didn’t think you would find him so quickly. No mind, though, dear Hitoshi made up for it with his own life.”

“You didn’t,” Aizawa grit out. “You couldn’t—”

“Oh,” Hizashi pulled back suddenly. “I couldn’t? But, Shouta, I could.”

The earrings pierced into Hizashi’s earlobes gave a dull shine as he resumed pacing once again, his finger sticking up into the air. “I told him you were visiting your mother in Kyoto, by the way, he was so worried for you and her, asking if everything was okay. I gave him a biiiig ol’ hug and told him everything would be alright. And then? And then I pushed him to the ground and held him down by the throat.” He gave a single, dry laugh. “’Daddy, daddy, why?’ he cried. Pathetic. And then I dug a kitchen knife—the one you always use to cut bacon because it has a long handle—into his throat.”

“He lived, though. I didn’t cut into his trachea,” He continued, mindless or perhaps uncaring of the horror he’d imposed onto Aizawa. “He lived and he cried. Tried to tear his own throat out, at one point, tried to end it himself. I let him have my phone, told him he could send one last text to you. In the end, he bled out, his thumb only half way through sending ‘I love you’ to your phone. Tragic, really.”

“No,” Aizawa choked, unable and unwilling to think about his son in such a state. Unable to think about someone wearing his husband’s—Hitoshi’s dad’s—skin to do those things to him. He shook his head obstinately, his throat closing on a mound of terror. “No.”

“Oh, you still don’t believe me?” Aizawa couldn't associate the crazed look in the man’s eyes to his Hizashi but he didn’t know what the hell else to do— ”Then how about I show you?”

It was the second—the very moment that he saw his son’s corpse, dragged by his hair behind his husband with his throat in shreds, that his heart gave in and his stomach gave out and everything disappeared.

~

“Stop it, stop the fucking simulation!” The glass in front of Yamada’s face trembled at the strength of his barely-restrained voice.

People were rushing around on the other side of the pane, trying to find a way to safely disconnect Mind Shatter and Shouta who had begun violently convulsing in his chair. Yamada could do nothing but watch on helplessly, his eyes flickering back and forth between the real Shouta and the Shouta on the monitor to his right.

The Shouta that thought he’d killed their son.

Hitoshi’s grip on his arm was tight and unrelenting. His distress was concealed, but Yamada could feel it radiating from him. “You would never do that,” Hitoshi mumbled confidently.

His heart warmed. No, he wouldn’t and, as much as it hurt knowing that some of his friends thought that he would, he was glad to hear that his son knew better.

“You didn’t. You couldn’t—” Yamada was drawn back to the scene unfolding before him, not-him moving away from Shouta.

“Oh, I couldn’t? But, Shouta, I could.” Yamada felt tears burning his eyes. He didn’t know how his husband had managed to keep it together. He knew it was fake and he felt like his heart was being torn out of his chest.

“I told him you were visiting your mother in Kyoto, by the way, he was so worried for you and her, asking if everything was okay. I gave him a biiiig ol’ hug and told him everything would be alright. And then?” God, no, don’t continue. His Shouta was tough, but his heart was soft and this would destroy him.

“And then I pushed him to the ground and held him down by the throat.” Not-him laughed and it made Yamada feel nauseous. “’Daddy, daddy, why?’ he cried. Pathetic. And then I dug a kitchen knife—the one you always use to cut bacon because the handle is long—into his throat.”

Yamada wrapped an arm around Hitoshi’s shoulder and pulled him in close. He didn’t know if the teen was allowing the contact because he knew Yamada needed it or if he needed it himself, but he was grateful for it as he pressed his nose into his son’s fluffy purple hair.

“He lived, though. I didn’t cut into his trachea,” The terrible man continued. “He lived and he cried. Tried to tear his own throat out, at one point, tried to end it himself. I let him have my phone, told him he could send one last text to you. In the end, he bled out, his thumb only half way through sending ‘I love you’ to your phone. Tragic, really.”

Yamada squeezed his eyes shut, tears slipping past them and down his chin. He knew what kind of hit that was; Hitoshi had only ever said ‘I love you’ to either one of them a grand total of three times. It was just another stab to the heart.

“No.” Shouta sounded so scared, already trembling as if he’d lost everything.

Because he thinks he has, Yamada realized with a sharp pang to his heart. He really wished Shouta had listened to him when he’d told him not to put himself through this.

“We can’t disconnect them, yet!” Someone, Mind Shatter’s handler, called out.

Yamada jerked forward. “Why the hell not?!” Shouta was going to have an honest-to-god aneurysm if this continued.

She gave him a helpless look through the glass and shook her head, pigtails waving around her face. “It’s gone too far. It shouldn’t be much longer before it’s done playing out, but we have to wait.”

He was about to ask further before he remembered the briefing he and Shouta had gone through before they agreed to this. They’d been told there was a certain cut off point, Yamada just felt like there had to be something—

“Oh, you still don’t believe me?” Yamada heard his own voice say. His eyes were drawn back to the screen, watching as Shouta was clearly trying his damnedest to keep himself together. “Then how about I show you?”

Yamada felt everything in him stop and as he saw himself walk off screen, only to hear a heavy dragging. He pulled Hitoshi closer with a swiftness he rarely utilized and pressed the boy’s face to his shoulder. He was glad the teen didn’t fight him on it.

He didn’t know what he would do if his beloved son had to deal with the image displayed on the screen before him for the rest of his life like himself and Shouta would have to. He felt nauseous, absolutely sick.

He—because that was him, wasn’t it? Even if it wasn’t—was holding Hitoshi, an exact replica of the boy Yamada held in his arms now, by his unusually limp purple hair, a smear of gore following the boy’s heels. His copy didn’t even look apologetic as he presented the corpse of their son—

(”Hizashi, I want to adopt him.”

“He isn’t a cat, Shouta.”

“I know.”)

—to Shouta who Yamada knew loved Hitoshi more than life itself.

Yamada could see it on his beloved’s face the second he realized what was being shown to him. He looked like his entire world had been disintegrated right before his eyes.

On-screen Shouta’s eyes rolled back into his head and Yamada’s Shouta’s convulsing had reached a boiling point. The poor man was shaking so hard he’d have flipped out of his chair if he weren’t firmly strapped to it.

“Unhook them!” Yamada yelled even as he saw Mind shatter’s handler already beginning the process of disconnecting the wires that attached Mind Shatter and his husband to the monitors.

Yamada pulled Hitoshi by the arm as he speed-walked over to the door on the side of the room he’d been forced to watch the proceedings from.

“Present Mic, sir—” Someone tried to stop him, but he just pushed them out of his way and brought both himself and his son through the door and into the bright white room.

They'd gotten an unconscious Mind Shatter removed from her seat and were already carrying her out while others had managed to get a still-seizing Shouta onto the floor where they held him securely.

Yamada moved immediately to aid in holding his husband still so he wouldn’t hurt himself while Hitoshi had his palms on either side of his face to hold his head, his jaw tense and his eyes grim.

Soon, the fit subsided and Yamada’s husband stilled. People started to stand and walk away, one muttering about a medical crew being on their way. “He should wake up in a minute, um, we’ll give you some time,” Someone said. Yamada paid them no mind, deciding to put his trust in their expertise concerning Mind shatter’s quirk being far greater than his own.

Yamada and Hitoshi watched with bated breath and Shouta’s eyelashes fluttered. His neck twitched and Yamada worried for only a moment that he would start seizing again before the man’s eyes shot open, red and wild.

The first thing Shouta seemed to focus on was Yamada which, in hindsight, wasn’t the most ideal situation. The panic and horror that settled onto Shouta's face, a look Yamada had never, ever seen equated with himself, was like a butcher knife to the heart.

Shouta was on is knees in a flash, scrambling away until his back hit the wall with betrayal and hurt etched into his face. His hair was raised like a spiky black crown on his head, sharp and frazzled.

“Shouta,” Yamada’s voice was soft and calm, “do you remember agreeing to let Mind shatter test you? For Nedzu? None of it was real, baby. None of it.”

His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes scanned Yamada's figure up and down before leaving him completely and locking onto Hitoshi who had stayed entirely still and silent, watching with caution as the scene before him played out.

It was like the air fled out of Shouta all at once. “Hitoshi.” The relief in his voice was palpable.

Hitoshi started forward, kneeling to envelope his father into a hug. Shouta gripped him tightly, his hands shaking as he pressed his face into his son’s shoulder. He let out a shuddering sigh and his hair relaxed around his shoulders.

Yamada had never seen Shouta look so small, so vulnerable and, for a moment, he hated himself for doing this to him, even if he wasn’t the one who really did it.

I should’ve fought harder against it; I knew it was a bad idea and I let it happen anyway.

As much as he ached to hold his husband, Yamada stayed back. He hated being so far away and utterly useless, but he knew that if he had just gone through that Shouta had, he’d want a moment with his son.

Shouta sniffed hard and when he moved his head up to look at Yamada he wasn’t teary-eyed but he seemed terribly close to the brink.

Shouta removed one of his arms from Hitoshi and held it out. His voice was gruff and choked when he said, “Come here.”

Yamada didn’t waste a second, striding over to the two people he loved the most in the world and falling to his knees, drawing them both in for the tightest hug he’d ever been a part of. He wasn’t nearly as strong as his Shouta, no, he cried like a baby.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. It felt like an obligation, this well-deserved apology.

Shouta’s hand gripped his hair like it would fall off. “It wasn’t you. I know you would never do that to me."

No, he wouldn’t, not ever, but wasn’t it terrifying to know that he could?

AO3

[kreeborn]

Reasons why Yon-Rogg is the ultimate boyfriend/husband/father material:

loves kids

is actually a cutiepie

super relaxed and comfortable around people he cares deeply about

doesn’t care if you’re a guy or girl, what race or species or sexual orientation you are because that’s irrelevant to him - he loves his partner the way they are, no matter what

super protective

constantly worries if his partner/kids are okay

sometimes possessive but the harmless way

loves kids

has the ‘ my papa bear senses are tingling ‘ feeling

faithful down to the core

loves spoiling his partner/kids

would die for the ones he loves

would break every rule for the ones he loves

‘ emotions are a distraction ‘ ? don’t know her

bonds hard and close and basically for life with his partner

LOVES KIDS!!!

[tinylilemrys]

Merlin 1x12 “To Kill the King” Highlights:

The whole concept of this episode. We should totally just stab Uther

(There aren’t a lot of lulz on this list y’all, so buckle up. This episode is pretty bleak and angsty)

Tom being the cutest dad. You can tell all he wants to do is spoil Gwen and he hasn’t been able to so the first opportunity he gets he pounces on it

To my knowledge, we never see Gwen wear the dress that Tom bought her, This rare chance he has to spoil her ends up tainted to the point where Gwen can’t face enjoying the last gift he gave her. Please excuse me, I need a moment.

* ~ A L C H E M Y ~ *

Merlin in his white sleep shirt with the sweater paws and the mussed up hair is a very important moment in television history

Arthur having to follow his father’s orders but being 100% not okay with it

Gaius and Merlin letting Gwen sleep over so that she can be closer to her dad while he’s imprisoned in the castle dungeons and so that she doesn’t have to be alone

Morgana being able to activate the stone, further implying that she might be a witch

Camelot’s security actually doing their damn job for once (unfortunately it’s the one time where you really want them to be shit at it)

Uther: “You speak treason, Morgana. – Morgana: “Only a mad man hears the truth as treason.” (Morgana is so fucking badass in this episode.)

Merlin and Arthur comforting Gwen after Tom’s death in their own ways.

When Morgana moves away from the guards and pulls at her restraints, whatever is attaching it to the ground comes loose

“Thank you. You’re a better man than your father. Always were.”

Gwen visibly distraught at the knowledge that Morgana spent a night in the dungeons on her behalf

“If anything happened to you I couldn’t bear it.” (Morgwen is real – pass it on.)

Merlin’s magic senses tingling off the charts this episode

The first inklings of evil!Morgana

The extra holding a sword to Morgana’s back looks insanely bored to be there

*A distracted Merlin gets up to leave for work and makes his way over to the nearest door* Gaius: “Er, Merlin, that’s a broom cupboard.”

Merlin naively thinking that his conversation with the dragon about whether or not he should intervene and save Uther’s life would end in anything other than a “then perish” meme

Morgana: *to Uther* “I came to apologise.” – Uther: *taking a casual sip of wine* “Good.” (Morgana’s ‘bitch what?’ face at this is everything)

Morgana’s first proper evil smirk as she turns away from whoever she’s plotting against

Gwen: “Morgana has been amazing these past few days” – Merlin: “I think you’ve been amazing.” (#brotp)

The fact that it’s actual Hufflepuff Gwen and her unwavering moral compass that helps Merlin make up his mind about saving Uther’s life

Merlin using the Sidhe staff that he kept after killing Sophia and Alfric

“Your will is as strong as my own.” The first hints that Morgana might be Uther’s daughter

“You are the daughter that I never had.” Except for that time that you banged her mom and nine months later Morgana was born.

The fact that in the end Merlin doesn’t have to make the decision whether or not to save Uther, meaning that he doesn’t have to betray his people or become a murderer

Gaius’ proud papa bear smile to Merlin at the end

< 1x11 | 1x13 >

[brjihyun]

this is jihyun tbh

the bae (literally) is one hell of a traditional woman tbh her family has always greatly followed the mindset of the monchary and so she was raised to do the same

kids have always been cruel and some dumbasses made fun of her family & called them the cha's lackeys but she's set the tips of their hair on fire for talking shit and spent half of her school time in detention

her marriage with papa bae was arranged but she didn't mind 'cause that's how her family always did it! hey! tradition!

she learned to love him (and his power+influence lmfao) eventually

could've kicked back, relaxed & be a pretty trophy wife but NO

this bitch learns shit like wielding a sword (no joke), can recite 3000 year old vampire codes, knows the royal family's entire pedigree

it's part of her upbringing and part of living under the rule of the late king+admiring him

who she would have taken a bullet for btw

but

we all know where she (and hydrangea) were when shit went down

oops

was the first to think of the two lost kiddos, her Mama Bear Senses tingled

she mf loves them like her own kids, she's so proud of what became of jinho and even loves ansook through his rebellious phase lmao

she lowkey wants the monarchy to return and would die to see jinho on the throne wow you're doing amazing sweetie

and if she was to gain a thing or two from this that wouldn't be so bad either right??? right??????? :-)

so warm but so unpredictable so affectionate but so bossy so caring but so prideful

the hwangs can go fuck themselves lol human hating headasses

in her eyes jinri's a brat and minwoo needs to learn some respect pass it on

ANYWAY things with mum & dad hwang are tense to say the least lmao

she misses hydrangea as a friend (and more???????) but cannot wrap her head around what bird of paradise turned her into

gold aesthetic 24/7

always elegant, always overdressed

[thequeenofcreole]

|《 A Dream of Fire: Chapter 3 - Ghost 》|

Darkness surrounds me in more ways than one. I can feel the depth of my solitude in my soul as I look around, desperate to see something - anything that can tell me where I am and where my children are. I reach my hands out, hoping to touch something solid to bear the weight I feel. But I feel nothing. Less than nothing. I don’t even feel my feet touching the ground. It’s almost like an empty solitude.

I have no purpose here. I could run until my feet bleed, but I don’t know which direction will get me out of here. I can scream in hopes of being saved or even summoning somebody - anybody that can explain where I am and if this is hell. But it would be futile. No one is here but me. Maybe this is hell.

I remember their faces. A baby boy and a baby girl. Beautiful and precious. Full of life. It’s something I would have died a thousand times for and the same thing I would die a thousand times to see again. With the thoughts of their beauty in my mind, I feel my chest becoming heavier. Tighter. Like it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. With a slew of different emotions running through my mind, I feel the heavy urge to fall to my knees. I can’t focus on them right now. They’re gone. They’ll get to live and grow up. They’ll get to meet their sister. They’ll get to live. So I do my best to bury them deep until I’m equip to deal with them again. I don’t know that I’ll ever be ready to fathom the thought of my children being lost to me forever.

How do I accept the fact that I will more than likely never see my newborn children? That I will never get to ease their sleepless nights or hug them close when all they need is their mother’s tenderness I will never get to see Kai ride her bike or play in our backyard. How can I accept that I’ve left so much on Lex’s shoulders? That I’ve, in a way, betrayed him. How do I survive this?

“Hello?”

My voice is involuntarily shaky, my body fighting against every urge I have to break into a sprint and run until I can find some remnants of reality. Whether it be the one I want or not. The longer I don’t see anyone, the angrier I get. I made a deal. I gave my soul which means someone should come collect.

Just as soon as the thought comes, a bright light shines and lights up the whole room. My hands instinctively move to cover my eyes as the light burns my eyes at how sudden it appears. When I’m able to gain control and push the pain aside, I open my eyes to see that the dark room I was once standing in is now a white room. What the hell is going on? Am I dead?

“No, dear.”

The deep, African accent surrounds me. I can’t see him but I already know who it is. Papa Legba. I look around warily, almost desperate for him to do with me what he wants. To rid myself of the pain of not knowing. Of never seeing Blue again. Of never loving @LeRoiDuVooDoo again. My eyes burn, but I refuse to let the tears fall. Not this time.

“I made ya deal. I’m yours. What ya want from me?” My voice is almost petulant and I know I have to be careful. I’m not dealing with an average spirit. Papa Legba is a loa that isn’t one to be fucked with in the least. So, as angry and sad and frustrated as I am, I have to tread carefully.

I hear his low laugh just at my ear and my body tenses, a slow shiver slowly creeping up my spine as black smoke surrounds me and I feel him softly push my curly hair off my shoulder. His breath tickles my ear as he leans in and I feel my jaw clench. I don’t know what I feel more. Anger or fear. He’s trying to tease me, but I won’t allow him to effect me on the outside. On the inside, though…. I’m screaming.

“Don’t be afraid, child.” He says, obviously sensing my fear. Then that means he feels my anger as well. “You’ve got me all wrong.”

I turn my head slightly as he slowly walks away from his position behind me, my jaw staying clenched as I see him for the first time in what feels like a year.

“I’m sorry our deal had to turn out that way. But she was right ‘bout you.”

My brows furrow and I know I look confused as hell as I try to piece together the puzzle he’s trying to put in front of me.

“Who is ‘she’?” Even I can tell that I sound testy as I ask. I’m not one to draw out bad endings. Especially when they concern me never seeing my family again. My chest tightens at the thought.

“Ya know, you should read contracts that you sign before you sign them, Miss Deréon.”

His proper French pronunciation of my name makes me catch my breath as I take in every word he says. I’m genuinely taken aback. My heart begins to pound in my chest as the anger I felt now dissolved into sheer fear. Panic, even. Have I done something wrong? Have I condemned my family? What the hell is going on? He holds up his hand and a cloud of black smoke brings the contract I signed with my blood from what seems like ions ago.

I look up at him to read his expression. He’s grinning and his eyes are locked on mine, but he won’t give away in his face whether it’s just me that’s condemned or if I’ve fucked all this up. I take it the contract with his nonverbal permission and read furiously over the script.

“Talia, first of her name, hereby declares 100 souls for the loa of the crossroads, Papa Legba. In exchange, Deréon Gisele Devereaux of the new blood Devereaux coven of the year two thousand and twenty will be delivered to one Talia Delphine LaBlanc. With both Talia and Deréon’s blood, this contract is sealed until Deréon’s purpose is fulfilled.”

What the fuck? I open my mouth to ask who Talia is and what purpose I have to fulfill. This doesn’t make even the slightest sense to me. He must sense my confusion because he starts laughing. Loudly. The kind of laugh that would send chills through someone who wasn’t as experienced with this Loa as I am. And being familiar with him isn’t a good thing.

“You shall see, Miss Deréon. You’ve got quite a road ahead of you.”

His laugh seems to echo through the space around us and with the clap of his hands, he’s gone. He’s gone and I’m…. still stuck here. As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I suddenly feel the space beneath me cave in and I begin to fall. My heart drops and I scream loudly, my arms reaching out for anything to hold onto. Then I hit the ground. Hard.

The ground is hard and cold beneath me and I groan loudly at a sharp pain I feel at my knee. I don’t think it’s broken, but I’m afraid that if I try to stand up, I will do more hard than good. My eyes immediately move quickly to survey my surroundings. I’m in what looks like an abandoned alley but I have no idea where I am. Not that I’m even surprised at this point. I try to find something familiar like a street sign or familiar sounds of jazz music that’s always playing in the quarter. But, instead, I hear muffled laughs from the street and the sound of a perpetual hum like there’s a bulb about to burst somewhere nearby. But that could also be a concussion talking.

I slowly move to stand up, careful not to put too much weight on my knee as I make my way toward the street. Just as I almost make it, I feel a sharp pain in my head and I immediately move my free hand that’s not pressed against the brick building next to me to my temple. Accompanying the pain is a loud, screeching sound that feels so loud that my eardrums threaten to rupture. It feels like someone is trying to crush my scull. Slowly and painfully.

I can barely take the pain as I fall to my knees, the pain I feel in my head far outweighing the pain I feel in my knee. Pressing both my palms to my head now, I try to scream, but I can’t. No sound leaves my lips as I strain to call for help to the street. My head is spinning and I can feel my body slowly start to give way to the pain as I slowly start to lose consciousness.

“She’s finally here.”

I hear a female voice say in almost a whisper. I can feel that whatever is trying to break my consciousness is magic. The tingling sensation I feel through my body gives that away even through the pain. I don’t know where I am or why I’m here, but I’m not giving up without a fight. I inhale deeply and clench my hands into fists, feeling the low hum of my power from deep inside of me gradually become a vibrating force with every second that I push back against the magic trying to thwart me. Whatever magic it is, it’s strong. The spell is weak but the power behind it is enough to begin to overcome me. This is not VooDoo. It’s earth magic.

I can feel the slow slither of the power of the spell creep along my spine in an attempt to combat my own defenses as I softly chant to myself.  My power is growing and the pain in my head becomes more and more of a dull pulsation than piercing pain. The spell cast upon me manifests itself as a snake and wraps itself around me in an attempt to subdue me further, but my defenses are just as strong, even in my weakened state, as the strongest witch chanting in the background. And I can hear about five or six of them chanting as they move to circle me.

“She’s too strong, Syn”

I can feel heat coming through my palms and radiating over my skin, my eyes glowing an orange and red tint in response to my power. I feel the buildup in my chest. The same power I felt before, but amplified, and I know these witches have no idea just how powerful anger and desperation can make a woman like me. Just as I prepare to exert the force of what feels like built up fire in my chest, something hits me from behind and I feel myself fall to the ground. My head is spinning now and just before I fall back into darkness, I hear a soft voice whisper:

“Oh She’s definitely the one.”

[thehighladyofasgard]

Old Flame - Nine

Summary: Tony Stark has finally gotten over Pepper Potts. He finds himself on the receiving end of the same treatment he subjected his lovers to over the years when he is smitten with a mysterious 19 year old college student. Tony is determined to find out her secrets but will he be able to handle it when he does?

Characters: Female Reader, Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Word Count: 1.7K

Warning: smut and swearing and violence

A/N: You guys, I hope this was worth the wait! Please give me feedback! Let me know if you want me to continue with this! I am back at university now and will try and update as regularly as I can! Enjoy. Thank you for all the messages you guys have sent so far. I love you, xx. 

Old Flame Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

‘Papa, don’t let them take me!’ You cried out as two burly men dragged you away, kicking and screaming. Your tiny voice echoed through the cavernous hallway but your father was unfazed. He watched on through cold, gray eyes as you clutched onto your pink tear-stained teddy bear and begged him to stop them. Sometimes, you could still feel the ridges in your arms from where they gripped you. ‘Papa! Papa!’ Your pleas fell on deaf ears. Over time, this became routine and the tears grew fewer until they faded away altogether.

Every morning, for the next twelve years, you would be escorted down the same hallway, shoved through giant metal doors – knees first onto hard concrete – to begin your daily training. The room was always musty and dark. It was hard to breath. It was hard to see. Everything was always still.

You would wait patiently for the patter of agile footsteps, the faint glimmer of silver in the blackness and those oceanic blue eyes…

Those same blue eyes stared back at you now. They were everything you remembered but at the same time, nothing at all. There was a renewed softness to them that made it seem like you were looking at a stranger. Tony looked on with confusion as you and Bucky continued your stare down; neither of you blinked or spoke in fear of what the other might say.

“You two know each other?” You blinked and moved your gaze towards Tony.  “Answer me! Do you two know each other?” He demanded with a look of utmost betrayal but before you could respond, Steve appeared at the door and ushered the three of you inside the boardroom. Tony shot a silent glare in your direction as Bucky chivalrously gestured for you to take a seat. It was clear from his expression that the conversation was not over.

Steve cleared his throat with a low cough and dragged Tony’s attention over to the surveillance footage on the projector. You leaned forward and squinted at the screen. The quality of the footage and the positioning of the time stamp screamed Department of Traffic. “What are we looking at here, Cap?” Tony sighed, he was eager to get back to your conversation.

“This footage was taken in the early hours of this morning.” Steve enlarged the image and with a few clicks the quality improved but not by much. “We almost didn’t catch this but a security cam spotted Zemo outside the Empire Hotel and he wasn’t alone.” Murmurs spread around the room. This was the closest they’d ever come to finding him since his seemingly miraculous escape about a year ago. No one could understand how he escaped a super-max, unaided. But what they didn’t know was that he wasn’t unaided.  You gripped the edge of the table tightly and shifted in your seat, anxious that you were about to be found out. Thankfully, everyone shared your uneasiness and didn’t notice your paling knuckles.

“The hotel where Ross was staying?” Tony wiped his brow and Bucky clenched his metal fist. “Any idea who he’s working with?” Steve moved the cursor a few inches forward until it brought up a hooded figure, lurching through the shadows. The feed cut-off just before you could look directly into the traffic camera.

“We don’t know who she is or what she’s doing with Zemo but there was an incident at the Empire with Ross.” Bucky suggested speaking to Ross but he had already returned to London on an urgent mission. “I’m thinking about going over to the hotel now to interview speak to some of the staff in case someone saw something, you guys in?” Steve looked around the room and everyone agreed to accompany him except for Tony who kept his eyes fixed on you.

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna sit this one out, Cap.” Sensing the tension between you and Tony, Steve didn’t mind. He assured Tony – in a quiet whisper – that they would be fine without him and that they would call if they needed him. Bucky lingered behind for a moment and stole a quick glance of you as the boardroom emptied out. “So clearly, you and Barnes know each other.” Tony rose from his seat and began to pace around the room like a caged animal. You rounded the table and blocked his path, forcing him to look you in the eye. He tried to move around you but you stepped in front of him again. With a sigh of resignation, he finally asked how you and Bucky knew each other.

“Two years ago, when my dad died, I was lost. I had no sense of purpose and I needed a way to blow off steam so I joined a gym and met Bucky there. We got to talking and he offered to give me a few self-defense classes which I didn’t refuse since I was going to be living alone in New York City. He needed the money and didn’t ask any questions, that’s all it was, I swear.” You pulled your bottom lip between your front teeth and prayed that he bought it.

“Oh, I’m sure self-defense classes was all he gave you!” He suggested, sarcastically.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You could feel the anger starting to bubble inside of you.

“You’re a smart girl, figure it out!”

“You know what? I don’t have time for your childishness!” You threw your hands in the air in defeat and turned to storm out when he spat angrily,

“Childishness? I’m not the one afraid to make a commitment because I’m holding a torch for my old flame!” With a glare, you spun around to face him.

“First of, I didn’t ask you to introduce me to anyone, you were the one who kept pushing me! Second, nothing happened between Bucky and I. Third, you wanna talk about exes? Let’s talk about why Pepper keeps sniffing around here and that’s why I won’t commit to you because I know you will fuck this up sooner or later and I don’t wanna be the one left heartbroken when you eventually decide that a 19-year-old is not for you.” You didn’t care that you were screaming and had somehow ended up inches from his face. Your chest rose and fell with each breath as Tony gazed into your fiery eyes. He was just as angry as you were Tony cut you off by crashing his lips onto yours.

“You’re the only one for me, Y/N! When will you going to get that through your head?” You could feel your anger beginning to dissolve with his words and you began to kiss him passionately. He walked you over to the glass boardroom table and swiped his hand across it, clearing its contents onto the floor.

Tony wasted no time as he ripped off your dress and pulled your panties down your legs. He fumbled with his belt as the two of you locked lips feverishly, gasping and moaning as your tongues fought for domination. With a twist of your forearm, he pinned you – face first – onto the glass coffee table and positioned himself between your legs. He rubbed his throbbing cock down your slit before he rammed into you. You let out a pleasured scream as he gripped your waist and pounded into you. He leaned over your body and sank his teeth into your shoulder.

When he straightened up again, he lifted your right knee onto the table and pushed deeper into you. He rolled his head back and moaned in pleasure. Tony grunted as he pulled your shoulders back, to remove all the space between the two of you. He snaked his hand around your waist before dipping it between your legs and massaging your clit. Tony grabbed your hips again and began to slam into you, hard and fast, as he drove the two of you towards your orgasms.

He pulled out of you and staggered over to the nearest chair, in a heaving mess as you pulled on your tattered dress. Before you could zip up your dress, he was behind you again and pulled it down your shoulders. “I’m not done with you,” he growled, making your skin tingle with anticipation and a smile spread across your face as he nipped at your collarbone. “I’m gonna grab a bottle of champagne and some ice and I expect to see you in my bed, naked and ready for me when I get there.” His voice was strong and commanding and dared you to defy him. He smacked your ass and grabbed his shirt on the way out of the boardroom. You couldn’t help but giggle in excitement.

Once you were completely dressed again, you skipped out of the boardroom and made your way towards Tony’s bedroom when you felt a hand wrap around your throat and you were pulled into the hall closet. Your feet dangled above the ground as your coughed and sputtered, trying to free yourself from the steely hold.

“B-Buc…” You tried weakly but your voice gave out as his fist tightened.

“I didn’t tell them who you were back there because I thought maybe you’re trying to build a life for again and I know what that’s like.” He pressed you up against the wall firmly as you struggled in his grip.  

“I-I am–” You were running out of breath and when he realized this he dropped you to the floor. Coughing and gasping, you held onto the wall to stop yourself from falling over.

“I’ve seen enough footage of you to know that was you with Zemo–” Just as you were about to deny it, he stopped you. “–Listen to me, whatever you’re doing here, if it’s for Zemo, it stops now, d’you hear me? If you genuinely care about Stark, stop whatever it is you’re doing with Zemo or I’ll tell everyone who you really are. I won’t warn you again, Y/N! You’re better than this!” He slammed the hall closet door behind him and you jumped. You hadn’t realized you had been holding your breath all this time.  

If only it were that easy…        

@thevanishedillusion @scrapbook-next-generation@iamthemaskhewears@harleyscheekheart@kaylinnisonfire@adribieber99 @arfrona-and-marvel@arfrona@bookchic20@marvell0usmaximoff @lost-in-the-stories @superwholock-unicorn@gracefulglenn @bookworm4ever99 @seargantbcky​ @eileenlikesyou-maybe @hollycornish @capsicletho @fandommaniacx @wizardoffangirling